Chapter 11 - THE CONSEQUENCES

“Then we must act now,” I said, reaching for the telephone.

Arthur caught my hand. “No. If we call the police, Elias will deny everything. He has layers of protection. Shell companies. False trails. Forged documents with our signatures. He’ll claim we’re the ones attempting to defraud him. And without absolute proof—he could walk free.”

“Then what do we do?” Thomas asked quietly.

Arthur turned to him. “Elias keeps his most sensitive files in his private study at his home. I know the layout. I’ve been there enough times. If we can get there before he destroys them—we’ll have everything we need.”

“It’s nearly four in the morning,” I said. “By sunrise, he’ll be gone.”

“Then we leave now,” Arthur said.

Thomas drove. Arthur sat in the passenger seat, reviewing documents. I sat in the back, watching the gray sky lighten at the edges, my mind racing through every conversation, every document, every signature Elias had touched over the years.

How many times had I signed papers without reading them closely? Trusting him. Believing he had our best interests at heart.

“We’re here,” Thomas said quietly.

The car slowed. We parked down the street from Elias’s home—a large, stately brick house set well back from the road, surrounded by tall hedges. No lights showed. But a car sat idling in the driveway.

“Packed and ready,” Arthur said. “He’s leaving.”

“We can’t let him,” I said.

Arthur turned to me. “Thomas—stay with the car. Have the phone ready to call the moment we have what we need. Mother—wait here.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said. “This is my home he’s stealing. My family he’s destroying. I will not wait in the car.”

Arthur looked at me—at the determination in my face, the cane in my hand—and nodded.

“Stay close to me,” he said.

We walked up the driveway together. The front door stood slightly ajar. Voices carried from inside. Elias’s voice. And another—sharper, younger.

Arthur signaled for silence. We moved quietly to the porch and stood just beside the doorframe.

“—everything is in order,” Elias was saying. “The accounts are transferred. The holdings are untraceable. By midday, we’ll be in Europe.”

“And the Whitmore woman?” the second voice asked. “And Arthur?”

“Halloway will take the blame for everything,” Elias said. “By the time they sort it out—we’ll be long gone. And whatever evidence Arthur thinks he has? It will look like forgery. I’ve made certain of it.”

Arthur stepped through the doorway.

“Not quite, Elias,” he said.

Elias stood beside a large leather suitcase, coat over his arm, keys in hand. He froze. Then he slowly set the keys down.

“Arthur,” he said, without surprise. “I rather suspected you were alive. Halloway was always too confident—and too clumsy.”

The second person turned.

I felt the air leave my lungs.

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