Chapter 7 - A Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist
Ethan Mercer sat against the wall.
Blood from the cut above his eyebrow ran along his temple.
Claire stood several feet away from him.
“What did you do?”
Ethan looked at Roman.
Marcus’s voice crackled through the ceiling speaker.
“Go ahead.”
Roman scanned the room for another exit.
There was none.
“Turn the speaker off,” Claire said.
Roman looked at her.
“I want to hear Ethan without Marcus controlling the conversation.”
Roman found the wiring beneath the projector shelf and disconnected it.
Silence returned.
Claire faced Ethan.
“My mother died because of Marcus?”
Ethan nodded.
“And you knew?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you know?”
“Three days after the crash.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
Roman stepped closer, but she raised a hand.
Not yet.
Ethan continued.
“I found a traffic camera recording. Marcus’s vehicle followed Evelyn for eleven miles.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“Because Marcus wasn’t the person giving orders.”
Claire stared.
“Who was?”
“I didn’t know.”
“So you buried it.”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“Vincent ordered me to keep investigating privately.”
“And then?”
“Marcus disappeared for six months.”
Claire laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“My mother was dead, and he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Roman said quietly, “Claire.”
She turned toward him.
“No. He doesn’t get to call six years of silence a mistake.”
Ethan lowered his eyes.
“She’s right.”
That stopped her.
“I should have told you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Vincent believed Marcus would eventually lead us to the person above him.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Claire walked away.
Roman examined the hidden room again.
If Marcus had trapped them, he wanted time.
Why?
Roman looked at the projector.
The reels.
Then it came to him.
“He wants something in here.”
Ethan nodded.
“The ledger.”
“There is no ledger.”
“Maybe he thinks there is.”
Claire wiped her eyes.
“My mother took pages from it.”
Roman looked at her.
“Your letter.”
She nodded.
“She said she hid proof.”
“Where?”
“She never said.”
Roman remembered the box from the station.
Cassette recorder.
Photograph.
Letter.
Had they missed something?
“What happened to the cassette?”
Claire froze.
“The thief didn’t take it.”
“Where is it?”
“In my coat.”
She pulled it from the pocket.
Roman examined the recorder.
No tape.
He opened the battery compartment.
Inside, behind the batteries, was a folded piece of paper.
Claire carefully unfolded it.
Numbers.
Columns.
Initials.
Payments.
Dates.
Ethan stared.
“That’s one of the ledger pages.”
Claire’s mother had hidden proof in plain sight.
Roman read the names.
Most were coded.
But one notation appeared repeatedly.
M.R.
Marcus Reed?
Then another:
G.K.
Gabriel Kane.
Claire pointed.
“Gabriel was receiving payments too.”
Ethan frowned.
“He worked for Vincent.”
“Those amounts are different.”
Roman studied the dates.
Payments to Gabriel occurred monthly.
Payments to M.R. were irregular.
Large.
Roman turned the page over.
A handwritten note in Evelyn’s handwriting:
G.K. DOESN’T KNOW. MARCUS IS USING HIS ACCOUNT.
Claire whispered, “Gabriel was framed.”
Roman finally understood.
Someone had routed stolen funds through accounts attached to Gabriel.
Vincent discovered it.
He believed Gabriel responsible.
Marcus encouraged that belief.
Gabriel believed Vincent was setting him up.
And Ethan—
Roman looked at him.
“You stood between them.”
Ethan nodded bitterly.
“I thought I was preventing a war.”
“You helped create one.”
“Yes.”
Roman found a ventilation grate.
He removed the screws using part of the projector frame.
The opening was narrow.
Claire could fit.
Roman could not.
“No,” he said before she spoke.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I fit.”
“Still no.”
“We are locked underground while Marcus is searching the house.”
“No.”
Ethan said, “Roman.”
Roman glared at him.
“Don’t.”
“He’s right,” Claire said.
“You don’t know where the duct leads.”
“Yes, I do.”
Roman stared.
“Housekeeper.”
He closed his eyes.
Of course.
“It exits in the linen room beside the old ballroom.”
Claire crouched.
“I get out. Find help. Unlock the archive.”
Roman hated every part of the plan.
But he had no better one.
He caught her hand.
“Straight to security.”
“If I see anyone?”
“You trust nobody until you reach Lena Ortiz.”
“What about Marcus?”
“You run.”
Claire looked at him.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
For several seconds neither moved.
Then Claire climbed into the ventilation shaft.
Roman watched until she disappeared.
The duct was claustrophobic.
Dust coated Claire’s hands.
She crawled twenty feet, turned left and saw pale light.
The linen room.
She pushed the grate.
It opened.
Claire dropped quietly onto a shelf and climbed down.
The house seemed empty.
Too empty.
She crossed into the ballroom corridor.
A photograph lay on the floor.
Claire stopped.
It showed her mother.
Not years ago.
The timestamp in the corner read a date six months after Evelyn’s supposed death.
Claire’s heart stopped.
Impossible.
She picked it up.
Evelyn Bennett was entering a building in Boston.
Alive.
On the back, someone had written:
ROMAN DOESN’T KNOW EVERYTHING. NEITHER DOES ETHAN.
Claire turned.
Marcus Reed stood at the far end of the hall.
No weapon visible.
No mask.
He looked tired.
Older than the photograph with her mother.
“Claire.”
She stepped backward.
“You killed her.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“Ethan said—”
“Ethan believes what he was meant to believe.”
“You followed her car.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To save her.”
Claire stared.
Marcus held out both hands.
“I know what this looks like.”
“You trapped us underground.”
“I needed Roman away from the house.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody is coming.”
“Gabriel?”
Marcus’s expression changed.
“No.”
Claire felt colder.
“Then who?”
Marcus looked behind her.
“Your mother.”
Claire stopped breathing.
Marcus placed another photograph on the table beside him.
Recent.
Evelyn Bennett, visibly older, stepping from a vehicle.
Alive.
Claire whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No, Claire.”
His voice softened.
“Your mother didn’t die six years ago.”
Then the lights in the ballroom went out.
And a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness.
“Marcus.”
Claire knew that voice.
She had heard it every day of her childhood.
May you like
“Step away from my daughter.”
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