Chapter 6 - MY SISTER’S NAMEI made Vanessa repeat it.
“Emily Voss.”
“No.”
“It’s here.”
“No.”
I was thirteen when Emily was born.
I was twenty-five when she disappeared.
She had been twenty-one.
Beautiful, impulsive, endlessly stubborn Emily.
She went sailing with friends near Cape Fear.
A storm moved through unexpectedly.
The boat washed ashore damaged.
One body was recovered.
Emily’s wasn’t.
After eleven months, she was legally presumed dead.
My father never accepted it.
I eventually had to.
“You’re looking at the wrong person.”
Vanessa’s voice softened.
“Date of birth?”
She read it.
Correct.
“Social Security suffix?”
Correct.
Rachel looked alarmed.
“Ask when the trust was opened.”
I did.
“Three years ago.”
My hands went numb.
“Who created it?”
“Marcus Hartwell.”
The car filled with silence.
I nearly laughed from the absurdity.
Marcus.
My cheating husband.
Possible fraudster.
The man who forged documents against my inheritance.
Had created a multimillion-dollar trust naming me and my dead sister as beneficiaries.
Nothing fit anymore.
Rachel called Elias.
Within fifteen minutes, he confirmed the account.
The initial funding had come from a series of Hartwell-related entities.
“Could this be money Marcus stole?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“Why put it in my name?”
“Maybe to hide beneficial ownership.”
“Then why Emily?”
“I don’t know.”
When we reached Charleston, we went directly to the old law building where Arthur’s storage unit remained.
Unit 19 smelled like paper and dust.
Six filing cabinets stood against the walls.
Boxes were stacked to the ceiling.
Richard whistled.
“Arthur wasn’t exaggerating.”
Rachel pulled on gloves.
“Nobody takes anything without logging it.”
We began.
The first cabinet held contracts.
The second held bank records.
The third contained correspondence between Franklin Hartwell and Arthur.
Then, near the back, I found a folder labeled:
E.V. — PRIVATE
My hands froze.
Rachel came beside me.
“Want me to open it?”
“No.”
I did.
Inside was a photograph.
Emily.
Older.
Not twenty-one.
Maybe thirty.
Standing outside what appeared to be a clinic.
A handwritten date on the back was only six years old.
I sat down.
My knees stopped working.
“She lived.”
Rachel crouched beside me.
“It appears so.”
“She lived.”
I started crying.
Not quietly.
Seventeen years of grief over my father.
Twenty-one years of grief over Emily.
Now both had become tangled inside the Hartwell family’s secrets.
I hated Marcus.
I hated Arthur.
I hated my father for keeping things from me.
And more than anything, I hated myself for feeling hope.
Because hope could hurt worse than grief.
There were letters beneath the photograph.
The first was addressed to my father.
The date was six months after Emily’s disappearance.
Dad, I’m alive. Please don’t tell Caroline yet. Franklin knows I copied something from his office. I think someone followed me to the marina.
My vision blurred.
Rachel read over my shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
Another letter.
I know you think I should come home, but if Franklin believes I drowned, let him. Caroline is safer if he thinks I took the evidence with me.
I covered my mouth.
Emily hadn’t abandoned us.
She had disappeared deliberately.
Richard read another page.
“What did she copy?”
We found the answer in a sealed envelope.
A ledger.
Payments to inspectors.
County officials.
Consultants.
And one name that appeared repeatedly.
Franklin Hartwell.
But another name appeared once.
Richard Sterling.
Richard stared.
“No.”
Rachel looked at him.
“You said your company wasn’t involved.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Your name is here.”
“I can see that.”
The entry showed $900,000 transferred from a Sterling-controlled account.
Richard’s face hardened.
“This wasn’t authorized by me.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
He nodded.
No argument.
That mattered.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Marcus.
We need to talk before you ruin both families.
I showed Rachel.
“Don’t respond.”
Another arrived.
Ask Arthur why Emily ran.
My blood went cold.
He knew.
I typed before Rachel could stop me.
Where is she?
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Appeared again.
Alive.
I stood so quickly the chair fell over.
Richard turned.
“What happened?”
I showed them.
Rachel grabbed my wrist.
“Do not let him control this conversation.”
I called Marcus.
He answered immediately.
“Finally.”
“Where is Emily?”
“I’ll tell you in person.”
“Tell me now.”
“I need something first.”
“What?”
“The Harbor Point financing has to close.”
I stared at the phone.
Even now.
Even with everything burning around him.
Money.
“You’re insane.”
“No, Caroline. I’m trying to fix what my father did.”
“By forging my signature?”
“I needed control of the property.”
“To sell it.”
