Chapter 2 - The Name Richard Refused to Explain
Hannah could not stop staring at the screen.
The photograph was grainy.
Old.
Taken outdoors.
But there was no mistaking the woman.
Her grandmother.
Rose Brooks.
Standing beside a much younger Richard Whitmore.
Richard looked perhaps forty years old.
His arm was around Rose's shoulder.
They were smiling.
Not like strangers.
Like people who had known each other for years.
Margaret saw the image.
Her expression changed from anger to confusion.
“Richard.”
He did not move.
“Richard, what is this?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
He looked at the security chief.
“Where did this image come from?”
“An old file linked to the pendant.”
Margaret stared at him.
“You knew her.”
Richard remained silent.
Hannah stepped forward.
“My grandmother told me she barely knew anyone in Chicago.”
Richard looked at her.
“She lied.”
The words hit Hannah like a slap.
“Why?”
“Because she was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Richard hesitated.
“From me.”
Hannah's heart pounded.
Margaret looked between them.
“What is going on?”
Richard finally looked at his wife.
“I thought Rose took the secret with her.”
Hannah's voice dropped.
“What secret?”
Richard rubbed his forehead.
For the first time since Hannah had seen him, he looked old.
Not wealthy.
Not powerful.
Old.
Tired.
Afraid.
“Your grandmother worked for me.”
Hannah shook her head.
“She was a seamstress.”
“She was.”
“But?”
“She also handled private records.”
Margaret stepped back.
“You employed her?”
“For a short time.”
“How short?”
Richard didn't answer.
Hannah did.
“When my mother was twenty-two?”
Richard nodded.
Hannah remembered something.
A story her grandmother had told her.
There had been a terrible winter.
Rose had worked extra shifts.
A wealthy man had given her a job.
She had never said his name.
She had only called him “Mr. W.”
Hannah looked at Richard.
“You were Mr. W.”
He said nothing.
Margaret's face hardened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Richard turned.
“Because it had nothing to do with you.”
“That pendant belongs to my family.”
“Yes.”
“And my husband knew my grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“You have been lying to me for years.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Margaret.”
“No.”
She stood.
“I want the truth.”
Before Richard could answer, a man entered through the rear door.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Gray hair.
His presence silenced the restaurant immediately.
Richard looked at him.
“Arthur.”
The man approached.
“I think we've run out of time.”
Hannah stared.
She did not know him.
But Richard clearly did.
Margaret stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
Arthur ignored her.
He looked at Hannah.
“You have the envelope.”
Hannah's fingers tightened around her purse.
“Yes.”
Arthur smiled faintly.
“Then your grandmother was right.”
Richard stepped between them.
“Don't.”
Arthur looked amused.
“You still think you can protect her?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn't protect Rose.”
Richard flinched.
Hannah noticed.
“You knew she was in danger.”
Richard looked at her.
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I tried.”
“No.”
Hannah's voice cracked.
“You were rich. Powerful. You had people. And my grandmother died believing she had to hide secrets from everyone.”
Richard's face tightened.
“I paid for her medical care.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No.”
He lowered his gaze.
“It isn't.”
The honesty stunned her.
Then the lights flickered.
Security guards rushed toward the entrance.
The restaurant doors locked automatically.
Someone had triggered the alarm.
Arthur stepped backward.
“Time to go.”
Richard moved toward him.
But Arthur was already gone.
The security chief checked the cameras.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“The rear system has been disabled.”
Richard swore.
Hannah held her purse tighter.
“What is happening?”
Richard turned toward her.
“There are people who have been waiting nine years for that envelope.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandmother hid evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Richard looked directly into her eyes.
“Fraud.”
“Against you?”
“No.”
He paused.
“Against my company.”
Hannah frowned.
“Who stole from Whitmore Development?”
“My business partner.”
“Who?”
Richard answered with one word.
“Daniel.”
Hannah froze.
“Daniel who?”
“Daniel Brooks.”
Hannah felt cold.
Her father.
Her father had died when she was twelve.
Car accident.
At least that was what she had always been told.
“You knew my father too.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he had betrayed me.”
Hannah stared.
Richard continued.
“Then I learned he was trying to save me.”
Margaret whispered, “Richard, what are you saying?”
Richard looked at Hannah.
“Your father didn't die in an accident.”
Silence.
The world seemed to narrow.
Hannah could hear her own heartbeat.
“No.”
“He was murdered.”
Hannah's knees nearly gave out.
She grabbed the edge of the table.
“My mother said…”
“I know what she said.”
“She said the brakes failed.”
“They did.”
“Then how?”
Richard’s voice was almost a whisper.
“They were cut.”
Hannah's eyes filled.
“Who did it?”
Richard looked toward Arthur's empty doorway.
“We never proved it.”
“But you suspect someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Richard did not answer.
Hannah stepped closer.
“Who?”
May you like
Finally he said:
“My brother.”
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