Chapter 8 - THE MESSAGE
Alexander found the old voicemail in a backup of Hannah’s phone records. He asked me to listen with him.
Hannah sounded breathless. Traffic rushed behind her.
“Eleanor, I’m coming back for Noah. We need to talk about the papers Bell showed me. Please don’t tell Alexander I left with them. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
The message ended.
Alexander checked the date.
It was recorded two days before Hannah’s accident.
Eleanor had said Hannah called the night she died.
“Why lie about two days?” I asked.
“Because there was time to speak to her,” Alexander said.
He confronted Eleanor in the library. This time she didn’t deny it.
“Hannah came back the next morning,” she said. “We argued again. She wanted to take Noah away for a while.”
“Why?” Alexander asked.
“She said someone had been using his name on financial documents.”
Alexander stared at her. “Noah was two.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell me?”
“I told your lawyers. They said it was a mistake that could be corrected.”
“What documents?”
“I never saw them. Bell had them.”
Mrs. Bell had handled household bills, trust paperwork, and appointments for years. Alexander called his attorney and ordered a review of every document involving Noah.
By evening, the lawyer found something.
A small company called North Star Holdings had opened an account using Noah’s trust information shortly before Hannah died. It had received payments from three Sterling vendors. The amounts were large enough to matter, but the account had been closed after Hannah’s accident.
“Who controlled it?” Alexander asked over speakerphone.
“We’re requesting the bank records,” the lawyer said. “The authorization on file bears your signature.”
“I never signed it.”
The lawyer paused. “There is also Hannah’s.”
Alexander looked at me.
I had felt his gaze before: in the ballroom, after he saw my resignation. Then he was afraid I might leave. Now he seemed afraid of how many people had stayed near his son for reasons he didn’t understand.
A crash sounded upstairs.
We ran to Noah’s room.
The window was open. Wind stirred the curtains. His bed was empty.
“Noah?” I called.
A small voice came from the closet.
He was curled behind the hanging clothes with Bunny pressed over his ears.
“Someone knocked on the glass,” he whispered.
Marcus searched the terrace outside the window. On the wet stone lay an envelope held down by a flowerpot.
Inside was a photograph of Hannah beside Mrs. Bell.
May you like
On the back, in handwriting I recognized from Noah’s birthday picture, Hannah had written:
If anything happens to me, ask Lena what she saw.