“To protect it.”
I laughed.
“You expected me to believe that?”
“Your father was going to lose Harbor Point.”
“Your father was trying to take it.”
“That’s not the whole story.”
“Then tell me.”
“Meet me.”
“Where?”
“The marina.”
Rachel shook her head violently.
Marcus continued.
“Come alone.”
“No.”
“Then you don’t get Emily.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“Is she with you?”
Silence.
“Marcus?”
“She’s safe.”
“Answer me.”
“Thirty minutes.”
He hung up.
Rachel immediately began calling law enforcement contacts.
I stared at Emily’s photograph.
Richard touched my shoulder.
“You’re not going alone.”
“He might know where she is.”
“He also knows exactly how desperately you want that information.”
Rachel arranged for two investigators to follow us.
At the marina, Marcus stood beside a black SUV.
Alone.
At least visibly.
He looked terrible.
Same clothes as the previous night.
No tie.
Eyes bloodshot.
“Where is Emily?”
“Not here.”
I stopped ten feet away.
“You have ten seconds.”
He looked behind me.
“You brought people.”
“Yes.”
“You never used to be this suspicious.”
“You never used to forge documents declaring me dead.”
His face twisted.
“I did not declare you dead.”
“Vanessa says you did.”
“The filing existed before I sent it.”
“You sent it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Franklin has controlled Hartwell Development for forty years, even from Florida. The company is drowning in debt he created.”
“So you decided to steal my property.”
“I decided to close a deal that would generate enough cash to get everyone out.”
“Everyone?”
“You. Diane. Employees. Investors.”
“And yourself.”
“Yes, Caroline. Myself too.”
At least that was truthful.
“Emily.”
He rubbed his face.
“She contacted me three years ago.”
“Why?”
“She wanted access to Franklin’s records.”
“Why you?”
“Because she knew I hated him.”
“You married me.”
“That doesn’t mean I love my father.”
“No. Apparently it doesn’t mean you love me either.”
He flinched.
For once I wanted the words to hurt.
Marcus reached into his coat.
Our investigators shifted.
“Relax.”
He removed an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Emily.
Older again.
Standing beside Marcus.
The date printed on the edge was eight months earlier.
I could barely breathe.
“Where?”
“Savannah.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she was safe.”
“She was the last time I spoke to her.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
I slapped him.
It was not planned.
It was not dignified.
But after twenty-one years of believing my sister was dead, hearing that my husband had been meeting her secretly was more than I could absorb.
Marcus accepted the blow.
“She had a reason.”
“What reason could justify this?”
“She believed Franklin was still watching you.”
“She could have contacted me.”
“She tried once.”
My anger froze.
“What?”
“Seven years ago.”
“No.”
“She mailed you a letter.”
“I never got it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Marcus looked sick.
“Because Diane intercepted it.”
I stared at him.
“My mother?”
“No. Mine.”
The marina seemed to go silent.
“Diane knew Emily was alive?”
“She found the letter at our house before you saw it.”
“What did she do with it?”
“She gave it to Franklin.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Franklin told her Emily was unstable and trying to blackmail the family.”
I stepped backward.
“Diane knew.”
“She didn’t know everything.”
“She knew enough.”
Marcus took another step toward me.
“Caroline, listen.”
“No.”
“Emily has evidence that could destroy Franklin. That’s why I moved the thirty-one million.”
“What does money have to do with her?”
“It was restitution.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“For what my father took from your family.”
“You expect credit for secretly returning stolen money?”
“No.”
He sounded exhausted.
“I expect you to understand that I’ve been trying to get out of this for years.”
“While sleeping with Vanessa.”
He looked away.
“That was wrong.”
“That was wrong?”
“I don’t have an excuse.”
Finally.
No excuse.
It almost made it worse.
“Why did you tell Vanessa I was dead?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
He looked toward the water.
“My father.”
“Franklin prepared the package?”
“Parts of it.”
“Why would he call me dead?”
“Because if Sterling’s attorneys discovered you were alive, they’d contact you.”
“And?”
“And you would discover the entire financing depended on Harbor Point.”
My phone rang.
Diane.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.
“Caroline.”
“What?”
“Someone is in the house.”
My anger vanished.
“What house?”
“Yours.”
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs.”
“Leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Then I heard a crash through the phone.
Diane gasped.
A man’s voice sounded in the background.
And Marcus went white.
Because even through the phone, he recognized it.
“Mom?”
The voice spoke again.
Low.
Cold.
Older.
“Diane, give me the Harbor Point file.”
Marcus whispered one word.
“Dad.”
May you like
Franklin Hartwell wasn’t in Florida.
He was inside my house.
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