Chapter 6 - The Woman in the PhotographWe found her the next morning.
Her name was Claire Mercer.
She lived in a small town outside Charlotte.
When Rebecca told her why we were there, Claire didn't seem surprised.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“You're Margaret.”
“Yes.”
She took a slow breath.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“For taking so long.”
I didn't understand.
Rebecca stepped forward.
“What do you know about Frank Calloway?”
Claire looked at me.
“He was my father.”
The words struck with the force of a physical blow.
I wanted to reject them.
But there was something in her eyes.
Something painfully familiar.
Frank's eyes.
The same gray-green color.
The same slight crease near the left eyebrow.
I sat down.
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since before I was born.”
My hands trembled.
“Did he love your mother?”
Claire looked away.
“My mother was nineteen. He was forty.”
Rebecca's expression hardened.
“How did they meet?”
“Through Bellwood.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“My mother worked there.”
Claire sat across from us.
“She wasn't his affair.”
Rebecca blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother was his accountant.”
Then everything clicked.
Bellwood.
The trust.
The hidden account.
Stephen Ward.
Claire continued.
“My mother discovered that money was being diverted.”
“By Daniel?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire nodded.
“Your husband confronted him.”
“Why didn't Frank tell me?”
“Because he was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From Daniel.”
Silence.
Rebecca looked at Claire.
“Then why was your name in the trust?”
Claire hesitated.
“Because Frank wanted both daughters protected.”
Both.
The word nearly broke me.
I looked at Rebecca.
She was staring at Claire.
Neither of them spoke.
Claire continued.
“Frank came to see my mother after he realized the company was being used to move money. He wanted her to help him document everything.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“She disappeared.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“She left one night. Never came back.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“When?”
“About seven months before Frank died.”
“Did Frank investigate?”
“Yes.”
“What did he find?”
Claire shook her head.
“He never told me.”
I stared.
“You knew him?”
Claire laughed sadly.
“I knew him before you did.”
The cruelty of the sentence was unintentional.
That made it worse.
She handed Rebecca a folder.
“My mother gave this to me.”
Inside were bank records.
Emails.
Photographs.
And one medical document.
Rebecca read it.
Then looked up.
“This says Frank had a life insurance policy worth one million dollars.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Claire nodded.
“He took it out six months before he died.”
I shook my head.
“Frank only had the three hundred and fifty thousand policy.”
“That is what Daniel told you.”
My heart stopped.
Rebecca turned another page.
The one-million-dollar policy listed me as the beneficiary.
I stared at the page.
“Where did that money go?”
Claire whispered:
“It was never paid to you.”
“Then who received it?”
Claire looked at Rebecca.
“Your brother.”
Rebecca's face hardened.
“How?”
“Through a beneficiary change.”
“After Frank died?”
“No.”
“Before?”
Claire nodded.
“Two weeks before.”
My body went cold.
“Frank wouldn't do that.”
“He didn't.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“Then who did?”
Claire didn't answer.
She pointed to the signature.
“That's why my mother started collecting evidence.”
Rebecca stared.
“The signature is forged.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell Frank?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he report it?”
Claire looked at me.
“Because he believed the person who forged it could be stopped privately.”
I suddenly understood.
“Daniel.”
Claire nodded.
“He thought he could save his son.”
I began to cry.
Not loudly.
Just tears falling onto my hands.
Rebecca reached for me.
But I pulled away.
I was thinking about Frank.
About his final months.
About how many times he had seemed distracted.
How often he had told me, “Everything will be fine.”
How easily I had believed him.
Claire sat quietly.
Then she said:
“There's something else.”
Rebecca looked up.
“What?”
“My mother didn't disappear voluntarily.”
Silence.
“What are you saying?”
Claire looked toward the door.
“She was being followed.”
“By whom?”
“Melissa.”
My stomach dropped.
Claire stood.
“My mother kept one final file.”
“Where?”
Claire handed Rebecca a key.
“She hid it before she vanished.”
Rebecca stared at the key.
“What does it open?”
“A storage unit.”
“Where?”
Claire gave her the address.
Then she looked at me.
“Your husband died three weeks after my mother disappeared.”
Rebecca went still.
“Do you think there's a connection?”
Claire's answer was quiet.
“I know there is.”
I looked at the key.
My hands were shaking.
“What is inside?”
Claire didn't answer.
Instead, she said:
“If the records are still there, you'll find out why Melissa needed your mother's signature.”
“My signature?”
Claire nodded.
“She didn't just want your money.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Then what did she want?”
Claire looked directly at me.
“She wanted control of the house.”
I stared.
“My house?”
May you like
Claire nodded.
“And she wanted it before anyone discovered what was buried underneath it.”
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