Chapter 5 - What My Father Was Testing

Thomas Reed looked nothing like a man who had helped murder someone.

That meant nothing.

I knew enough about Ethan’s world to understand appearance was the cheapest disguise.

Reed sat across from me in a secured interview room outside Indianapolis.

Detective Levin was on my left.

Ethan was not allowed inside.

That had been Reed’s condition.

He waited behind one-way glass with two detectives and, according to Levin, an expression nobody enjoyed looking at.

Reed folded his hands.

“I liked your father.”

“Then why did you disappear?”

“Because I knew how it would look.”

“That usually means it looks exactly right.”

He winced.

Fair.

I placed the photograph of North Shore’s ledger on the table.

“Dad paid you to take his car there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He thought someone at Hale Meridian was tracking him.”

My pulse changed.

“Who?”

“He never said.”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“Take the car to North Shore under the excuse of a possible corporate sale. Leave it for forty minutes. Then bring it back.”

Detective Levin leaned forward.

“Why would he want that?”

Reed looked at me.

“He was testing who touched it.”

I stared.

“What?”

“Your father believed the garage was being used for off-book payments. He wanted proof.”

“That is insane.”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly.

“He knew that.”

My father had always been brilliant about systems and reckless about himself.

As a child, I thought those qualities were unrelated.

Apparently not.

Reed continued.

“Daniel had a small camera installed beneath the rear bumper two days earlier.”

Detective Levin went still.

“Where is the recording?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who installed the camera?”

“Whitmore security.”

Levin checked her notes.

“We found no camera after the crash.”

“Then someone removed it.”

I felt sick.

“Did Dad know Ross would authorize the payment?”

“He suspected.”

“So the eighteen thousand was bait.”

“Yes.”

“And Ross took it.”

Reed nodded.

“Daniel called me after I brought the car back. He said the account had triggered exactly where he expected.”

I looked toward the glass.

Ethan was somewhere behind it, listening.

My father had been investigating Ross on his own.

Not because Ethan asked.

Maybe because he did not trust him.

Maybe because he did not trust anyone carrying the Hale or Carter name around Whitmore anymore.

“When did you last see Dad?”

“The night before the crash.”

“What did he say?”

Reed hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“He said he had enough to force Ross out.”

My throat tightened.

“Anything else?”

“He said if something happened, you would know where he kept the original project model.”

I stared at him.

“The theater model?”

Reed nodded.

I almost laughed from disbelief.

My father had hated architectural models.

Called them expensive dollhouses.

But he had kept mine.

The original North Entry concept.

It was stored in the basement design room at Hawthorne House.

Reed continued.

“Daniel said you were the only person who would understand why it mattered.”

I left the interview room before Levin finished.

Ethan was waiting in the hall.

“What did he say?”

I kept walking.

“Claire.”

“The model.”

“What model?”

“My theater model.”

He caught up.

I stopped so fast he nearly walked into me.

“Do not turn this into one of your operations.”

“I asked a question.”

“And I’m answering it. My father hid something in the model.”

Ethan stared.

“How do you know?”

“Because he trusted me to find it.”

The words were intentional.

They hurt him.

I was not proud.

I also did not apologize.

We drove back to Chicago with Levin’s team behind us.

At Hawthorne House, I went straight to the basement studio.

The model sat beneath a canvas cover.

White foam core.

Miniature stone arches.

The original narrow entrance I had fought to preserve.

Dad had repaired one corner after I dropped it months earlier.

I remembered yelling at him because he used the wrong adhesive.

He told me nobody but an architect would care.

I removed the base.

Nothing.

Ethan stayed several feet away.

For once, he did not reach.

I checked the repaired corner.

The adhesive line was thicker than I remembered.

Inside was a flash drive.

My knees almost gave out.

Ethan moved.

I held up one hand.

He stopped.

I put the drive into an offline laptop.

Three folders.

ROSS.

NORTH SHORE.

VICTORIA.

My stomach tightened at the third.

I opened Ross first.

Invoices.

Bank transfers.

Subcontractor registrations.

Enough to prove the shell companies were connected.

North Shore contained photographs from the hidden bumper camera.

One frame showed Paul Renner kneeling beside my father’s car.

Another showed Calvin Ross standing three feet away.

Not touching the vehicle.

Watching.

The timestamp was six days before the crash.

Detective Levin swore softly behind me.

I opened Victoria last.

Ethan’s face changed.

There were emails between my father and Victoria.

More than twenty.

The first was polite.

The second was not.

Dad had challenged the crowd-flow study.

Victoria defended it.

Then, four days before the crash, she changed.

She wrote:

DANIEL, YOU WERE RIGHT. THE REPORT CALVIN SENT ME WAS MODIFIED. I NEED TO SPEAK WITH GRANT BEFORE I SEND YOU ANYTHING ELSE.

My father replied:

DO NOT WAIT FOR GRANT.

SEND IT NOW.

Victoria never did.

I stared at the date.

That was the same day she flew to New York for her performance.

Ethan read over my shoulder.

I could feel his anger.

Not loud.

Worse.

“She knew.”

“She knew the report was altered.”

“She didn’t know about the brakes.”

“You don’t know that.”

Neither did I.

Detective Levin took the drive as evidence.

Before she sealed it, another file caught my eye.

Audio.

DANIEL_ROSS_1014.

Four days before the crash.

Levin played it.

My father’s voice:

“You used my daughter’s project to wash six million dollars.”

Ross:

“You’re making accusations you can’t prove.”

Dad:

“I already proved them.”

Ross laughed.

Then said something that changed the entire investigation.

“You think Ethan Carter is going to choose you over Hale Meridian when he sees what your evidence does to his company?”

My father answered:

“I’m not asking Ethan to choose me.”

Pause.

“I’m asking him whether he intends to be the kind of man my daughter believes she married.”

The recording ended.

Nobody spoke.

I could not look at Ethan.

Then Detective Levin’s phone rang.

She answered.

Her face changed.

Paul Renner had confessed to cutting the brake line.

But he claimed Calvin Ross never ordered him to kill my father.

According to Renner, the instruction had come from someone else.

Someone who had access to Ross’s accounts.

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Someone whose name made Ethan go completely still when Levin said it.

Victoria Hale.