Chapter 15: The Husband Who Knew Too Much

“Tell me Victoria is lying,” I whispered.

Adrian stood before me, his face unreadable, while the accusation hung between us like a death sentence. I searched his eyes for the man I had married, hoping to find even a trace of the honesty I had once believed he possessed.

He said nothing.

That silence hurt more than any confession could have.

“Adrian, did you order my father’s death?”

“No.”

“Then why would my mother accuse you?”

“I don’t know what your mother told Victoria, but I did not kill your father.”

Victoria gave a bitter laugh.

“Of course you would deny it. That’s what the Blackwells have always done. They bury the truth and expect everyone else to live with the consequences.”

Adrian turned toward her. “You have spent years manipulating this family. Don’t pretend you’re suddenly innocent.”

“I never claimed to be innocent. But I didn’t murder Daniel Hayes.”

I stepped between them.

“Enough! My father is dead, my mother is missing, and my son has disappeared. I don’t care which one of you wins this argument. I want answers.”

Adrian reached for me, but I moved away.

“I need to speak to Catherine Moore,” I said.

He nodded. “We’ll go to her.”

“No. I will go. You can follow if you want, but you won’t decide what I am allowed to hear.”

For once, he didn’t argue.

The private residence where Catherine was being protected stood behind a high security gate. A police officer met us at the entrance and confirmed that she had agreed to speak with me.

Adrian waited outside the room while I entered.

A woman in her late forties sat beside the window, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Her face looked tired, and her eyes moved nervously toward the door when I approached.

“Mrs. Moore?”

She nodded.

“My name is Elena Hayes. My father was Daniel Hayes.”

The cup slipped slightly in her hands.

“I know who you are.”

I sat opposite her.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

She looked toward the closed door.

“Is Adrian Blackwell outside?”

“Yes.”

Catherine’s expression changed.

“Then I cannot tell you everything.”

“Why? Are you afraid of him?”

“I’m afraid of what his family is capable of.”

I swallowed.

“Did Adrian order my father’s death?”

Catherine looked down at her hands.

“No. He wasn’t the person who arranged it.”

Relief rushed through me, but it disappeared when she continued.

“However, he was there the night your father died.”

I froze.

“What?”

“Your father discovered that Blackwell Holdings was being used to move money through false accounts. He gathered evidence and planned to hand it to the authorities. Adrian’s grandfather found out and ordered him to stop.”

“And Adrian?”

“He was sent to retrieve the documents. Your father refused to surrender them, and an argument followed.”

My throat tightened.

“Did Adrian hurt him?”

Catherine shook her head.

“I didn’t see anyone strike your father. But I heard a gunshot shortly after Adrian left the room.”

I covered my mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“I tried. But before I could give my statement, someone threatened my daughter. I was forced to disappear, and the official report said your father died in a car accident.”

I stared at her.

“Where were the documents?”

Catherine reached into a drawer and removed a small key.

“Your father gave me this before he died. He told me to keep it safe until one of his daughters came looking for the truth.”

I took it carefully.

“What does it open?”

“The safety deposit box at the old bank on Mercer Street. He said everything you need to know is inside.”

I stood, my heart racing.

“Why didn’t you give this to my mother?”

“I tried. She refused to take it. She said the Blackwells were watching her.”

Before I could ask another question, Catherine caught my wrist.

“There is one more thing you need to know about Adrian.”

I looked at her.

“Your father didn’t trust him, but he also knew Adrian wasn’t the mastermind. He believed the young man was being used by someone he loved.”

“Who?”

Catherine’s eyes filled with fear.

“His mother.”

When I stepped outside, Adrian was waiting near the car.

“What did she tell you?”

I closed my fingers around the key.

“She said you were there the night my father died.”

His expression became tense.

“I told you I knew your father.”

“She said you went to retrieve the documents.”

Adrian looked away.

“I was twenty-two. My grandfather told me your father had stolen company records and was threatening to destroy the family. I went there to recover them.”

“And what happened?”

“I argued with him. He accused my grandfather of corruption and told me I was protecting a criminal. I left before the shooting.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was ashamed that I believed my grandfather instead of him.”

I wanted to believe Adrian, but I had learned that his explanations always came after someone else revealed the truth.

I held up the key.

“My father left evidence. I’m going to find it.”

Adrian nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Not until I know what else you’re hiding.”

His phone rang.

He answered, listened, and his face changed.

“What happened?” I asked.

He ended the call.

“Victoria has disappeared from the estate.”

I frowned. “She was there less than an hour ago.”

“The security cameras show her leaving with someone.”

“Who?”

Adrian hesitated.

Then he turned the phone toward me.

The footage showed Victoria entering a black car. The man behind the wheel wore a dark suit, and although the image was slightly blurred, I recognized his face.

It was Edward Collins, the lawyer who had shown us my son’s custody agreement.

Adrian’s voice dropped.

“He was supposed to be helping us.”

I looked at the key in my hand, then at the disappearing car on the screen.

My father had trusted Catherine with evidence, my mother had hidden a child, and the Blackwell lawyer had just helped my twin sister escape.

But the worst discovery was still waiting.

Adrian enlarged the footage and pointed to something visible on the passenger seat.

A photograph.

It showed my son, Daniel, sitting on the lap of an older woman.

I leaned closer, struggling to recognize her.

Then my heart stopped.

The woman holding my missing child was Margaret Blackwell.