Chapter 6 - Aunt Margaret
Margaret Prescott arrived at Prescott Global at nine every morning.
Even after her brother disappeared.
Even after federal investigators began requesting documents.
Even while rumors spread through the company.
That alone told me something about her.
Margaret didn't run from pressure.
She behaved as though pressure belonged to other people.
I had known her throughout my marriage.
She was elegant, composed and perpetually disappointed by everyone around her.
Aaron called her Aunt Margaret.
Employees called her Ms. Prescott.
Richard called her Maggie only when he wanted something.
I had never heard anyone call her warm.
We didn't confront her immediately.
Nathan insisted we turn the information over to investigators.
Aaron agreed.
So did I.
But before federal agents could question her, Margaret called me.
“Claire.”
Her voice was perfectly calm.
“I understand you've been busy.”
“What do you want?”
“To save you some embarrassment.”
“I'm listening.”
“Come see me.”
“No.”
A pause.
“You sound like your grandfather.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“You knew him?”
“Very well.”
That was enough.
We met in a public restaurant with Nathan seated two tables away.
Margaret arrived precisely on time.
She wore gray.
No jewelry except a pearl ring.
She ordered tea.
Then she looked at me.
“Edward never told you.”
“About what?”
“Your grandmother.”
“My grandmother is dead.”
“Yes.”
“And somebody used her identity afterward.”
Margaret's eyes sharpened.
“You've found the trust.”
I said nothing.
She smiled.
“Edward always did keep excellent records.”
“Was William Prescott involved?”
“Yes.”
The ease of her answer surprised me.
“Did Richard know?”
“Eventually.”
“And you?”
“I knew before Richard.”
“Northbridge?”
Her expression changed slightly.
There.
A crack.
“Careful, Claire.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Advice.”
“Where is Richard?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No. But it's true.”
I studied her.
“Why did Calder & Wren receive annual payments?”
For the first time, Margaret's composure slipped.
“How do you know about Calder?”
“My grandfather.”
“No.”
She whispered it.
Not to me.
To herself.
Then she stood.
“We're finished.”
I remained seated.
“Sit down, Margaret.”
She looked at me.
“I said sit down.”
Perhaps it was the Hale in my voice.
Perhaps she realized leaving would attract attention.
Whatever the reason, she sat.
“What was Calder protecting?”
She stared at me.
Then said:
“You.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Calder & Wren wasn't hired to protect the Prescotts.”
“Then why—”
“Edward hired them.”
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Margaret leaned closer.
“William Prescott and Edward Hale weren't enemies in the beginning. They were partners.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“They built an investment operation together. Evelyn discovered William was moving money through false entities.”
“My grandmother?”
“She threatened to expose him.”
“And then she died.”
Margaret said nothing.
I felt sick.
“My grandmother's death was an accident.”
“That was the official finding.”
I stared at her.
“Are you saying William killed her?”
“No.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That Edward never believed the accident was accidental.”
The restaurant suddenly felt too warm.
“He hired Calder to investigate?”
“And later to protect you.”
“From whom?”
“Anyone who might realize what Edward eventually discovered.”
“What did he discover?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
Then back at me.
“That William wasn't acting alone.”
“Who was helping him?”
Before she answered, Nathan stood abruptly.
I followed his gaze.
A man had entered the restaurant.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
The same build as the man from the hotel footage.
Margaret saw him.
Her face changed.
“Leave.”
“Who is he?”
“Claire, leave now.”
The man reached inside his jacket.
Nathan moved toward us.
Margaret grabbed my wrist.
“There is a service exit behind the kitchen.”
“What about you?”
“Go!”
Nathan reached us.
We moved.
Behind us, chairs scraped.
Someone shouted.
We crossed the kitchen as employees stared.
Then an alarm sounded.
Outside, Nathan pushed me toward his car.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
We reached the vehicle.
Then my phone rang.
Margaret.
I answered.
Her breathing was ragged.
“Claire.”
“Where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
“What happened?”
“The man left.”
“Who was he?”
“I don't know his real name.”
“What does he want?”
“The records.”
“What records?”
“The original Hale-Prescott ledger.”
I stopped.
“What ledger?”
“Edward hid it.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why come after me?”
“Because everyone assumes Edward left it to you.”
My mind raced.
“What's in it?”
“Everything.”
“Margaret—”
“Transactions. Names. Accounts. Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Her answer came in a whisper.
“Of who ordered Evelyn Hale's death.”
The line went dead.
I stood beside Nathan's car, staring at my phone.
My divorce had begun because I believed my husband had betrayed me.
Forty-eight hours later, I was searching for evidence connected to my grandmother's death.
And the only person who might know where that evidence was hidden had vanished twenty years ago.
My grandfather.
But Edward Hale had taught me one lesson repeatedly:
When something mattered, never hide it where strangers would search.
Hide it where family would remember.
May you like
And suddenly, I knew exactly where we needed to go.
The house where I grew up.
