Chapter 12 - THE DEAD MAN’S ACCOUNT
My father survived the gunshot.
He was taken to the hospital under police guard.
Cassandra was detained for questioning.
Sophie and I were transported to a different medical center.
This time, federal agents guarded the floor.
The files from Rachel triggered an investigation far beyond Chicago.
Wire fraud.
Charity theft.
Money laundering.
Witness intimidation.
Attempted murder.
The acquisition was suspended minutes before closing.
Whitmore Capital’s stock began collapsing.
News vans surrounded the hospital.
Every network carried the story.
But Preston and my mother remained missing.
The speedboat was found drifting near the north shore.
No one was inside.
Tracks led into the woods.
Federal agents searched the area.
Sophie slept with her hand wrapped around mine.
She woke whenever I moved.
“Are they coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry.”
My heart stopped.
“For what?”
“For biting Uncle Preston.”
“You saved yourself.”
“But he got angry.”
“He was already angry.”
“None of this is your fault.”
She looked down at her hands.
“Grandma said everything bad happens because of us.”
I lifted her chin gently.
“Grandma lies.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth would force her to see what she became.”
Officer Mercer entered with Rachel.
She had stitches across her forehead.
Her arm was in a sling.
Sophie recognized her from the photograph.
“Are you the other girl’s mommy?”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did Uncle Preston hurt her too?”
“Yes.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Then he really is bad.”
Rachel sat beside the bed.
“My daughter blamed herself for years.”
“Just like you are blaming yourself now.”
“What happened to her?”
“She is safe.”
“She is studying medicine in California.”
Sophie’s eyes brightened slightly.
“Can I meet her?”
Rachel smiled through tears.
“She asked the same thing about you.”
Mercer placed a laptop on the table.
“We found another account in Rachel’s files.”
“What kind of account?”
“An offshore reserve controlled by your father.”
“How much?”
“Seventy-two million dollars.”
Rachel looked confused.
“My husband never mentioned that.”
“He may not have known.”
Mercer opened a list of transactions.
One name appeared repeatedly.
THOMAS REED.
The same man who had attacked Rachel.
The same man who had come to Sophie’s hospital room.
Payments had continued for more than a decade.
“What was he being paid for?”
Mercer opened another file.
It contained photographs of car accidents.
Burned homes.
Missing-person reports.
Every victim had opposed Whitmore Capital.
Rachel covered her mouth.
“My husband’s accident.”
Mercer nodded slowly.
“It may not have been an accident.”
Rachel began to cry.
A federal agent entered the room.
“We found Thomas Reed.”
“Where?”
“Dead in a motel outside Milwaukee.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“Gunshot wound.”
“Who killed him?”
The agent placed a security image on the screen.
My mother walked into the motel room.
Preston followed her.
Thirty minutes later, they left alone.
The agent zoomed in.
Preston carried a black duffel bag.
My mother held a silver key.
Rachel stood abruptly.
“That key.”
“What is it?”
“My husband said the original evidence could only be opened with two keys.”
“One was in his safe-deposit box.”
“And the other?”
“He gave it to your grandmother.”
I stared at her.
“My grandmother died eight years ago.”
Rachel shook her head.
“That is what your family told everyone.”
The room went silent.
Mercer leaned closer.
“What are you saying?”
May you like
Rachel swallowed.
“Your grandmother may still be alive.”
