Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT RICHARD NAMED
Ethan did not sleep.
At six fifteen in the morning, he sat in the security room with the microSD card on the desk between himself and Marcus Vale.
Marcus wore latex gloves.
Ethan did not.
He had already touched the card when he found it.
That mistake irritated him more than it should have.
He was starting to see everything as contaminated.
The house.
The evidence.
His marriage.
His judgment.
Marcus examined the card beneath a small desk lamp.
“There’s blood.”
“I saw it.”
“Could be from whoever removed it.”
“I know.”
Marcus looked up.
“Who knew you found this?”
“No one.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
“Not Mrs. Whitmore?”
“No.”
“Not Claire?”
“No.”
Marcus sat back.
“That was smart.”
Ethan watched him.
“Why?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Because until we know what is on this card, anyone could have a reason to destroy it.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed.
“Anyone?”
Marcus held his gaze.
“Anyone.”
Ethan understood the warning.
He also understood that Marcus was afraid to say Sophia’s name.
“Can you read it?”
“Possibly.”
Marcus inserted the card into an isolated reader.
The computer recognized a storage device.
A folder appeared.
Ethan leaned forward.
There were twenty-seven video files.
Marcus clicked the newest one.
A password prompt appeared.
He frowned.
“That shouldn’t be encrypted.”
“Can you break it?”
“Eventually.”
“How long?”
Marcus did not answer.
Ethan stared at him.
Marcus exhaled.
“Not with the estate system.”
“Why not?”
“If the card was intentionally encrypted, whoever did it may have configured an auto-wipe after failed attempts.”
Ethan felt his stomach tighten.
“Who has the ability to do that?”
Marcus looked at the screen.
“I do.”
He paused.
“And a competent outside technician.”
Ethan stood.
“Make a forensic image.”
Marcus nodded.
“I already started.”
Ethan looked at him.
Marcus gave a small tired smile.
“You pay me to be paranoid.”
For the first time that morning, Ethan almost trusted something.
Then Marcus said, “You should know one more thing.”
Ethan waited.
“The blood on the card is fresh.”
“I know.”
“Mrs. Whitmore has a cut on her right index finger.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
“How do you know?”
“She asked me for a bandage last night.”
The room became very still.
“When?”
“About eight forty-five.”
Six minutes before the scream.
Ethan slowly sat down again.
At seven thirty, Sophia entered the breakfast room wearing a navy dress and a white bandage around her right index finger.
Ethan was already seated at the table.
He looked at the bandage before he looked at her face.
She noticed.
“I broke a wine glass last night.”
Ethan poured coffee.
“I didn’t ask.”
Sophia pulled out the chair across from him.
“You were staring.”
He said nothing.
She sat.
For several seconds, the only sound was the clock above the sideboard.
Then Sophia said, “Where is your father?”
“Hotel.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s unlike you.”
Ethan looked at her.
“What is?”
“Not knowing where he is.”
Ethan lifted his coffee cup.
“You’ve spent years telling me he controls me.”
“I never said that.”
“You said he treats me like an employee instead of a son.”
“That is true.”
“You said he humiliates me in board meetings.”
“He does.”
“You said he never forgave me for marrying you.”
Sophia’s expression tightened.
“He didn’t.”
Ethan set down the cup.
“Then why do you care where he slept?”
Sophia leaned back.
“I care because he is going to retaliate.”
“Against what?”
“Against me.”
“For accusing him?”
“For not letting him control me.”
Ethan studied her.
“You keep changing the reason.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I told you the truth.”
“Then call the police.”
She looked away.
Ethan saw the bandage again.
“Cut your finger?”
Sophia stiffened.
“I told you.”
“Wine glass.”
“Yes.”
“What glass?”
Her eyes moved back to him.
“What?”
“Which wine glass?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you break it?”
“In the upstairs sitting room.”
“When?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
Ethan did not blink.
“When?”
Sophia pushed back her chair.
“This is insane.”
She stood.
Ethan remained seated.
“Northstar.”
She stopped.
He watched the back of her neck.
“What is it?”
“I already told you.”
“A vendor.”
“Yes.”
“Two point four million dollars.”
Sophia turned.
Her face was blank.
Ethan continued.
“Thirty-one months.”
She said nothing.
“Approved with my digital signature.”
