Chapter 18
BEATRICE'S SECRET
Beatrice was waiting for them.
She sat alone inside a small café three blocks from the courthouse, wearing a dark coat and no jewelry.
That alone told Eleanor something was wrong.
Beatrice had once been obsessed with appearances.
Now she looked exhausted.
When Eleanor entered, Beatrice stood.
“I knew you would come.”
Eleanor sat across from her.
“You accessed the Chloe Hope Trust.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone else was trying to access it.”
Marcus leaned against the wall.
“Who?”
Beatrice looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Eleanor's patience disappeared.
“Beatrice, I have spent two years cleaning up the destruction our family caused. If you know something, tell me now.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“I found the account by accident.”
“That's not possible.”
“It is.”
She reached into her purse and placed a small USB drive on the table.
“I found it in Arthur's old legal files.”
Eleanor stared at the device.
“Arthur knew about the trust?”
“He knew there was money somewhere.”
“Did he steal from it?”
“No.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“That’s what I couldn't understand.”
She lowered her voice.
“Arthur tried to protect it.”
Eleanor blinked.
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
The word felt impossible.
After everything Arthur had done, Eleanor wasn't ready to believe he had secretly protected anything.
Beatrice continued.
“Before Chloe died, Arthur discovered Northstar was using medical records without authorization. He was terrified.”
“Then why didn't he stop them?”
“Because by then, Margaret had already taken control of the board.”
Eleanor's jaw tightened.
“And Arthur was too afraid.”
Beatrice nodded.
“He made terrible choices. He lied. He manipulated people. He betrayed you. But when he discovered what Northstar had done to Chloe's records, he tried to shut it down.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“Why didn't he tell Eleanor?”
“Because he believed Margaret would destroy the family if he exposed her.”
Eleanor laughed bitterly.
“She destroyed it anyway.”
Beatrice looked down.
“I know.”
Eleanor picked up the USB drive.
“What’s on this?”
“Your father’s final research.”
Eleanor inserted it into Marcus's laptop.
Hundreds of documents appeared.
Research proposals.
Medical invoices.
Board correspondence.
Then one file caught Eleanor's attention.
PROJECT CHLOE — FINAL REPORT.
Her hands went cold.
Marcus opened it.
The report contained a timeline of Chloe's medical treatment.
But at the bottom was something Eleanor had never seen.
A warning.
PATIENT SAMPLE SHOWS ABNORMAL CONTAMINATION.
Eleanor stared.
“That's impossible.”
Marcus read further.
“The sample was collected before Chloe's final hospitalization.”
“So the contamination existed before she became critically ill,” Eleanor whispered.
Beatrice nodded.
“There’s more.”
She opened another file.
A photograph appeared.
Thomas Sterling stood beside a young doctor.
Eleanor recognized the doctor immediately.
Dr. Helen Vance.
Eleanor's breathing stopped.
“My father knew her.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice pointed to the date.
It was taken twenty-three years earlier.
Before Eleanor had graduated high school.
Before Chloe had been born.
Before Northstar had even existed.
Eleanor looked at Beatrice.
“What were they planning?”
Beatrice whispered,
“To build a medical center where no child would ever be treated according to their family's wealth.”
Eleanor looked at the hospital outside the window.
The realization struck her like lightning.
Her father had dreamed of this place long before Chloe died.
Maybe Chloe hadn't created the center.
Maybe Chloe had completed it.
Then Beatrice reached into her purse again.
This time she pulled out a photograph.
Eleanor stared.
It showed Thomas Sterling holding a newborn baby.
The baby was Chloe.
On the back, her father's handwriting said:
My little reason to make this world better.
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
For two years, she had believed her father's legacy was another prison.
Now she realized it might be a promise.
But before she could speak, Beatrice's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her face went white.
“What happened?” Eleanor asked.
Beatrice whispered,
May you like
“Someone knows we found the trust.”
Then the café lights went out.
