Chapter 6 - THE ROOM BEHIND THE FIREPLACE
By the time we reached the house, smoke was coming from the chimney.
Two county deputies stood in the front hall.
Vanessa was in the library feeding papers into the fireplace one stack at a time.
She had changed out of the red dress.
Now she wore cream slacks and a white blouse.
The widow costume had become the respectable homeowner costume.
Nathan stood beside her.
He had returned.
That interested me.
People who run usually keep running unless they believe the danger is under control.
Agent Ramirez showed his credentials.
The deputies immediately became more cautious.
“What are you doing here?”
Vanessa asked.
Ramirez looked at the fireplace.
“Preserving potential evidence.”
“This is private property.”
“That question is under review.”
She pointed at the deputies.
“I have a court order.”
One deputy handed Ramirez the document.
He read it.
Then looked at me.
“It grants temporary possession pending probate.”
“Temporary possession doesn’t authorize evidence destruction.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“Evidence of what?”
I picked up one partially burned page with fireplace tongs.
A bank logo was still visible.
“Maybe fraud.”
Her face hardened.
Nathan stepped closer.
“You need to leave.”
I looked at him.
“Where did you go last night?”
He smiled.
“Out.”
“You abandoned your mother at a storage facility after gunshots.”
Vanessa shot him a look.
He ignored her.
“Wasn’t me.”
“You climbed out a guest-room window.”
“I like fresh air.”
Marcus laughed once from behind me.
Nathan’s eyes flashed.
Ramirez stepped between us.
“Mr. Cole.”
Nathan looked at him.
“Price.”
Nathan froze.
Vanessa stopped moving.
Ramirez continued.
“Your legal name is Nathan Price, correct?”
Nathan smiled slowly.
“I changed it.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
“Were those personal reasons connected to your brother Logan’s fraud convictions in Nevada?”
Vanessa turned toward Nathan.
I watched her.
That reaction looked genuine.
She had not known.
Interesting.
Nathan shrugged.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ramirez smiled.
“I think you do.”
While he questioned Nathan, Grandma’s instructions ran through my head.
Behind the fireplace.
Dad had renovated the library twelve years ago.
The fireplace had a massive limestone surround.
I remembered him joking that it could survive a tank round.
Maybe the joke had been about more than construction.
I walked toward the mantel.
Vanessa noticed.
“What are you doing?”
I studied the stone.
The left side looked normal.
The right side had a narrow vertical seam.
I ran my fingers along it.
Nothing.
Then I saw a tiny brass circle hidden behind the decorative trim.
Keyhole.
I took out Grandma’s key.
Vanessa lunged.
“No!”
Ramirez caught her arm.
That reaction told me I had found the right place.
I inserted the key.
It fit.
I turned it.
A mechanical sound clicked behind the wall.
The right half of the fireplace surround shifted outward.
Everyone stared.
Marcus whispered.
“Your father really didn’t trust anybody.”
A narrow doorway opened.
Cold air moved from darkness.
I switched on my phone flashlight.
A staircase descended.
Vanessa began struggling.
“You cannot go in there.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“That room belongs to me.”
“How?”
“It’s part of the house.”
I smiled.
“So is Grandma’s bedroom.”
She went quiet.
Ramirez called for additional federal agents.
Nobody entered until the area was documented.
Then we went down.
The hidden room was larger than I expected.
Metal cabinets lined both walls.
There was a desk.
A computer disconnected from the internet.
A small refrigerator.
A safe.
And dozens of photographs.
The first photograph stopped me.
My mother.
Laura Whitmore.
She had died when I was fourteen.
Officially, a highway accident.
A drunk driver crossed the center line.
That was what I had been told.
But the photographs showed her car after the crash.
Not the public accident photographs.
Close-up images.
Brake lines.
Steering column.
The underside of the vehicle.
One picture showed a cut brake hose.
I felt the room tilt.
“Claire?”
Marcus touched my shoulder.
I shook him off gently.
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
There was a folder labeled LAURA.
I opened it.
Inside was a private investigator’s report.
Dad had hired someone six months after Mom died.
The investigator concluded that the brake line might have been intentionally damaged.
No criminal case had been opened.
Why not?
Then I found another page.
A witness statement.
A mechanic claimed a woman had brought Mom’s car into his shop two days before the crash.
The woman identified herself as a family assistant.
Description.
Female.
Late twenties.
Blonde.
Approximately five foot six.
Vanessa had been twenty-nine then.
She had worked for Dad’s company before becoming his wife.
My hands started shaking.
“No.”
I whispered it before I knew I was speaking.
Ramirez read over my shoulder.
“Did your stepmother know your mother?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“She was Dad’s executive assistant.”
Marcus cursed softly.
