Chapter 5 - The Accident That Wasn’tThe brake failure happened eleven months earlier.
I had forgotten about it because everyone told me to.
The dealership said a hydraulic line had ruptured.
Preston said I was lucky.
Camille said expensive cars were “too complicated for women who don’t understand machinery.”
I had rolled my eyes.
Then bought another vehicle.
Now I wanted every piece of that car examined.
Fortunately, Meridian’s insurance division had retained it after the claim.
At 6:30 the next morning, an independent automotive forensic engineer met us at the storage facility.
Dr. Lena Flores spent three hours underneath the vehicle.
When she finally emerged, grease covered her gloves.
“The line didn’t fail naturally.”
I felt Rebecca stiffen beside me.
“Explain.”
Lena showed us photographs.
“These marks are consistent with deliberate abrasion. Someone weakened the hose until ordinary pressure caused rupture.”
Rebecca asked, “Could it have happened accidentally during maintenance?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“How confident are you?”
“Ninety-five percent.”
My mouth became dry.
I remembered that day.
I had been driving toward a steep intersection.
The pedal went soft.
I pulled the emergency brake and hit a landscaping barrier instead of entering traffic.
Preston arrived at the scene before the tow truck.
He held me while I shook.
He kissed my hair.
He told me everything was okay.
I had believed him.
“Who last serviced it?” I asked.
Lena checked the records.
“Ashcroft Estate Garage.”
Our private garage.
The manager was an employee named Victor Hale.
Victor had worked for Preston’s family since Preston was a teenager.
Nathaniel found him before lunch.
Victor initially denied everything.
Then investigators showed him the photographs.
He asked for an attorney.
That told us enough.
Two days later, Victor’s lawyer contacted Rebecca.
His client wanted immunity consideration.
The meeting took place at the district attorney’s office.
Victor looked twenty years older than I remembered.
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
Those were his first words.
I stared at him.
“Didn’t know what?”
“What he was planning.”
Rebecca touched my sleeve, warning me to let the attorney handle it.
Victor continued.
“Mr. Ashcroft told me he needed the car to have a mechanical issue.”
“Why?”
“He said insurance.”
My stomach turned.
Victor claimed Preston wanted me frightened into using company drivers rather than driving myself.
He said Preston offered him $50,000.
“Did you cut the brake line?”
Victor shook his head.
“I weakened it. I thought it would start leaking slowly.”
“But it ruptured.”
“Yes.”
“You could have killed me.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
I stood.
I could not remain in that room.
Outside, I leaned against the hallway wall.
Rebecca followed.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Lorraine.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“We don’t know Preston intended—”
“He paid someone to damage my brakes.”
She said nothing.
My phone rang.
Camille.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“What?”
“Lorraine, you need to stop.”
Her voice sounded shaken.
Not angry.
Scared.
“Stop what?”
“The police. The investigators. All of this.”
“Your son sabotaged my car.”
Silence.
“Who told you that?”
Interesting choice of words.
Not That’s impossible.
Who told you?
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew something.”
Camille lowered her voice.
“Come meet me.”
“Why?”
“There are things you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Where?”
“The old Ashcroft house.”
Preston’s childhood home had been vacant for years, waiting for redevelopment.
I agreed only after arranging security outside.
Camille was waiting in the library.
Without diamonds and tailored clothing, she looked smaller.
Older.
“What do you know?” I asked.
She poured herself a drink.
Her hand trembled.
“Preston came to me last year.”
“And?”
“He said your marriage was ending.”
“That doesn’t explain my brakes.”
“He said you were planning to remove him from Meridian.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
I stared.
Camille took a drink.
“He became obsessed with protecting what he believed he had built.”
“He stole.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“I thought he was moving assets before the divorce.”
“You helped him.”
Her eyes dropped.
I laughed once, without humor.
“Of course you did.”
“You don’t understand what it was like.”
“You were living in a mansion paid for by me.”
Her head snapped up.
“Yes, Lorraine. I understand that now.”
I stepped closer.
“What did you know about the car?”
Camille became pale.
“After the accident, Preston came to me drunk.”
“And?”
“He kept saying Victor was an idiot.”
My heart pounded.
“What else?”
“He said it was supposed to scare you.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer nearly broke something in me.
“Was there anything else?”
Camille stared at her drink.
Then whispered:
“The lake house.”
I stopped breathing.
“What about it?”
“Two months before your anniversary trip, Preston asked me how quickly property transfers after someone dies.”
Cold spread through my body.
“What anniversary trip?”
“He told me you were going to the lake.”
We never went.
I canceled because of work.
Camille covered her face.
“I didn’t understand.”
“No. You chose not to understand.”
She started crying.
I felt nothing.
Not yet.
Then a sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Security had been stationed outside, not inside.
I turned.
Preston stood in the doorway.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Exhausted.
Camille went white.
“Preston.”
He ignored her.
His eyes stayed on me.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Neither should you.”
He stepped inside.
“Lorraine, we need to talk.”
“My attorneys can talk to yours.”
“You’re destroying everything.”
“You tried to destroy my brakes.”
His face changed.
Camille stood.
“Tell her the truth.”
Preston looked at his mother.
“You talked?”
“She deserves to know.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t speak to her like that,” I said instinctively.
The irony struck all three of us.
Preston laughed.
“There she is. Still protecting everybody.”
He stepped closer.
Security entered behind him.
Preston noticed.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
I stared at him.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
For once, that seemed to wound him.
He pulled an envelope from his jacket.
“I came to give you this.”
He placed it on the table.
“What is it?”
“The truth.”
Then he turned and left.
I waited until security confirmed he was gone.
Inside the envelope was a flash drive.
And a handwritten note.
I stole from you. I betrayed you. But I did not order your death. If you want to know who did, watch the files.
My fingers trembled.
That night, we opened the drive on an isolated computer.
There were six videos.
The first showed Preston.
Secretly recorded.
Arguing with someone inside his office.
The timestamp was four days before my brake failure.
The person across from him was mostly off camera.
But her voice was unmistakable.
Camille.
And she was saying:
“If Lorraine dies before she divorces you, the trust provisions change.”
I turned toward Rebecca.
Camille had lied.
May you like
Again.
And suddenly Preston was not the only Ashcroft I needed to fear.
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