Chapter 9 - A Dead Man’s Name Appears Again
Richard Vale’s father had also been named Thomas.
Thomas Vale Senior.
Alexander’s grandfather.
He died six years earlier at eighty-four.
There was a funeral.
A body.
No mystery.
So why would anyone use his name?
Rebecca explained.
The person contacting Eleanor used an old family trust code tied to Thomas Senior.
Only immediate family knew it.
The messages warned that Alexander’s car would be disabled before Aspen.
Eleanor believed Thomas—her son—was behind it.
She hired an outside mechanic to inspect the car secretly.
The $75,000 payment was for that inspection and repair.
“Did they fix the brakes?” Alexander asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“They found nothing.”
Alexander stared.
“Then the invoice?”
“Paid after the crash. Eleanor wanted a paper trail showing she had tried to protect you.”
Rachel frowned.
“Convenient.”
Rebecca nodded.
“It was.”
Alexander asked, “Who used my grandfather’s identity?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knew the family trust code?”
Rebecca listed four people.
Eleanor.
Alexander.
Thomas.
And Richard Vale’s longtime attorney, Charles Fenwick.
Alexander knew Fenwick well.
Seventy-two.
Measured.
Quiet.
Trustee of multiple Vale family structures.
He had attended Alexander’s fortieth birthday bedside dinner.
He had brought a book.
He had told Alexander:
Your father would be proud of how hard you’re fighting.
Alexander’s stomach tightened.
Rachel searched Fenwick’s role in the lithium trust.
He was the independent trustee.
The third board member.
Eleanor.
Thomas.
Fenwick.
If Alexander were incapacitated, the foundation board could approve the Silver Ridge lease.
Eleanor and Thomas alone would be two votes.
But Thomas had not known the actual incapacity clause.
Fenwick did.
Alexander whispered, “He could control both sides.”
Rachel nodded.
Fenwick drafted the Silver Ridge option documents.
He also advised Eleanor.
And, according to trust billing records, he billed the foundation for “succession planning” six months before the crash.
The sheriff checked Fenwick’s location.
His office was closed.
His home empty.
Passport used yesterday.
Destination: Canada.
Alexander felt the pattern again.
Another missing person.
Another convenient villain.
He stopped.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
“We’re doing it again.”
Rachel frowned.
“What?”
“Finding the next person who looks guilty and deciding the story.”
Emma nodded slowly.
Alexander continued.
“Fenwick may be involved. But I want proof.”
That was the first decision he made that morning that felt like his old self.
Not reactive.
Not furious.
Deliberate.
Rebecca agreed to cooperate.
She provided access to encrypted communications.
The messages from “Thomas Senior” had been sent through an anonymous relay.
But one file contained a voice recording.
Eleanor had recorded a call.
The distorted voice said:
If Alexander reaches Aspen, Martin Shaw will show him the ledger. Once that happens, you lose the land.
Eleanor asked:
What do you want me to do?
The voice answered:
Nothing permanent. Delay him.
Eleanor replied:
I won’t hurt my son.
The voice said:
Then someone else will.
Alexander replayed that line.
Someone else will.
The recording continued.
Eleanor demanded a name.
The caller laughed.
Then said:
Ask Charles who your husband really trusted.
Alexander stared.
Charles Fenwick again.
But the wording suggested Fenwick might be another target of suspicion rather than the caller.
Rachel requested old communications between Richard Vale and Fenwick.
One letter surfaced.
Richard wrote:
Charles is the only person outside the family who knows why I separated the lithium rights.
Alexander frowned.
“Why did Dad separate them?”
Rachel kept reading.
Because Thomas will always believe Alexander was favored, even when I give him more liquid assets. I fear resentment will be used against them both.
Alexander looked toward his brother.
Thomas lowered his eyes.
Their father had predicted it.
The letter continued.
If something happens to me, Charles knows the identity of the contingency beneficiary.
“Contingency beneficiary?” Alexander asked.
Rachel searched the trust.
The public copy had no named alternate beyond the foundation.
But Fenwick possessed a sealed schedule.
If fraud, coercion, or deliberate incapacity was proven among the family managers, the lithium rights bypassed the foundation entirely.
They would pass to another beneficiary.
Who?
Only Fenwick knew.
Alexander’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
An elderly male voice spoke.
“Alexander.”
He recognized it.
Charles Fenwick.
“Where are you?”
“Safe for the moment.”
“Are you running?”
“No.”
“Then come back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Fenwick paused.
“Because your mother tried to kill me last night.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
One more reversal.
Fenwick continued.
“She thinks I’m the man using your grandfather’s name.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then who is?”
Fenwick’s voice dropped.
“The contingency beneficiary.”
Alexander stared.
“Who?”
May you like
Fenwick answered with a name Alexander had not heard in twenty-five years.
“Your sister.”
