Chapter 4 - His Uncle Knows Too Much
Victor put the call on speaker.
Margaret heard Charles’s voice.
So did Lucy.
So did Marcus.
“Why?” Victor asked.
A pause.
Then Charles said, “Where are you?”
“At the restaurant.”
“Is Margaret with you?”
“Yes.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
“Victor.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t open the necklace.”
Charles exhaled.
“Because Arthur left instructions.”
Margaret stared at the phone.
“What instructions?”
Charles went silent.
Victor’s voice sharpened.
“You knew?”
“I knew there was something.”
“What?”
“Your father came to me before the crash.”
Margaret whispered, “He never told me that.”
Charles heard her.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then Charles said, “We need to meet.”
Victor laughed once.
“Someone just stole one of my father’s hidden memory chips using a company van.”
“I know.”
Victor froze.
“How?”
“Because the van was assigned through my office.”
Marcus immediately began typing.
Victor said, “Did you order it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“My assistant.”
“Name.”
“Daniel Cross.”
Victor knew Daniel.
Thirty-nine.
Efficient.
Quiet.
Worked for Charles for six years.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see him?”
“This afternoon.”
“What did he say?”
“That you requested a vehicle for the restaurant.”
Victor looked at Marcus.
“I made no request.”
“I know that now.”
Charles sounded shaken.
“Victor, I think Daniel has been reading my private files.”
“What private files?”
Charles hesitated.
“Arthur’s.”
Margaret stood.
“What did my husband give you?”
Charles finally answered.
“A letter.”
Victor closed his eyes.
Another secret.
Another person protecting him by hiding the truth.
“What did it say?”
“That if anything happened to him, I should watch the board.”
“Which board member?”
“He didn’t say.”
Victor’s frustration broke through.
“So for eleven years you had a warning that someone inside Wellington Global might be connected to Dad’s death, and you said nothing?”
“I had no proof.”
“You had a letter.”
“I had grief written on paper.”
Margaret took the phone.
“Charles, what else?”
He went quiet.
She knew him too well.
“What else?”
“Arthur gave me a code.”
Victor looked at her.
Margaret asked, “What code?”
“W-17.”
Her face changed.
Victor saw it.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret sat down.
“Wellington Seventeen.”
“What is that?”
She looked at him.
“Your father’s private aircraft maintenance account.”
Victor went still.
Arthur’s plane had crashed because of mechanical failure.
A private maintenance account connected directly to the aircraft.
Charles said, “Arthur told me if anything happened, W-17 would explain why.”
“Did you check it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The account had been closed.”
“When?”
“Two days after the crash.”
Victor felt cold.
“By who?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
Marcus interrupted.
“We can now.”
Everyone looked at him.
He had accessed archived corporate authorization records.
The account closure carried a digital approval.
Not Charles.
Not Arthur.
Not Victor.
Margaret leaned closer.
“Whose?”
Marcus turned the screen.
Elaine Foster.
Victor’s chief of staff.
The woman who had managed his schedule for nine years.
The woman who had organized tonight’s anniversary dinner.
The woman who knew Margaret would arrive early.
Victor stared at the name.
Lucy whispered, “She knew your mother would be here.”
Victor looked at her.
Lucy continued.
“And she knew when you would arrive.”
Marcus checked the restaurant reservation emails.
Elaine had personally confirmed both times.
Victor’s phone buzzed.
A message from Elaine.
Running late. Everything okay?
Victor stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
Do you want me to come over?
He typed one response.
No. Stay where you are.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then stopped.
Marcus’s phone rang.
He listened.
His face tightened.
“The Wellington van was found.”
“Where?”
“Underground parking garage downtown.”
“The chip?”
“No.”
“Daniel Cross?”
“No.”
Marcus paused.
“There’s blood in the driver’s seat.”
Margaret gripped the table.
Victor asked the obvious question.
“Whose blood?”
Marcus looked at him.
“We don’t know yet.”
Lucy stared at the map on the screen.
Then she pointed.
“That garage.”
Victor looked.
“What about it?”
“My father worked in the building above it.”
The room went silent.
Lucy’s father had been an accountant.
May you like
Dead.
And somehow the stolen pearl had been driven directly to the building where he once worked.
