I crossed the room before anyone could stop me.
“Where is she?”
Daniel backed against the wall.
“Claire—”
“Where is Eleanor?”
“I promised her.”
I almost struck him.
My hand actually lifted before I caught myself.
“A woman I was told vanished twenty-eight years ago is apparently my biological mother. You saw her three weeks ago, and you’re worried about breaking a promise?”
“She was terrified.”
“So am I.”
That stopped him.
Daniel looked at me properly.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right.”
The investigator positioned herself near the door.
“Mr. Harrington, you need to tell us everything about your contact with Eleanor Shaw.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“My last name is Mercer.”
I had forgotten how much he hated being casually grouped under Dad’s surname.
Daniel’s mother, Aunt Patricia, was Dad’s younger sister.
Grandpa’s daughter.
“Fine,” the investigator said. “Mr. Mercer.”
Daniel glanced toward Aunt Patricia.
She looked stunned.
“You knew?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Not until three weeks ago.”
“Start there,” I said.
Daniel returned slowly to his chair.
He did not sit.
“Someone called my office.”
“Eleanor?”
“She didn’t give her name.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether Richard still controlled Harrington Supply.”
Martin and I exchanged a look.
Daniel continued.
“I thought it was a sales call or maybe some former employee with a complaint. I told her I didn’t work there anymore.”
“Why contact you?”
“She remembered me.”
“You were thirteen.”
“I used to visit Grandpa’s office after school.”
A memory surfaced.
Daniel eating vending-machine pretzels in Grandpa’s conference room.
I had been too young to remember Eleanor, but Daniel had been old enough.
“She saw you there.”
“A few times.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Not until we met.”
“Where?”
“A diner outside Rockford.”
The investigator was writing.
“What date?”
“September seventeenth.”
Three weeks ago.
“What did she want?”
“To know about Claire.”
My chest tightened.
Daniel looked at me.
“She asked whether you were safe.”
“Safe from Dad?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you hadn’t depended on Richard for years.”
“And?”
“She cried.”
That tiny detail hurt more than almost everything else.
I pictured a stranger crying in a diner because she learned I was safe.
“She asked about Vanessa too.”
Vanessa looked surprised.
“Me?”
“She remembered you.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
Daniel continued.
“She asked whether Richard had ever hurt either of you physically.”
“No,” I said.
Vanessa shook her head.
“He didn’t need to,” she whispered.
Daniel nodded as though Eleanor had expected that answer.
“What happened next?” Martin asked.
“She gave me the photograph.”
“The one found in Richard’s safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did he get it?”
Daniel looked miserable.
“I gave it to him.”
Vanessa exploded.
“What?”
“I panicked.”
“You gave Dad proof that Eleanor was alive?”
“He already knew.”
That silenced us.
“How?” I asked.
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Because he called me the next morning.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether anyone unusual had contacted me.”
Martin muttered something under his breath.
Daniel continued.
“I lied. Said no. Then Richard told me there were people trying to damage the family and that I should report any contact immediately.”
“So you gave him the photograph.”
“Two days later.”
“Why?”
“He threatened my mother.”
Aunt Patricia stood.
“What?”
Daniel turned toward her.
“He said the company loan on your house could be called.”
Her face went blank.
Dad had arranged that loan after her divorce.
Of course he had.
Every favor contained a hook.
Daniel looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell him where Eleanor was?”
“No.”
“Did you warn her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Immediately after leaving Richard’s house.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
My anger returned.
“You met her.”
“At the diner. She wouldn’t tell me where she was staying.”
“Phone number?”
“Prepaid phone. Disconnected the next day.”
“Did she give you anything else?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Yes.”
He reached inside his jacket.
The investigator tensed.
Daniel slowly removed a small brass key.
“She told me to keep this until Claire asked the right question.”
I stared at him.
“What right question?”
“She said you would know.”
“That is absurd.”
“I told her the same thing.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
The key had a stamped number.
317.
Martin recognized it.
“Storage locker.”
“Where?”
“Could be anywhere,” he said.
Daniel shook his head.
“She mentioned Union Station.”
Chicago.
The investigator took the key but photographed it before placing it in an evidence bag.
“Did Eleanor say why she came back now?”
Daniel nodded.
“She heard Richard was moving money.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“She had someone inside Harrington Supply.”
Peter.
I knew before Daniel said anything else.
“Was his name Peter Lang?”
Daniel looked surprised.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to click into a new configuration.
Peter had not randomly contacted me.
Eleanor had sent him.
“Peter works for her?”
“I don’t know. She said Peter was someone she trusted.”
Martin leaned toward me.
“That explains why his first package contained records he shouldn’t have had access to.”
“What do you mean?”