Still nothing.
Ethan felt cold.
“You knew the amount.”
Sophia’s lips parted.
“You did not ask me the amount.”
Her face drained.
Ethan stood.
“You asked how much we paid it last night.”
Sophia stepped backward.
“I guessed.”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“You knew.”
She stared at him.
He took another step.
“What is Northstar?”
Sophia’s eyes flashed.
“You want to know what Northstar is?”
“Yes.”
“It is the reason your father thinks he can destroy anyone who gets too close to you.”
Ethan stopped.
“That means nothing.”
“It means he has been digging through our marriage for months.”
“He discovered payments from the foundation.”
“He discovered what he wanted to discover.”
“Then explain them.”
Sophia’s expression became suddenly calm.
“Ask him about Caroline.”
Ethan went still.
The name had not been spoken in that room for years.
Sophia watched the effect it had on him.
His first wife, Caroline, had drowned nine years earlier after falling from a marina dock during a storm.
The police had called it an accident.
Ethan had spent two years believing grief was a room he would never leave.
Sophia had been the first person who made him believe there might be a door.
Now she was using Caroline’s name like a knife.
“What did you say?”
Sophia held his gaze.
“Ask Richard why he was the last person in the family to see Caroline alive.”
Ethan’s face hardened.
“He wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop.”
Sophia stepped closer.
“Ask him why he paid a marina employee three hundred thousand dollars less than a week after she died.”
Ethan stared at her.
“That is a lie.”
“Ask him.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Sophia’s expression softened.
“You think your father has been investigating me?”
She shook her head.
“I learned a long time ago that the only way to survive Richard Whitmore is to investigate him first.”
Then she walked out.
Ethan remained beside the breakfast table.
He did not move for almost a minute.
His phone rang.
Claire.
He answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was tense.
“At the house.”
“You need to come to Dad’s hotel.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a lawyer here.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“What lawyer?”
“A probate attorney.”
His eyes opened.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Claire lowered her voice.
“Someone filed an emergency petition this morning asking the court to declare Dad mentally incompetent.”
Ethan’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
There was a pause.
“You.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
Claire continued.
“The petition has your electronic signature.”
Ethan looked toward the doorway Sophia had just walked through.
“I never filed anything.”
“I know.”
“No, Claire.”
His voice dropped.
“I never even discussed it.”
“Then somebody wants a judge to believe you did.”
Ethan stared at the empty doorway.
On the table, his coffee had gone cold.
At the hotel across town, Richard Whitmore was reading the same petition.
The document accused him of memory loss, paranoia, aggression, financial recklessness, and inappropriate behavior toward his daughter-in-law.
Attached to it were three videos.
In one, Richard appeared to forget the name of a longtime employee.
In another, he wandered into the wrong room during a family dinner.
In the third, he could be heard shouting at Sophia behind a closed door.
Richard watched each clip once.
Then he looked at the attorney.
“These were edited.”
The attorney nodded.
“I assumed.”
Richard tapped the last page.
“And this signature?”
“Digitally certified as Ethan’s.”
Claire stood beside the window.
“He says he didn’t sign it.”
Richard’s face revealed nothing.
The attorney leaned forward.
“There is a hearing scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Richard looked up.
“That fast?”
“The petition alleges immediate danger to yourself and others.”
Richard gave a quiet laugh.
There was no humor in it.
Claire turned from the window.
“What happens if the judge grants it?”
The attorney hesitated.
“Your father can be temporarily removed from control of his personal finances.”
“And the company?”
“That depends on the Whitmore Holdings proxy agreement.”
Richard’s expression changed.
He knew the answer before the attorney said it.
The attorney looked at him.
“If you are declared incapacitated, your voting proxy transfers to Ethan.”
Claire’s face hardened.
“And if someone is controlling Ethan?”
No one answered.
Richard looked down at the petition again.
In the lower corner of page nineteen, beneath Ethan’s electronic signature, was the name of the person who had notarized the filing.
Richard recognized it.
He had seen that name on one of the Northstar invoices.
He slid the document toward Claire.
“Call your brother.”
She looked down.
The notary’s name was Rebecca Sloan.
Claire frowned.
“Who is she?”
May you like
Richard’s eyes hardened.
“Northstar’s registered agent.”
