Chapter 13 - The Woman Who Died Eleven Years AgoEleanor Vale Had Been Waiting
The woman in the photograph was Eleanor Vale.
Victor's mother.
Officially dead eleven years ago.
But the woman standing beside Nolan looked exactly like her.
Victor left before anyone could stop him.
We followed.
At the house, federal agents had surrounded the perimeter.
Nolan was gone.
The woman was gone.
But there was a small envelope on the foyer table.
Addressed to Victor.
He opened it.
My son,
If you are reading this, then your friend Margaret was right.
The Mercer family never destroyed the archive.
They never found it.
But Nolan is close.
Victor’s hands shook.
“There’s more.”
He read aloud.
The girl must have the sapphire.
The girl was me.
At the bottom:
Do not trust Nolan.
Do not trust the lawyer.
Do not trust the man who claims to have protected Camille.
Victor stopped.
We all looked at Marcus.
Then Reed.
Marcus frowned.
“Why are you looking at me?”
I shook my head.
“Nobody said your name.”
He looked confused.
Victor folded the letter.
“She means the sentence is deliberate.”
Leah entered.
“Federal agents found Nolan’s car abandoned near White Rock Lake.”
“Any sign of him?”
“No.”
I thought about the letter.
The man who claims to have protected Camille.
There was only one person who had always said that.
Reed.
I looked at my brother.
He saw it.
And his face changed.
“Camille…”
“What happened?”
He didn't answer.
“Reed.”
He sat down.
“The night Mom died…”
His voice broke.
“I wasn't supposed to survive.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The fire wasn't random.”
He looked at me.
“Someone locked the west wing.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“And you survived.”
“Yes.”
“Who got you out?”
He looked at Marcus.
I turned.
Marcus lowered his eyes.
“You?”
He nodded.
“I worked for your father.”
My breathing stopped.
“My father told you to protect Reed.”
“And me?”
Marcus hesitated.
“He told me to protect you last.”
“Why?”
Marcus looked at the sapphire.
“Because you were carrying the key.”
Victor stepped closer.
“The whole night was designed around moving the sapphire out of the house.”
I stared.
“So Mom gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“And then she died.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Your mother wasn't supposed to die.”
Silence.
“Someone changed the plan.”
My phone rang.
A video file appeared.
Live stream.
Nolan.
He was standing inside an old church.
Brielle whispered:
“That's the Mercer family chapel.”
Nolan looked into the camera.
“Camille, I know you're watching.”
I stepped closer.
“You want the sapphire.”
“Yes.”
“You want the archive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He smiled.
“Because your mother put my family on borrowed time.”
He lifted a document.
“And I have something you want.”
The camera shifted.
A woman sat in a chair.
Older.
Pale.
Alive.
My heart stopped.
She looked into the camera.
And I knew those eyes.
My mother’s eyes.
Not Eleanor.
Not a stranger.
Margaret Whitaker.
My dead mother.
My knees went weak.
She whispered:
May you like
“Camille, don't trust Reed.”
The video ended.
