Chapter 5 - The Name on the Note
Victor's death turned the entire investigation upside down.
Police believed he had been killed because he knew too much.
The media believed Julian had ordered it.
Financial regulators froze several Cavanaugh Global accounts.
Rumors spread across Fairhaven faster than facts.
My father was accused of everything.
Murder.
Fraud.
Cover-up.
Conspiracy.
He could fight the financial allegations.
The murder accusation was different.
The note in Victor's pocket had my name.
That was enough to make reporters follow me to school.
My father wanted to pull me out.
I refused.
“You're a target,” he said.
“So is everyone.”
“We can protect you.”
“You couldn't protect Mom.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
My father's expression changed.
He didn't argue.
That hurt more.
He simply said, “I know.”
At school, Connor approached me.
He looked miserable.
“I didn't know.”
I stopped.
“Know what?”
“That my dad was involved.”
I studied his face.
He looked genuinely ashamed.
“My father told me to show you that photograph.”
“Why?”
“He said you would lose control.”
I laughed.
“He was right.”
Connor lowered his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
For the first time, I realized something.
Not every enemy was choosing to be one.
Some people were just tools in someone else's game.
I told him I accepted his apology.
We didn't become friends.
But I stopped hating him.
At home, Rachel discovered something on Victor's laptop.
A hidden folder.
Inside was a list of names.
Journalists.
Politicians.
Executives.
Police officers.
Housekeepers.
Our family.
And one person who made my stomach twist.
Eleanor Hargrove.
Next to her name were two words.
HIGH RISK.
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
She shrugged.
“It means I made someone nervous.”
Daniel was less calm.
“He knows who you are.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Or he knew.”
Daniel shook his head.
“We don't know that.”
Then Rachel called us over.
She had found a recording.
Victor speaking to someone whose voice had been altered.
The conversation was short.
“Did the girl find the room?”
“Yes.”
“Did she find the letter?”
“Yes.”
“What about the boy?”
“Alex?”
“Yes.”
“He's unstable.”
The recording ended.
My hands shook.
“Who was that?”
Rachel didn't know.
But we heard another sound.
A clock.
Ticking.
Every five seconds.
Eleanor looked at me.
“Where have we heard that?”
I frowned.
Then I remembered.
The old music room.
There was an antique clock in the corner.
It made the same sound.
Three ticks.
Pause.
Two ticks.
I ran upstairs.
The clock was still there.
Behind it, I found a tiny compartment.
Inside was a key.
Not brass.
Silver.
My mother's initials were engraved in the handle.
C.C.
The key opened a drawer in her old dressing table.
Inside was a passport.
Not hers.
Julian's.
With a second name listed on a business visa.
Marcus looked confused.
“Why would Dad have a second identity?”
“He doesn't,” Adrian said.
I looked closer.
It wasn't Julian.
It was Julian's older brother.
Nathan Cavanaugh.
My uncle.
I had heard the name once.
He had died before I was born.
But according to the documents, Nathan wasn't dead.
Or at least someone had been using his identity.
Rachel went still.
“That's our missing link.”
“What?”
“Victor worked for someone with the identity Nathan Cavanaugh.”
My father appeared in the doorway.
His face was empty.
“That's impossible.”
Adrian turned.
“Dad?”
Julian walked toward us.
“I watched my brother die.”
“How?”
“A private plane crash.”
“What year?”
“Twenty-eight years ago.”
Rachel looked at the passport.
“The crash was never independently confirmed.”
Julian stared at the pages.
“No.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“There is another possibility.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Someone used his identity.”
“Who?”
She pointed to the passport.
“The same person who could forge Julian's signature.”
The room fell silent.
A voice came from the hallway.
“Exactly.”
We turned.
It was Daniel.
He held a photograph.
“This man was arrested twenty years ago for identity fraud.”
He placed it on the table.
The man looked nothing like Nathan.
But one detail was unmistakable.
A small scar across the jaw.
The same scar Daniel's father had described in an old case file.
I stared at him.
“Who is he?”
Daniel answered.
“Thomas Reed.”
Eleanor's face changed.
“My father knew that name.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thomas Reed was your mother's biggest fear.”
Julian stepped backward.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas Reed was the man responsible for the plane crash.”
The room seemed to shrink.
My uncle hadn't died.
Someone had killed him.
Then stolen his identity.
And for twenty-eight years, the man had been hiding in plain sight.
But where?
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At three in the morning, I found Eleanor sitting alone in the kitchen.
“You should sleep.”
She looked up.
“You too.”
I sat opposite her.
“Are you leaving?”
She frowned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Everybody leaves.”
She was quiet.
Then she said, “I'm not everyone.”
I looked at her.
She reached across the table.
Not like a mother.
Not like a teacher.
Just like someone reminding another human being that he wasn't alone.
“You don't have to be the strongest person in the room all the time, Alex.”
I looked away.
A tear slipped down my face.
I wiped it quickly.
She pretended not to notice.
That was one of the reasons I trusted her.
The next morning, she vanished.
Her room was empty.
Her suitcase was gone.
And on my desk was a note.
Don't come looking for me.
For your family's safety, trust me.
I read it twice.
May you like
Then I noticed the handwriting.
It wasn't Eleanor's.
