Chapter 4 - THE CONFRONTATION
That afternoon, I had Thomas place a call to Julian Halloway.
I told him only that I wished to discuss the merger—reopened, perhaps—and that I would appreciate his presence at the house at eight o'clock that evening.
He accepted within the hour.
“He’ll come,” I told Thomas as twilight fell. “He believes I’m old. Fragile. Easily manipulated. He won’t suspect I’ve been waiting for him.”
At five minutes past eight, Halloway arrived.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties, with silver hair cut short and eyes that never seemed to blink. He walked into my study as if he owned the place—long strides, head high, scanning the room with cool appraisal.
“Margaret,” he said, extending a hand. “A pleasure. You look remarkably well.”
I did not take his hand. I sat behind my desk, cane within easy reach, and watched him calmly.
“Thank you,” I said. “I feel remarkably well.”
Halloway paused. His brow lifted slightly. “I heard about the… accident. Rachel mentioned you’d had a fall.”
“Rachel is in police custody,” I said. “For attempted murder.”
Halloway did not flinch. He did not gasp or feign shock. He simply lowered his hand slowly and seated himself in the chair opposite me.
“Attempted murder,” he repeated. “Serious charges.”
“Very.” I leaned forward. “She tried to push me down the driveway. Unlocked my wheelchair brakes. Planned it all very carefully. Or so she thought.”
Halloway’s expression remained composed. “Distressing. I had no idea she was unstable.”
“Did you not?” I reached into my pocket and laid the scrap of paper on the desk between us. “Then perhaps you can explain why your name and private cell phone number were found in her desk.”
For the first time, I saw a flicker—just a tightening at the corner of his mouth.
“Rachel and I spoke occasionally regarding business matters,” he said smoothly. “She was handling your affairs.”
“I never authorized her to speak with you.”
“People make arrangements when they believe it’s in their loved one’s best interest.” Halloway leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Surely you’re not suggesting improper dealings?”
“I’m suggesting you were working together.” My voice remained level, but my gaze did not leave his face. “I’m suggesting Arthur didn’t die in an accident. I’m suggesting you had him removed so you could take control of this company through Rachel.”
Halloway laughed. A low, pleasant sound. “Arthur is dead, Margaret. Grief has clouded your judgment.”
“Is he?”
The word hung in the air.
Halloway’s smile faltered. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve received letters. From Switzerland. Signed in Arthur’s hand. Detailing everything about your plans. Your threats. The money you offered Rachel.”
I watched him carefully. It was a bluff—a calculated risk. Arthur’s letter had warned me, but it had not named Halloway explicitly. Not in writing.
Halloway stood up slowly. His demeanor shifted—polite veneer cracking to reveal something harder beneath.
“Careful, Margaret,” he said. “Accusations like that are dangerous to make without proof.”
“Am I lacking proof?” I stood as well, gripping the edge of my desk. “Rachel has been arrested. She knows the truth. And when she realizes you’ve abandoned her—she’ll talk. She’ll tell the police everything.”
Halloway took a step closer to the desk. His eyes went cold and hard.
“Rachel will say nothing,” he said. “Because she knows what happens to people who talk.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact.” Halloway smoothed his jacket. “You’re an old woman, Margaret. Alone. Your son is dead. Your daughter-in-law is a criminal. You have no allies. No one to protect you. It would be wisest to remain silent. Sign the papers. Let this pass.”
I walked around the desk until I stood only feet from him.
“You come into my house,” I said quietly. “You threaten me. You assume because I am old and walk with a cane that I am weak.”
I paused, letting the silence stretch.
“Julian Halloway—you have no idea how strong I am.”
Halloway’s eyes narrowed. “What do you intend to do?”
“Everything Rachel was too afraid to do. I intend to expose you. I intend to see you prosecuted. And I intend to find out exactly what happened to my son.”
Halloway stared at me a long moment. Then he smiled—a thin, cruel expression.
“Good luck, Margaret,” he said. “Some truths are far more dangerous than you imagine.”
He turned and walked to the door. Hand on the handle, he paused and looked back.
“Arthur is dead, Margaret. The sooner you accept that—the safer you’ll be.”
He left.
May you like
I stood in the center of the room, heart pounding, listening to his footsteps fade. He had not denied it. Not truly. He had threatened me. Warned me. Which meant—
I was getting close.
