Chapter 11 - CEDAR RIDGE
The drive to Cedar Ridge took ninety minutes.
It felt like ten.
It felt like ten years.
Police were dispatched ahead of us, but the cabin sat beyond a private access road that wound through dense forest near the Wisconsin border.
My mother had loved the place because it was isolated.
Tonight I hated her for the same reason.
Not really.
I was angry at dead people because they were easier than being angry at everyone still alive.
My father sat across from me in the SUV.
Dominic rode in another vehicle with Detective Morales.
Marcus drove.
Evelyn stayed in Chicago to fight the trust petition and fraudulent hotel transfer.
For the first twenty miles, my father said nothing.
Then he spoke.
“Your mother called it Cedar Ridge before we owned Sterling Crown.”
I looked out the window.
“She bought it herself?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Money from her grandmother.”
I had never known that either.
My father almost smiled.
“She liked having one thing that wasn’t mine.”
“I understand that.”
He winced.
“I deserved that.”
I turned toward him.
“Did Mom know about Malcolm stealing?”
“She suspected.”
“Did she know Grandpa covered for him?”
“Not at first.”
“When did she learn?”
“After Caroline died.”
“How?”
My father looked down.
“She found the folder.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Not the original.”
“A copy?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you know she had it?”
“She confronted me.”
“When?”
“Two weeks after the funeral.”
“What did she say?”
“That my father had protected a thief.”
“And?”
“That I had protected my father.”
He swallowed.
“She was right.”
“Did she go to police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she had you.”
That answer made me angry.
“Women don’t become incapable of doing the right thing because they’re mothers.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what?”
“She believed exposing everything immediately could put you in danger.”
“From Malcolm?”
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten us?”
My father hesitated.
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“A car followed you and your mother from school.”
I remembered nothing.
“You were six.”
“The same year Caroline died.”
“Yes.”
“Did police know?”
“Yes.”
“Did they connect it?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“I suspected.”
“So Mom hid the evidence.”
“She told me she had stored copies somewhere Malcolm would never find them.”
“And you never asked where?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did Grandpa know?”
“No.”
“Malcolm?”
“I don’t think so.”
Until now.
Daniel had somehow found the clue.
C.R.
Cedar Ridge.
I looked at my father.
“Why would Mom create an offshore foundation?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then how would she connect Cedar Ridge to the account?”
My father frowned.
“Maybe Caroline did.”
“But Malcolm created the foundation.”
“Unless he named it after something.”
I thought.
“What else does C.R. mean?”
My father shook his head.
“No idea.”
Marcus spoke from the front.
“We’re fifteen minutes out.”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
I opened it.
Daniel.
He was sitting in what looked like the back seat of a vehicle.
Blood streaked his temple.
His eyes were open.
Beneath the photograph, one line.
COME ALONE.
My father saw it.
“No.”
Another message arrived.
BRING CARD 04.
My black access card.
The one still in Marcus’s evidence pouch.
A third message.
NO POLICE OR DANIEL DIES.
Marcus glanced in the mirror.
“We keep going as planned.”
I nodded.
My father looked at him.
“Can they detect police?”
“Possibly.”
“Then pull them back.”
“No.”
“That’s my son.”
“And Vivienne is your daughter.”
Marcus’s voice remained firm.
“I’m not trading one Sterling child for another.”
My father went silent.
I looked down at the image.
Daniel’s face.
A brother I had never met.
A brother who had spent years believing my father killed his mother.
A brother who had worked with the man now threatening his life.
I did not know what I felt.
But I knew I would not let him die because our family had waited three decades to tell the truth.
“Can we duplicate the card?”
I asked.
Marcus looked at me.
“Not easily.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Yes.”
“Then Malcolm wouldn’t want it.”
“Correct.”
“What does he need it for?”
My father answered.
“Physical vault access.”
I turned.
“Where?”
He stared toward the road.
“The corporate archive.”
“Why would he need my card?”
“Principal credentials allow access to certain legacy storage rooms.”
“Does he not have his own executive access?”
“Not at that level.”
“What is in the archive?”
My father looked uncomfortable.
“Original ownership documents.”
“Trust instruments?”
“Yes.”
“Historic board resolutions?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to alter ownership?”
“No.”
“Enough to prove fraud?”
“Possibly.”
I understood.
Malcolm did not want my card because he needed to steal.
He needed to destroy.
“Could there be records from Grandpa’s era?”
“Yes.”
