Chapter 3 - The Secret Her Father Took to the Grave
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
By the time officers reached Nora's apartment, Lincoln and Jessica were gone.
The hallway was empty.
But the deadbolt had fresh scratches.
Nora stood behind an officer, arms folded tightly across her chest.
One officer examined the door.
“Looks like someone tried to manipulate the lock.”
“Can you tell who?”
“Not from this.”
Nora looked at Ethan, who had arrived before the police.
He stood several feet away, saying nothing.
One officer glanced at him.
“Your relationship to Ms. Whitmore?”
Ethan answered:
“Friend.”
Nora looked at him.
Friend?
The word was strange.
Too intimate for a stranger.
Too simple for whatever this had become.
After the police left, Nora locked the door again.
She turned to Ethan.
“Tell me everything.”
“No.”
Her jaw dropped.
“No?”
“Not tonight.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“You're exhausted.”
“My ex and my best friend tried to break into my apartment.”
“I know.”
“My father's name is apparently connected to some conspiracy.”
“I know.”
“And you know things you refuse to explain.”
“I know.”
She stared at him.
“You're infuriating.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you sound so calm?”
“Because panic doesn't improve facts.”
She wanted to throw something at him.
Instead she sank onto the couch.
Ethan sat opposite her.
For the first time, he looked tired.
“My father was a financial investigator,” he said. “He worked on a case involving your father.”
Nora's expression changed.
“What was his name?”
“David Cole.”
She waited.
“Your father, Thomas Whitmore, was working on a restoration project for the Alder House.”
Nora knew the property.
Everyone in Seattle's preservation community knew it.
A century-old mansion, abandoned after a suspicious fire.
“My father died while inspecting that building,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Accident?”
“Officially.”
“And unofficially?”
Ethan reached into his bag.
He pulled out a folder.
He placed several copies of old documents on the table.
Nora leaned forward.
Invoices.
Property deeds.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
Her eyes widened.
“My father's signature.”
“He wasn't stealing.”
“I didn't say he was.”
“Someone was using his firm.”
Nora scanned the documents.
Then she saw a name repeated across them.
Pierce Development.
Lincoln's family company.
Her stomach turned.
“Lincoln?”
“No. His father.”
Nora sat back.
“Lincoln's father is dead.”
“Two years ago.”
“Yes.”
Ethan nodded.
“Before he died, he transferred ownership of several properties into shell companies.”
“Why?”
“To hide who really controlled them.”
Nora stared at one document.
One of the shell companies had the same registered mailing address as the office where she worked.
Jessica had worked there.
The same office.
The same people.
Her throat tightened.
“Jessica knew.”
“She may have.”
“Why?”
“That is what we're trying to find out.”
“We?”
Ethan looked at her.
“You were never supposed to be involved.”
“Yet here I am.”
“Yes.”
“How convenient.”
He accepted the accusation.
Then Nora noticed something strange.
On the bottom of one photograph, there was a handwritten note.
Alder House — North wall.
She recognized the handwriting.
Her father's.
“What is in the north wall?”
Ethan's eyes sharpened.
“I don't know.”
Nora stood.
“I do.”
He followed her gaze.
“My father used to tell me old houses remember what people want them to forget.”
She moved toward the closet.
“When I was little, he had me memorize a restoration diagram.”
She pulled out a cardboard tube.
Inside was an old architectural blueprint.
She spread it across the table.
Alder House.
North wall.
There was a small symbol near the foundation.
Ethan leaned closer.
“This isn't on the official blueprint.”
“No.”
“What's it mean?”
“My father called it a witness mark.”
“A witness mark?”
“A place where something was hidden without changing the structure enough for inspectors to notice.”
Ethan was silent.
Nora suddenly understood.
Her father had not been merely restoring Alder House.
He had been hiding evidence.
“Then why did he die?”
“Maybe because somebody found out.”
Nora looked at Ethan.
“Who?”
Before he could answer, her phone rang.
Lincoln.
She stared at the screen.
Ethan said:
“Don't answer.”
She answered.
“Lincoln.”
His breathing was heavy.
“Nora, listen to me.”
“I'm listening.”
“Jessica is not the person you think she is.”
Nora closed her eyes.
“You're unbelievable.”
“There's a reason I lied to you.”
“Cheating is not a misunderstanding.”
“I never slept with her.”
Silence.
Nora's face went blank.
“What?”
“I need you to believe me.”
“I saw you.”
“You saw us in the bedroom.”
“Yes.”
“And you assumed.”
“Yes.”
Lincoln's voice cracked.
“You were supposed to.”
Nora stared at Ethan.
“What does that mean?”
Lincoln whispered:
“They wanted you to see it.”
The call ended.
Nora stood motionless.
Ethan asked:
“What did he say?”
She repeated the words.
His expression hardened.
“That's bad.”
“Very bad.”
Lincoln called again.
Nora answered.
This time he said only:
“Don't trust Jessica.”
Then another voice came through the line.
A man's voice.
Cold.
“Tell Ethan Cole we know he's investigating.”
The call disconnected.
Nora's phone slipped from her fingers.
Ethan's face went pale.
For the first time, she saw genuine fear in his eyes.
“You know that voice.”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Who is it?”
“My father's former partner.”
“Name?”
Ethan swallowed.
“Marcus Vale.”
Nora had never heard the name.
May you like
But Ethan had.
And he knew exactly what Marcus had done to everyone who had ever gotten too close to the truth.
