Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO RAISED HIM
Charles Whitmore answered Nathan’s call on the second ring.
“Nathan. I was just about to call you.”
Nathan stood alone in his father’s old study.
Police were downstairs interviewing Rosa and Emma.
Caroline had been escorted to the Greenwich station for questioning after officers found Rosa’s phone in Caroline’s bedroom safe along with several envelopes containing cash.
Nathan had refused to go with them.
Not yet.
First, he needed to hear Charles lie.
“What did you want to discuss?” Nathan asked.
“The board meeting Monday. We’ve got an issue with the London acquisition.”
His voice was calm.
Warm.
Familiar.
Nathan could almost see him sitting in the leather chair at Whitmore Farm, a glass of bourbon in one hand.
The man who had attended every graduation.
Every birthday after Daniel died.
The man who had taught Nathan how to tie a Windsor knot before his first investor dinner.
Nathan looked at the frozen image on Emma’s phone.
Charles standing in the study.
Caroline beside him.
“Were you at my house yesterday?”
Silence.
Then a chuckle.
“For twenty minutes. Caroline asked me to drop off some wedding documents.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think I needed permission.”
“You went into my private study.”
Another pause.
“She said you’d approved it.”
“Did I?”
“Nathan, what’s this about?”
There it was.
The slight change.
Charles always became paternal when he needed control.
Nathan had mistaken it for concern his entire life.
“Do you remember the night my father died?”
The other end went silent.
A long time.
Finally Charles said, “Of course.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember getting the call.”
“That’s all?”
“Nathan.”
“What road was he on?”
“You know this.”
“Say it.”
Charles exhaled.
“Merritt Parkway.”
“What was the weather?”
“Storming.”
“What happened to his car?”
“The police concluded he lost control.”
Nathan stared through the windows at the dark lawn.
“And the brakes?”
This time the silence was different.
Dead.
“Nathan.”
“You’re taking too long.”
“I don’t know what Caroline has told you.”
Nathan almost laughed.
“I didn’t mention Caroline.”
Charles said nothing.
The last twenty-three years collapsed inside that silence.
Nathan ended the call.
Miles Benton, Nathan’s longtime attorney, stood near the doorway.
“You got enough?”
Nathan looked at him.
“Enough for me.”
“Not enough for prosecutors.”
“Then we get more.”
Miles had arrived thirty minutes after Nathan called him.
Unlike most people around Nathan, Miles had never worked for Charles.
Nathan suddenly appreciated that fact.
Miles placed a folder on the desk.
“I pulled what I could on short notice.”
“What?”
“Your father’s accident report.”
Nathan stared.
“I read it when I was eighteen.”
“Read it again.”
Nathan opened the file.
Photographs.
A black Mercedes destroyed against trees.
Rain-slick pavement.
Police notes.
No skid marks.
One line stood out.
BRAKE SYSTEM DAMAGE CONSISTENT WITH IMPACT.
“Consistent with impact,” Nathan read.
“That’s what the original report said.”
“Original?”
Miles turned three pages.
“A mechanical consultant raised concerns two days later.”
Nathan found the supplementary report.
POSSIBLE PRE-IMPACT HYDRAULIC FAILURE.
Nathan looked up.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“It was withdrawn.”
“By whom?”
“Consultant’s request.”
“Name?”
“Harold Beech.”
“Find him.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“He disappeared from Connecticut three months after your father died.”
Nathan stared at him.
“Dead?”
“No. Changed his name.”
Nathan’s pulse increased.
“Where is he?”
“Vermont.”
Nathan grabbed his coat.
Miles blocked the door.
“No.”
Nathan glared at him.
“You work for me.”
“I’m your attorney. That means occasionally stopping you from doing something stupid.”
“My father was murdered.”
“Possibly.”
“You heard the recording.”
“I heard a recording made by an eight-year-old from a hallway. We need chain of custody, forensic verification and corroboration.”
Nathan hated that he was right.
Miles continued.
“And right now Rosa and her daughter are downstairs frightened out of their minds.”
Nathan looked toward the hallway.
“You can fly to Vermont tomorrow. Tonight, deal with what happened under your own roof.”
The words struck.
