Chapter 4 - The Hidden OfficeI didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Daniel.
We were supposed to be sleeping in separate rooms, but around three in the morning, I heard footsteps outside my door.
He stopped there.
“Emily?”
I didn't answer.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“I didn't know.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“You've said that.”
“I mean it.”
“I believe that you didn't know about the deed.”
His voice cracked.
“What do you think I knew?”
I sat up.
“You knew your mother wanted me gone.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she humiliated me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she controlled everything.”
“I didn't think she controlled me.”
I almost laughed.
“You let her.”
There was silence again.
Then he said:
“Dad always told me to protect the family.”
I looked toward the door.
“And your mother decided I wasn't family.”
Nothing.
Finally, he whispered:
“I am sorry.”
I wanted those words to matter.
They didn't.
Not yet.
At six in the morning, Richard knocked.
“We need to go.”
He led us through a hallway I had walked hundreds of times.
We passed the library.
The study.
The guest rooms.
Then we stopped in front of a narrow wooden panel behind a painting.
Richard removed a pocket knife and pressed the edge beneath the frame.
A click.
The painting swung outward.
Behind it was a narrow door.
Daniel stared.
“There was a room here?”
Richard nodded.
“Your grandfather built it.”
He inserted the brass key.
The door opened.
Dust filled the air.
The room was small.
One desk.
Two bookshelves.
A metal filing cabinet.
And an old wall safe.
I stepped inside.
My heart pounded.
This was where my father had worked.
A place I had never been allowed to see.
On the desk sat a framed photograph.
My father.
My mother.
And me.
I picked it up.
I remembered that dress.
I remembered my mother crying that morning.
She had told me later that she had been crying because she was happy.
Now I wondered whether that had ever been true.
Richard went to the wall safe.
“What is the combination?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“Your birthday.”
I entered the numbers.
The safe opened.
Inside were folders.
A cassette tape.
A small black notebook.
And a sealed envelope with my name.
I picked it up.
My fingers trembled.
Then I noticed the notebook.
I opened it.
Every page contained names.
Payments.
Dates.
Amounts.
Some were crossed out.
Some had one word written beside them.
“Paid.”
“Threatened.”
“Removed.”
I stopped.
“Removed?”
Richard came closer.
“Show me.”
I turned the page.
At the bottom was a date.
The day before my father died.
Beside it was a name.
Victor Hale.
Richard's face changed.
“Who is that?”
My question went unanswered.
Daniel stared at the page.
“I know that name.”
Richard slowly turned toward him.
“Where?”
“He used to work for Dad.”
“What kind of work?”
“Security.”
Richard's expression tightened.
“He wasn't security.”
Daniel frowned.
“What was he?”
“A fixer.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Thomas hired him when things became dangerous.”
There was suddenly a sound behind us.
A floorboard creaked.
We turned.
The office door was open.
Nobody stood there.
Richard rushed into the hallway.
No one.
Then Daniel saw something on the floor.
A small silver cufflink.
He picked it up.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“This belongs to Uncle Peter.”
I frowned.
“Your uncle?”
Richard snatched the cufflink.
“Peter died fifteen years ago.”
Daniel stared at him.
“So how did this get here?”
Richard said nothing.
Then I heard a sound.
A faint click.
The metal filing cabinet moved.
Not much.
Just enough to reveal a narrow gap behind it.
There was another compartment.
Richard pulled it open.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
He lifted the first one.
It showed my father standing outside a motel.
Beside him was Victor Hale.
And beside Victor was someone I recognized instantly.
Daniel.
He was younger.
Maybe sixteen.
The picture was dated twenty-five years ago.
I looked at my husband.
“You were there?”
Daniel's face went white.
“I don't remember.”
I picked up another photograph.
There was my father.
Victor.
Daniel.
And Margaret.
All four standing together.
The date was one week before my father died.
Richard took the photograph from my hands.
May you like
He whispered:
“Daniel knew more than he remembers.”