“Records Mom and Caroline might have duplicated.”
“Yes.”
Then the phone rang.
Daniel again.
I answered.
“Daniel?”
His breathing sounded uneven.
“Don’t come to Cedar Ridge.”
I sat straighter.
“What?”
“That message wasn’t me.”
My father leaned toward the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Southbound.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in a car?”
“Yes.”
“Who is driving?”
Silence.
Then a sound.
A muffled voice.
Daniel whispered,
“Malcolm thinks the account key is at the cabin.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you send us there?”
“I didn’t.”
“What is Cedar Ridge?”
Daniel breathed.
“Not the cabin.”
My father frowned.
“Then what?”
“The hotel.”
“What hotel?”
Daniel’s breathing grew quicker.
“Dad knows.”
My father stared.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He whispered,
“Cedar Ridge Hotel.”
“Sterling owns a Cedar Ridge Hotel?”
“Not anymore.”
“When?”
“My father’s first property.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“Milwaukee.”
“Does it still exist?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
My father stopped.
His expression changed.
“The archive.”
“What?”
“When Sterling sold Cedar Ridge, we moved its original records to corporate archive.”
Daniel whispered,
“That’s where Mom hid it.”
My father looked toward Marcus.
“Turn around.”
Marcus was already doing it.
The SUV slowed.
A car behind us almost missed the change.
We reversed course toward Chicago.
Daniel’s voice crackled.
“Malcolm knows about the archive.”
“Does he have you?”
My father asked.
Daniel was quiet.
“Not anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I got out.”
“Where are you?”
“Near Cicero.”
Marcus relayed the location.
“Police are coming.”
Daniel continued.
“He wants the ledger.”
“What ledger?”
I asked.
“The original Cedar Ridge acquisitions ledger.”
My father’s face changed.
“That was destroyed.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice weakened.
“Mom found it.”
“Caroline?”
“Yes.”
“She hid it in the archive?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves Malcolm started before Eleanor.”
My father closed his eyes.
Of course.
The theft had not begun with Eleanor’s invoices.
She had only been a convenient scapegoat.
Daniel continued.
“It also proves Grandpa knew.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“What exactly?”
“That Malcolm had secret ownership stakes in vendor companies.”
“That’s enough for fraud.”
“More.”
Daniel breathed.
“There are handwritten notes.”
“Whose?”
“William Sterling’s.”
My grandfather.
“What do they say?”
Daniel was silent for a moment.
Then,
“Percentages.”
My father frowned.
“Percentages of what?”
“Profits.”
Everything became still.
“You’re saying Grandpa was part of it.”
“Yes.”
My father stared ahead.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
“You asked for truth.”
Daniel’s voice became bitter.
“Here it is.”
I watched my father’s face collapse around a man he had spent his whole life trying to live up to.
William Sterling had not merely protected Malcolm.
He had profited with him.
My father whispered,
“Why would Malcolm steal from a scheme he already shared?”
Daniel answered.
“Because Grandpa tried to cut him out.”
“When?”
“The year Caroline died.”
My heart pounded.
“Caroline discovered both of them.”
“Yes.”
“Then who killed her?”
Daniel did not answer.
“Daniel.”
“I don’t know.”
“Earlier you said you did.”
“I thought I did.”
“What changed?”
“I found another recording.”
“Where?”
“Malcolm’s office.”
“What does it contain?”
Daniel’s voice weakened again.
“A conversation between Grandpa and Malcolm from the night she died.”
My father grabbed the phone.
“Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“On me.”
A sound interrupted him.
Tires.
A horn.
Then Daniel cursed.
“What’s happening?”
“He found me.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
The line filled with noise.
My father shouted his name.
“Daniel!”
Daniel’s voice came once more.
“Archive.”
Then the call ended.
Marcus accelerated toward Chicago.
My father tried calling back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
We were forty minutes from headquarters.
Police were closer to Daniel.
But Malcolm was closer too.
Then Marcus received a message from corporate security.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
I asked.
He looked at my father.
“The archive alarm just went offline.”
My father stared.
“Who is inside?”
Marcus checked.
“One credential entry recorded before the system died.”
“Whose?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Principal card number four.”
My card.
Again.
Only this time the physical card was sealed in an evidence pouch inside Marcus’s jacket.
Which meant someone had not simply copied my credentials.
May you like
They had cloned them perfectly.
And whoever entered the archive wanted every system in Sterling Crown to believe I was the one doing it.
