Chapter 7 - The House on Briar Hill
The Hale house had been empty for four years.
I still had the key.
Aaron insisted on coming.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered my grandfather's warning about division.
So at sunset, my estranged husband and I drove to Briar Hill together.
The house stood behind iron gates beneath ancient oak trees.
Aaron looked at it.
“You never brought me here.”
“You never asked.”
He winced.
I hadn't meant it as punishment.
Maybe that was why it landed so hard.
Inside, everything smelled like cedar and dust.
We searched the study first.
Nothing.
Library.
Nothing.
Bedroom.
Nothing.
Aaron finally asked:
“What did your grandfather mean by hiding things where family remembers?”
I thought.
Then I saw the old chessboard.
Grandfather and I had played every Sunday.
He always used the same opening.
And whenever I lost, he said:
“Look at the board you ignored.”
I lifted the chessboard.
Beneath it was a brass key.
Aaron stared.
“You're kidding.”
“No.”
The key opened a narrow compartment behind a bookshelf.
Inside sat one leather-bound ledger.
And one cassette tape.
Aaron lifted the ledger.
I picked up the tape.
A label was written in my grandfather's handwriting.
FOR CLAIRE — WHEN THE PRESCOTTS COME LOOKING.
We found an old player downstairs.
My grandfather's voice filled the room.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
“Claire, if you're hearing this, then I failed to finish what I started.”
My eyes filled.
Aaron sat silently beside me.
Grandfather described William Prescott's network.
False vendors.
Offshore accounts.
Bribes.
Then Evelyn discovered everything.
She planned to report him.
Three days later, her car went over an embankment.
There was no proof William ordered it.
But the ledger showed a payment made forty-eight hours before her death.
To a man named Victor Wren.
The founder of Calder & Wren.
Aaron whispered:
“Jesus.”
The tape continued.
“But William was not the person I feared most.”
I leaned closer.
“He was greedy. Greedy men are predictable. The person beside him was not.”
A pause.
Then Grandfather said a name.
“Thomas Cole.”
Aaron and I looked at each other.
Cole.
Jasmine Cole.
“No,” Aaron whispered.
The recording continued.
Thomas Cole had been William Prescott's financial controller.
After Evelyn's death, he disappeared.
Grandfather believed Thomas had taken copies of the records.
Twenty years later, his daughter worked at Prescott Global.
Jasmine.
Not coincidence.
Not chance.
She had gone there looking for something.
I called her immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Aaron stood.
“Where is she?”
“Nathan moved her.”
“Call him.”
I did.
Nathan answered on the first ring.
“Claire?”
“Where's Jasmine?”
Silence.
“Nathan?”
“She left.”
“When?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“She received a message.”
“From whom?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
My stomach dropped.
Aaron took the phone.
“Where did she go?”
Nathan gave him an address.
Aaron froze.
“What?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“It's my father's house.”
We drove faster than we should have.
Richard's mansion was dark when we arrived.
The front door stood open.
Inside, we found Jasmine in the library.
And Richard Prescott was sitting across from her.
Alive.
Uninjured.
Very much not kidnapped.
Aaron stopped.
“Dad?”
Richard looked at his son.
Then at me.
“Close the door.”
Aaron's face hardened.
“You staged your disappearance?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Richard looked toward Jasmine.
“She found me.”
Jasmine was crying.
In her hands was an old photograph.
I moved closer.
It showed my grandfather.
William Prescott.
And Thomas Cole.
Three young men standing beside Evelyn Hale.
Jasmine looked at me.
“My father isn't dead.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He contacted me tonight.”
Richard spoke.
“And if Thomas Cole is alive, everyone in this room is in danger.”
Aaron looked between them.
“Why?”
Richard's answer was simple.
“Because Thomas didn't help William Prescott steal the money.”
A pause.
“He was the one who designed the entire system.”
May you like
And somewhere outside the darkened mansion, a car door quietly closed.
Someone had followed us.
