Chapter 13 - The Brother's Secret
By midnight, my lake estate had become an emergency operations center.
Olivia was working through the foundation's financial records with our independent accountant.
Two security professionals were reviewing surveillance footage.
Evelyn Brooks sat in the library, wrapped in a blanket, with a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
And David was standing in front of Arthur Ellison's old fireplace, trying to explain why his sister might be connected to the newest threat against my life.
"Chloe worked directly for Andrew," he said. "But she also handled certain executive accounts after Mercer became involved with the company."
I folded my arms.
"Your sister helped my husband steal marital assets, concealed a multimillion-dollar penthouse purchase, and stood by while they tried to leave me with nothing."
"I know."
"Now you're telling me she might have handled transactions connected to stolen military medical supplies?"
"I'm telling you she contacted me six weeks ago."
I stared at him.
"Six weeks?"
He nodded.
"She said someone was pressuring her to approve invoices after she'd left Ellison Logistics."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"She asked for help finding an attorney. I referred her to independent counsel. I didn't know whether her claims were true."
I took a slow breath.
I understood confidentiality.
I understood family loyalty.
But I also understood what happened when people decided that withholding information was easier than telling an uncomfortable truth.
"David, I need to know whether you can work on this without protecting Chloe at the expense of everyone else."
His expression hardened.
"She is my sister. That doesn't make her innocent."
"And if she's involved?"
"Then she needs to accept responsibility."
I studied him.
"Even if it destroys your relationship?"
He looked toward the dark window.
"That relationship was damaged long before you met either of us."
His voice carried a sadness I hadn't heard before.
"When our mother got sick, I was stationed overseas. Chloe took a job with Ellison Logistics. Andrew made her feel important. He bought her things. Then he convinced her that rules were for people who didn't understand how powerful men operated."
"She made her own choices, David."
"I know."
He turned back toward me.
"That's what hurts."
Before I could answer, Olivia entered the library.
"Someone is calling the foundation's emergency line."
"Who?"
"She says her name is Chloe Vance."
David and I exchanged a look.
"Put her through," I said.
Olivia connected the call to the library speaker.
At first, all I heard was uneven breathing.
Then a woman's trembling voice.
"Mara?"
"Chloe."
"I know you hate me."
"Hate isn't the issue. Why are you calling?"
A muffled sound came through the speaker.
A door closing.
Then Chloe whispered, "Because they're going to make it look like you stole the money."
My pulse quickened.
"Who?"
"Mercer. He has people inside the company and contacts at the bank. They're building a story around your foundation."
"What story?"
"That you used the Ellison trust to funnel company money into a fraudulent veterans charity."
I looked at Olivia.
She shook her head in disbelief.
"Where are the documents coming from?" I asked.
"Old account permissions. Some electronic records. I don't know everything."
"Did you help prepare them?"
Silence.
"Chloe."
"At first, I thought I was just updating legacy account files."
"That's not an answer."
"I signed two forms," she whispered. "I didn't realize what they were being used for until I saw your name on the next set."
David moved closer to the speaker.
"Chloe, it's David."
She began crying.
"Please don't be angry."
"I'm not interested in being angry. Where are you?"
"In a motel near O'Hare."
"Are you safe?"
"I don't know."
I sat down.
"Chloe, listen carefully. Do not delete anything. Don't contact Mercer. Your attorney needs to preserve your records and arrange a safe way for you to speak to investigators."
"He already knows I'm talking."
"What makes you think that?"
"Someone left an envelope under my door."
"What was inside?"
Her breathing accelerated.
"A photograph of me at the penthouse. And a copy of the property waiver Andrew forged against you."
A chill moved through me.
"Was there a message?"
"Yes."
"Read it."
Chloe hesitated.
Then she whispered, "Ask your brother what he did with the missing page."
David went completely still.
I turned toward him.
"What missing page?"
His face was pale.
"Chloe, hang up and call your attorney. Have him contact the authorities if you're threatened."
"But—"
"Now," he said.
The line disconnected.
For several seconds, I stared at him.
"David."
He closed his eyes.
"After Colonel Hayes died, a copy of one page from an old Ellison shipping ledger was sent to my military office."
"Which page?"
"One hundred nineteen."
I remembered the original black ledger.
Page eighty-four contained Arthur's shareholder covenant.
The remaining pages held decades of financial entries.
"What was on page one hundred nineteen?"
"I never received the full ledger. Just a photocopy with partial account numbers and a handwritten notation."
"Where is it?"
"I transferred it to the authorized investigative team. They logged it as potential evidence."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because the investigation remained restricted. I was told not to disclose evidence to anyone outside the team."
I walked toward Arthur's old desk.
For months, I had believed I knew every dangerous secret hidden inside that red leather book.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I opened my laptop and pulled up the digital inventory created when the ledger had entered private custody.
Page 117.
Page 118.
Then a torn binding.
Page 120.
My heart began pounding.
"David."
He looked up.
"Page one hundred nineteen is missing from the original."
His eyes widened.
I enlarged the inventory photograph.
Along the torn edge was a faint pencil mark.
Three letters.
M.V.C.
David stepped closer.
"What does that stand for?"
I stared at the screen.
Then I remembered Arthur's handwritten notes in his old gardening journal.
He used initials for the people he trusted with dangerous information.
M.V.C.
Marcus.
Vance.
Calder?
No.
I looked again.
The last letter was not a C.
It was an O, partly cut by the torn page.
M.V.O.
"Maybe it's an organization," I murmured.
David shook his head.
"Or an account."
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent me a photograph.
It showed the missing ledger page lying on a polished wooden desk.
Beside it was a current newspaper.
And beneath the photograph appeared one sentence.
Your husband wasn't the first Ellison to betray you.
I stared at the screen.
Because in the photograph, partly reflected in the glass covering the desk, was a face I recognized.
May you like
Ruth Ellison.
My former mother-in-law.