“The older transactions. They predated his employment.”
I remembered.
We had assumed someone else inside accounting supplied them.
Now there was another possibility.
Eleanor had been collecting evidence for years.
“Where is Peter?”
Martin looked uncomfortable.
“I haven’t heard from him in twelve days.”
The investigator looked up.
“Was that unusual?”
“Yes.”
“Did you report him missing?”
“He resigned electronically. I assumed he had become frightened.”
“Did anyone verify the resignation?”
“No.”
I took out my phone.
Peter’s last message remained in our encrypted chat.
I had read it dozens of times.
I’m sorry. I can’t continue. Don’t contact me.
At the time, it sounded frightened.
Now something bothered me.
Peter always called me Ms. Harrington, even in texts.
The message didn’t.
I showed Martin.
He saw it too.
“That may not be Peter.”
The investigator photographed my screen.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Eleanor said Richard knew someone had been feeding you information.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Before the dinner was planned.”
I looked toward the remains of the meal.
Seventeen relatives.
A private room.
Dad insisting I attend.
The enormous bill.
The public humiliation.
“What exactly did Eleanor say?”
Daniel thought.
“She said Richard would try to provoke you.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t know.”
Martin did.
“To make Claire react publicly.”
I turned.
“What?”
“If Richard expected an investigation, he needed a story about you.”
“What story?”
“A resentful daughter obsessed with money.”
Vanessa stared at the bill.
“Oh.”
I followed her gaze.
The pieces assembled themselves.
Dad had not merely invited me to make me pay.
He wanted witnesses.
If I exploded over the bill, he could later say I was vindictive, greedy, unstable.
Every person in the room would remember the scene.
“He staged this.”
Martin nodded.
“The dinner was bait.”
My humiliation had been evidence Dad intended to manufacture.
Except Martin had walked in.
Dad’s trap had become his own exposure.
Vanessa looked sick.
“He told me to tease her.”
I turned.
“What?”
Her voice dropped.
“Before dinner. Dad said if you complained about the restaurant, I should remind everyone how much money you make.”
“Why?”
“I thought he wanted to embarrass you.”
“He did.”
“No. I mean I thought that was all.”
She covered her face.
“He wanted me to provoke you.”
I remembered Vanessa’s smirk.
The comment that six thousand dollars wouldn’t ruin me.
Scripted.
Not entirely, perhaps. Vanessa had supplied years of resentment herself.
But Dad had nudged it into place.
The investigator’s phone rang.
She answered.
We watched her expression change.
“What?” Martin asked when she hung up.
“They located Peter Lang.”
Relief came first.
Then I saw her face.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“Where?”
“St. Joseph Medical Center.”
“Why?”
“He was admitted eleven days ago after a single-car accident.”
Martin and I looked at each other.
“Condition?”
“Stable now. He suffered a head injury.”
“Has anyone spoken with him?”
“He apparently regained full consciousness yesterday.”
I grabbed my coat.
The investigator raised a hand.
“You’re not going anywhere until we coordinate this.”
“He contacted me.”
“And someone may have tried to stop him.”
I froze.
“You think the accident wasn’t accidental?”
“I’m saying we don’t know.”
Daniel suddenly spoke.
“Claire.”
I turned.
“There’s something else Eleanor told me.”
I waited.
“She said if anything happened to Peter, the locker would explain why.”
My eyes went to the evidence bag containing the brass key.
317.
Martin stood.
“Then we need Union Station.”
The investigator nodded.
“We’ll have officers check it.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“If Eleanor left that key for me, I’m going.”
“That may not be safe.”
“Neither was spending thirty-six years believing Richard’s version of my life.”
Vanessa reached for her coat.
“I’m coming too.”
I looked at her.
She lifted her chin.
“You can hate me later.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Her face changed.
“I’m not sure that makes me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
Daniel almost smiled.
The investigator’s phone buzzed again.
She checked the message.
Then looked directly at me.
“Plans have changed.”
“What happened?”
“Peter Lang just asked hospital staff for you.”
My heartbeat jumped.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
She read the message once more.
“He said Claire Harrington needs to know why Eleanor Shaw came back.”
I grabbed my coat.
The investigator continued.
“And he said she didn’t come back because of the stolen money.”
I stopped.
“Then why?”
Her eyes met mine.
“According to Peter, Eleanor came back because Richard Harrington has been trying to find you a second time.”
“A second time?”
She nodded.
“And Peter says the first time was the night you were born.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Peter’s Hospital Confession Revealed Why Dad Feared My Birth, and Locker 317 Contained Proof Grandpa Had Hidden for Decades
My Father Finally Invited Me Back to Dinner, but the Check Revealed Why Everyone Had Been So Welcoming
Part 7 of 35
