Chapter 3: My Husband’s Final Message
Nathan did not answer his phone.
He had left that morning for a meeting in Boston, but his private plane had never arrived.
His assistant claimed the flight had been delayed. The pilot’s number went directly to voicemail.
By midnight, I knew something was wrong.
Thomas sat beside my hospital bed, his injured shoulder wrapped in a brace. He refused pain medication until he was certain I was safe.
Mrs. Alvarez arrived just after one in the morning carrying a small leather case.
“I found this beneath the desk in the security room,” she said.
Inside was a damaged external drive.
“The recording system was removed,” she explained, “but this may contain an automatic backup.”
Thomas examined the drive.
“Can it be opened?”
“Not by us.”
Nathan could have opened it. He understood the estate’s security system better than anyone.
But Nathan was missing.
A nurse entered and told us two detectives were waiting outside. I expected questions about Eleanor.
Instead, they asked whether Nathan had enemies.
“Why?” I said.
The detectives exchanged a glance.
His plane had been found abandoned at a private airfield thirty miles outside Boston.
There was no pilot.
No crew.
And no Nathan.
Eleanor called me five minutes after the detectives left.
I stared at her name until Thomas reached for the phone.
“Don’t answer.”
I did anyway.
“Where is my husband?” I asked.
Eleanor’s voice was soft.
“Your husband made unfortunate choices.”
“What did you do to him?”
“I tried to protect my family.”
“You pushed me over a railing.”
“You were never family, Claire.”
The line went quiet for a moment.
Then she added, “And the child you’re carrying will never control what generations of Vances built.”
She disconnected.
My hands began trembling.
Thomas took the phone and checked the call information.
“Blocked location,” he muttered.
Then the screen changed.
A delayed voicemail had arrived from Nathan’s number.
I pressed play.
At first, there was only heavy breathing and the sound of a vehicle moving.
Then Nathan spoke.
“Claire, if you receive this, don’t trust the police. My mother knows about the will.”
A loud impact interrupted him.
Nathan gasped.
Then he whispered four final words.
“Find the blue nursery.”
The message ended.
I looked at Thomas.
Our baby’s nursery was painted white.
We had never chosen blue.
May you like
But Thomas’s face had gone pale.
“There was another nursery,” he said. “It was sealed twenty-eight years ago.”