I kept reading.
Another document.
Dad had suspected Vanessa for years.
But the mechanic disappeared before signing a sworn affidavit.
The private investigator later died of a heart attack.
The file went cold.
Dad married Vanessa three years later.
That made no sense.
Unless he married her because he was watching her.
Or because he stopped believing the suspicion.
Or because he was trapped.
I opened another folder.
VANESSA — PERSONAL.
Photographs.
Phone records.
Hotel receipts.
Payments.
Dad had monitored her.
For years.
Then I found a letter written in his handwriting.
CLAIRE,
IF YOU FIND THIS ROOM, I FAILED TO PROTECT YOU FROM THE TRUTH LONG ENOUGH.
YOUR MOTHER’S DEATH WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT.
I gripped the desk.
Marcus read silently behind me.
The letter continued.
I SPENT YEARS TRYING TO PROVE WHO ORDERED IT.
I MARRIED VANESSA BECAUSE SHE WAS CLOSE TO THE PEOPLE I SUSPECTED.
I KNOW YOU WILL HATE ME FOR THAT.
YOU SHOULD.
BUT I NEEDED HER TO BELIEVE I TRUSTED HER.
My chest tightened.
Dad’s marriage had been an investigation.
My childhood after Mom’s death.
The holidays.
The photographs.
The dinners.
All of it had been staged over a battlefield I could not see.
I continued reading.
VANESSA DID NOT ACT ALONE.
I BELIEVE WARREN HALE HELPED COVER THE ORIGINAL INVESTIGATION.
My breathing stopped.
Ramirez’s expression hardened.
Dad continued.
HE WAS THE FIRST OFFICER ON SCENE THE NIGHT YOUR MOTHER DIED.
I remembered.
Warren had come to our house.
He had held Dad in the kitchen.
He had told me Mom was gone.
He had cried.
I felt sick.
I read the final lines.
THE MAN WHO ORDERED YOUR MOTHER’S DEATH IS STILL ALIVE.
HE IS THE REASON I SENT YOU OVERSEAS.
HE IS THE REASON I DISAPPEARED.
AND IF I AM RIGHT, HE WILL COME FOR YOU AS SOON AS HE KNOWS YOU HAVE THIS ROOM.
There was no name.
I searched the envelope.
Nothing.
“Where’s the next page?”
Marcus asked.
“There isn’t one.”
Ramirez looked around.
“Maybe another file.”
We searched.
Then the computer powered on by itself.
A screen appeared.
ENTER SECOND KEY CODE.
“What code?”
Marcus asked.
I looked at Dad’s clock message.
Storage 143.
Maybe 143.
I entered it.
ACCESS DENIED.
Two attempts remaining.
I stopped.
“Don’t guess.”
Ramirez nodded.
“Agreed.”
Then we heard shouting upstairs.
An agent called down.
“Ramirez!”
We ran up.
Nathan was gone.
Again.
One of the county deputies was unconscious near the kitchen.
A back door stood open.
Vanessa was still there.
But she looked terrified.
“What happened?”
I asked.
She stared at the doorway.
“He took my phone.”
“Who?”
“Nathan.”
“Why?”
Her voice trembled.
“He saw the room.”
“So?”
Vanessa looked at me.
“You think Nathan is my son.”
My stomach tightened.
“He is.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I raised him.”
“That’s not the same answer.”
She began crying.
Real tears this time.
“Robert never knew.”
“What?”
Vanessa looked toward Ramirez.
Then back at me.
“Nathan is Warren’s son.”
Silence.
Marcus stared at her.
“And Logan?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Also Warren’s.”
The entire conspiracy shifted again.
Warren Hale was not simply my father’s friend.
He was Nathan and Logan’s father.
Vanessa had been connected to him long before she married Dad.
I stepped closer.
“Did Warren order my mother killed?”
Vanessa’s eyes opened.
“No.”
“Who did?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Ramirez spoke.
“You can tell us now, or you can explain later why you protected a murder conspiracy.”
Vanessa laughed through tears.
“You think you can protect me?”
“Yes.”
“No, you can’t.”
She looked at me.
“Neither could Robert.”
“Who?”
Vanessa swallowed.
Then whispered.
“Your mother wasn’t killed because of Robert.”
My skin went cold.
“She was killed because of you.”
Before I could ask what she meant, my phone buzzed.
A video message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
Nathan was sitting in a car.
Behind him, blindfolded and bleeding from the forehead, was Warren Hale.
Nathan smiled into the camera.
“Claire.”
“If you want the second half of your father’s letter…”
He lifted a folded page.
“…bring Vanessa to the place your mother died.”
May you like
Then he pressed a gun against Warren’s head.
“And come alone.”