Nathan slowly removed his coat.
Downstairs, Emma sat at the kitchen island eating cereal despite it being nearly eleven at night.
Rosa sat beside her with a police detective.
When the interview ended, Rosa stood.
“Mr. Cole, we should leave.”
Nathan frowned.
“Where?”
“Home.”
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
She stiffened.
“I appreciate what you did, but—”
“That came out wrong.”
Rosa’s expression softened slightly.
Nathan tried again.
“Caroline had access to your address, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And the man Emma called Grant?”
“He followed me twice.”
Nathan went still.
“You didn’t tell the police that?”
“I did.”
“Then staying alone tonight isn’t safe.”
“My sister lives in Port Chester.”
“Caroline could know that too.”
Rosa looked exhausted.
Nathan lowered his voice.
“The guest wing has its own entrance. You and the children can stay there. No one will bother you.”
“The children?”
“Mateo.”
Rosa blinked.
“He’s with my sister.”
“I’ll have someone bring both of them here.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t want charity.”
“It’s not charity.”
“Then what is it?”
Nathan looked around the enormous kitchen.
At the polished stone.
The imported fixtures.
Everything he had paid attention to while ignoring the people who kept it running.
“Responsibility.”
Rosa studied him for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Only tonight.”
“Okay.”
Emma finished her cereal.
Nathan sat opposite her.
“You did something very brave today.”
Emma shrugged.
“I was scared.”
“You can be brave and scared at the same time.”
“My mom says that.”
“Your mom sounds smart.”
Rosa almost smiled.
Nathan pushed the phone gently back toward Emma.
“The police copied everything. This is yours.”
Emma didn’t take it.
“You keep it.”
“Why?”
“In case the bad people come back.”
Something in Nathan’s chest tightened.
“No.”
She frowned.
“No?”
“You’re eight years old. You don’t have to collect evidence anymore.”
Emma looked toward her mother.
“Then who will?”
“I will.”
She considered that.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Rich people promises or real promises?”
Rosa looked mortified.
“Emma.”
But Nathan nearly smiled.
“Real promises.”
At midnight, Mateo arrived.
Nathan had expected a toddler for some reason.
Instead a six-year-old boy stepped from Rosa’s sister’s car wearing dinosaur pajamas beneath a winter coat.
He was sleepy, thin and deeply suspicious.
Rosa hugged him.
Emma whispered something in his ear.
Mateo looked at Nathan.
“You’re the boss?”
Nathan crouched.
“Apparently.”
“Mom says you work too much.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
Nathan smiled.
“She’s right.”
Mateo accepted that answer.
Then Nathan noticed the medical alert bracelet around his wrist.
His smile disappeared.
“Did we get his medicine?”
Rosa nodded.
“The pharmacy had an emergency supply after the police called.”
“Tomorrow we fix everything.”
Rosa looked at him.
“You cannot fix everything with money.”
The words could have offended him once.
Tonight they didn’t.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m beginning to understand that.”
His phone vibrated.
Miles.
Nathan answered.
“We have a problem,” Miles said.
“What?”
“Charles just called an emergency board meeting for eight tomorrow morning.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Nathan went still.
Miles continued.
“He’s telling directors you suffered some kind of emotional breakdown tonight and falsely accused Caroline of criminal conduct.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“That won’t work.”
“It might.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles controls four board seats.”
Nathan knew that.
“And because Caroline’s father controls two more.”
Nathan frowned.
Caroline rarely spoke about her father.
Richard Ashford owned a private investment company in Boston.
Or so Nathan had been told.
Miles continued.
“I started digging into him too.”
“And?”
“Richard Ashford isn’t Caroline’s biological father.”
Nathan straightened.
“Then who is?”
Miles hesitated.
“A man named Thomas Whitmore.”
Nathan’s blood turned cold.
Charles’s younger brother.
A man who supposedly died overseas when Caroline was a child.
Miles spoke the next words carefully.
“Nathan, Caroline isn’t just working with Charles.”
He paused.
“She’s his niece.”
Nathan stared into the darkness outside.
The engagement had not been romance.
It had been placement.
May you like
And suddenly six weeks until a wedding felt less like a celebration date and more like a deadline.
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