Chapter 8 - Eleanor Finally Steps Into View
Eleanor did not run.
That frightened Margaret more than if she had.
She crossed the concourse slowly, carrying a leather handbag and wearing the same composed expression she had worn at funerals, charity dinners, and legal meetings for decades.
“Margaret.”
Mr. Cho stepped between them.
Eleanor looked at him.
“Please. If I wanted to harm her, I’ve had twenty years.”
Margaret’s eyes hardened.
“That is not reassuring.”
June moved to Margaret’s side.
Eleanor recognized her immediately.
“June Mercer.”
“Eleanor Shaw.”
“I wondered when she’d call you.”
June’s expression stayed flat.
“I wondered when you’d stop hiding behind paperwork.”
Eleanor sighed.
“Can we not perform in public?”
Margaret held up Rebecca’s letter.
“My daughter is alive.”
Eleanor’s face changed.
Barely.
But Margaret saw it.
Relief.
Not fear.
Relief.
That was wrong.
“You knew,” Margaret said.
Eleanor looked around the terminal.
“Yes.”
Margaret’s anger rose so fast it nearly made her dizzy.
“You let me bury an empty coffin.”
“I helped keep her alive.”
Thomas had said Charles did that.
Now Eleanor claimed the same.
Margaret laughed bitterly.
“Everyone apparently saved my daughter except me.”
Eleanor’s eyes softened.
“That was the point.”
Margaret stepped toward her.
“Explain.”
Eleanor glanced at Mr. Cho.
“Not here.”
June said, “You don’t set terms.”
Eleanor looked at her.
“Then arrest me.”
June did not move.
Eleanor smiled sadly.
“You can’t. Not yet.”
She was right.
Margaret hated that most.
They moved into a private lounge.
Mr. Cho remained by the door.
Eleanor placed her handbag on the table.
“I did divert funds from the Wellington Foundation.”
Margaret stared at her.
“Finally.”
“I diverted them to Rebecca.”
Silence.
June leaned forward.
“How much?”
“Over six years? About four million.”
Margaret’s pulse quickened.
“The shell companies.”
“Cover.”
“Charles?”
“Helped me establish them.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Rebecca said you were stealing.”
“She believed I was.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed her to.”
Margaret’s anger turned icy.
“You expect me to accept that?”
“No.”
Eleanor folded her hands.
“But Rebecca wasn’t the only person watching the foundation accounts.”
“Who was?”
Eleanor looked at David’s message on Margaret’s phone.
“Charles.”
Margaret frowned.
Eleanor continued.
“Charles Vance was laundering money through Wellington vendors long before I discovered it. When I confronted him, he offered me a deal. I pretended to participate while tracing where the money went.”
June’s eyes narrowed.
“And you never called law enforcement?”
“I didn’t know who in law enforcement he owned.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It was terrifying.”
Margaret looked at Eleanor.
“What about Rebecca’s crash?”
“I arranged her disappearance.”
Margaret’s hand clenched.
“You arranged the crash?”
“I arranged for her to survive it.”
That answer chilled the room.
Eleanor continued.
“Charles’s associates planned to kill her. I learned two days before. We staged a controlled accident, switched ambulances, and moved her.”
Margaret’s eyes burned.
“Then why did Rebecca later say you were dangerous?”
Eleanor’s expression changed.
“Because after the escape, she found something I had hidden.”
“What?”
Eleanor looked toward the wooden box.
“Noah.”
Margaret went still.
“Rebecca’s son?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Charles was his grandfather.”
David had told Margaret Rebecca and he were never romantically involved.
That had been true.
But Charles had another son.
A much older child from an affair Margaret had never heard about.
Eleanor explained it in a low voice.
“His name was Michael Reed.”
Margaret stared at her.
“Reed?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Thomas’s younger brother.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Rebecca’s child was connected to Thomas.
To Charles.
To David.
To the Vance family bloodline.
Margaret whispered, “Where is Noah?”
Eleanor’s composure finally broke.
“I don’t know.”
Margaret watched her.
“That’s why you came.”
“Yes.”
“Not for Leo.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“For both of them.”
June leaned back.
“Because?”
Eleanor pulled a sealed folder from her handbag.
“Because the trust amendment is real.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“My signature is forged.”
“Yes.”
“But the amendment is still active until challenged.”
“Yes.”
“Who filed it?”
Eleanor slid the folder across the table.
Margaret opened it.
The filing had been submitted electronically using Eleanor’s credentials.
But the IP log traced back to a private residence in Scottsdale, Arizona.
David’s mother’s house.
Evelyn Vance.
Margaret looked up.
Eleanor’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Evelyn is not missing.”
May you like
Margaret waited.
“She took Noah.”
