A knock came at the door.
All three turned.
Richard looked at Margaret.
“Were you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
Daniel moved toward the door.
Richard stopped him.
“Wait.”
He approached himself.
Before opening it, he looked through the glass.
A woman stood outside.
She was in her early sixties.
Gray hair.
Elegant navy suit.
She held a folder against her chest.
Richard recognized her immediately.
His breath caught.
“Clara.”
Margaret looked surprised.
“Clara Whitmore?”
Richard nodded.
Clara Whitmore had worked for the company for thirty-one years.
She had started as Samuel Bennett's executive assistant.
After Samuel's death, she had continued working for Richard.
But three years earlier, she had retired unexpectedly.
Richard had never understood why.
He opened the door.
“Come in.”
Clara entered.
She looked at Richard.
Then at Margaret.
Then at Daniel.
Her eyes stopped on the cassette recorder.
Her face went pale.
“You found it.”
Richard closed the door.
“You knew about it.”
Clara looked down.
“Yes.”
Margaret stared at her.
“Knew about what?”
Clara placed the folder on the desk.
“The truth.”
Richard didn't sit.
“How much?”
Clara took a slow breath.
“Almost everything.”
The room became silent.
Richard looked at her.
“You knew my father had a partner.”
“Yes.”
“You knew his name was Elias Ward.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about Northbridge Capital.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
Clara's eyes filled with sadness.
“Your father made me promise.”
Richard's voice hardened.
“My father has been dead for twelve years.”
“I know.”
“Then the promise is over.”
Clara looked at him.
“No.”
Richard frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Because your father didn't ask me to keep the secret after his death.”
She paused.
“He asked me to keep it until the right moment.”
Richard stared at her.
“And when is the right moment?”
Clara's voice trembled.
“Today.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“Why?”
Clara looked at Richard.
“Because they know you found the tape.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“How?”
“They always know.”
Daniel frowned.
“Who are they?”
Clara looked at him.
“That's the problem.”
She opened her folder.
Inside were old photographs.
Documents.
Letters.
Richard picked up the first photograph.
It showed his father standing beside two men.
One was younger Elias Ward.
The other was a man Richard recognized.
He nearly dropped the photograph.
It was Thomas Mercer.
The current head of Facilities.
Richard stared at the picture.
“No.”
Clara nodded.
“Yes.”
“Thomas was there?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
Margaret took the photograph.
“Who is the third man?”
Clara looked at her.
“Thomas's father.”
Richard's mind raced.
“Wait.”
He took the photograph back.
His father's expression was different from how Richard remembered him.
Serious.
Guarded.
And standing between the two men was a younger man Richard had never seen before.
A man in a dark suit.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten date.
October 14, 2004.
The same date as the recording.
Richard looked at Clara.
“What happened that night?”
Clara sat down.
“Your father discovered that Elias had been moving company money.”
Richard nodded.
“The Northbridge transactions.”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
Clara shook her head.
“Elias wasn't stealing it.”
Richard frowned.
“What?”
“He was moving it.”
“Where?”
“Into accounts controlled by people inside the company.”
Richard's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Clara looked at him.
“People your father trusted.”
Margaret whispered,
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Richard felt his stomach tighten.
“Names.”
Clara hesitated.
“I can give you six.”
“Why not seven?”
“Because the seventh person is still alive.”
Richard stared at her.
“Who?”
Clara looked toward the office door.
Then she whispered,
“Your father's legal adviser.”
Margaret frowned.
“Who was that?”
Clara didn't answer immediately.
Then she said,
“James Bennett.”
Richard froze.
His own uncle.
His father's younger brother.
Richard stepped backward.
“That isn't possible.”
Clara nodded.
“I know.”
“My uncle died before I joined the company.”
“He disappeared.”
Richard looked at her.
“What?”
“He didn't die.”
Silence.
Richard sat down.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
His uncle James had supposedly died in a boating accident twenty-five years earlier.
Richard had been seventeen.
He remembered the funeral.
The photographs.
The condolences.
His father's grief.
At least, he thought he did.
But Clara was telling him something else.
“Why would my father fake his death?”
“He didn't.”
Richard stared at her.
“Then who did?”
Clara looked at him.
“Elias.”
Richard stood abruptly.
“This makes no sense.”
“It will.”
“No, it won't.”
Clara's voice became firm.
“Richard, your father spent years trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From the people who wanted control of Whitmore.”
Richard shook his head.
“Then why didn't he tell me?”
“Because you were young.”
“I was twenty-five when I became CEO.”
“And by then, he believed it was safer for you not to know.”
Richard laughed bitterly.
“Safer?”
“Yes.”
“He left me a company built on lies.”
Clara flinched.
“Your father believed the truth would destroy you.”
Richard stared at her.
“Maybe he was wrong.”
Clara nodded.
“Maybe.”
Margaret interrupted.
“Where is James now?”
Clara looked at her.
“I don't know.”
“You said he didn't die.”
“He didn't.”
“Then where is he?”
Clara lowered her voice.
“Somewhere in this city.”
Richard's eyes narrowed.
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Richard went still.
“Where?”
“Across the street from Whitmore Tower.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Did he see you?”
Clara nodded.
“He came to me.”
“What did he say?”
Clara's eyes filled with fear.
“He told me Elias was back.”
Richard looked at the cassette.
“Then why didn't you come to me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Elias?”
Clara shook her head.
“Of your uncle.”
Richard stared at her.
“James?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because James wasn't Elias's victim.”
She paused.
“He was his partner.”
The words landed like a blow.
Richard turned away.
His uncle.
His father's brother.
The man he had believed dead for twenty-five years.
A partner in the conspiracy.
Chapter 7
A man who had helped move company money.
A man who had apparently disappeared and returned only recently.
Richard's mind replayed the photograph.
Thomas Mercer.