Chapter 5: The Man in the Hallway
Thomas switched off the nursery light and motioned for everyone to remain silent.
The door opened slowly.
A man stepped inside.
For one terrifying second, I believed Eleanor had sent someone to finish what she had started.
Then the man raised both hands.
It was Nathan’s attorney, Michael Grant.
His expensive suit was torn at the shoulder, and dried blood marked the side of his face.
“Eleanor knows you’re here,” he whispered. “We need to leave.”
Michael had served as the Vance family’s legal counsel for twelve years. I had always found him polite but distant.
Now he looked terrified.
He told us Eleanor had summoned the company’s board for an emergency vote. She intended to declare Nathan legally incapacitated and transfer temporary authority to herself.
“She can’t do that without proof,” I said.
“She has proof,” Michael replied. “Forged medical evaluations. Signed statements. Even a letter supposedly written by Nathan.”
Thomas showed him Charles’s will.
Michael read it twice.
“This changes everything.”
“Only if Nathan is alive,” I said.
Michael looked away.
He knew more than he was telling us.
Before I could press him, headlights swept across the covered windows.
Three black vehicles entered the courtyard.
Eleanor’s private security team.
We escaped through an old servants’ staircase leading to the gardens. Mrs. Alvarez drove while Thomas watched the road behind us.
Michael directed us to a small church outside town.
In the basement, he finally told us what had happened.
Nathan had discovered irregular transfers from Vance Industries into offshore accounts. The accounts were controlled by Eleanor and Captain Mercer.
He planned to expose them at the board meeting.
Instead, his plane was diverted.
“Who ordered the pilot to change course?” I asked.
Michael swallowed.
“I did.”
Thomas lunged toward him, but I raised my hand.
“Let him explain.”
Michael said Eleanor had threatened his daughter. She knew where the girl attended school. She knew the route she took home.
Michael had sent Nathan to the private airfield believing Eleanor only wanted to frighten him.
“But when I arrived later,” he said, “there was blood inside the hangar.”
“Was Nathan there?”
“No.”
Michael reached into his pocket and removed a silver watch.
It belonged to my husband.
The glass was cracked, but the watch was still ticking.
Etched into the metal band were three numbers:
4-1-7.
Thomas stared at them.
“That isn’t a date,” he said.
May you like
Michael nodded grimly.
“It’s a storage unit.”
