Chapter 9: The Last Flight Out
My father stared at the passenger list.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he reached for his phone.
"James, I need you.""
James answered immediately.
"Yes, sir?""
"Jonathan, Victoria, and Thomas are traveling together. I want our legal team notified, and I want investigators coordinating with the appropriate authorities.""
"Understood.""
"Do not attempt anything outside the law. Preserve every record. We need evidence, not rumors.""
James paused.
"Yes, sir.""
My father ended the call.
I looked at Eleanor.
"Can they just leave?""
"Leaving the country doesn't automatically establish guilt," she explained.
"But if investigators believe evidence is being destroyed or assets are being moved, they can seek appropriate legal measures.""
My father looked toward David.
"Have any funds moved today?""
David opened his laptop.
"We're checking.""
I glanced at the clock.
It was almost midnight.
Amara was sleeping peacefully.
Her tiny chest rose and fell beneath the blanket.
I felt exhausted.
But I couldn't sleep.
Not while the people who had threatened us were apparently traveling together.
Not while my mother's death was still surrounded by questions.
And not while my father looked as though he had lost his brother all over again.
I walked over and stood beside him.
"Dad?""
He turned.
"Yes?""
"Do you think Jonathan is responsible for Mom's accident?""
His face tightened.
"I don't know.""
"But you suspect it.""
He looked toward the window.
"Your mother died during a snowstorm. The police report said she lost control of her vehicle.""
"Was the car ever examined again?""
"No.""
"Why not?""
"Because I believed the investigation was complete.""
I looked at the photograph of my mother.
"What if it wasn't?""
My father took a slow breath.
"Then we'll find out.""
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"But I need you to understand something. We cannot accuse someone of causing your mother's death without evidence.""
I nodded.
"I know.""
He looked at Amara.
"Your daughter deserves to grow up without carrying this.""
I smiled faintly.
"Then let's give her the truth.""
At one-thirty in the morning, David returned with new information.
"The money is moving.""
My father turned.
"How much?""
"We've identified transfers from three Northstar accounts into a private holding structure registered overseas.""
Eleanor frowned.
"Can you identify the beneficiary?""
David nodded.
"We're tracing the ownership records.""
He placed a sheet on the table.
"One of the accounts received a transfer of two million dollars this evening.""
My father looked at the document.
"From where?""
"Silvercrest's regional operating account.""
I felt sick.
"They're stealing money from the hotel?""
David nodded.
"That's what the records suggest.""
My father stood.
"Freeze every transaction that can legally be restricted. Notify the banks through counsel. I want the company's legitimate operations protected.""
David nodded.
"Already underway.""
Eleanor looked at the account information.
"There's a problem.""
"What?""
"The overseas holding company has an authorized signatory who isn't listed in the original trust documents.""
My father frowned.
"Who?""
She pointed to the name.
I read it.
Then looked at her.
"Margaret Brooks?""
My father's face went pale.
"That's impossible.""
Eleanor checked the registration date.
"It was created twelve years ago.""
The same year my mother died.
I looked at the document.
"Why would someone use Mom's name?""
David answered.
"Possibly to conceal the actual beneficial owner.""
My father shook his head.
"She was dead.""
"Which is why the signature requires examination.""
Eleanor looked at the registration form.
"There is an electronic authorization attached.""
My father leaned forward.
"Show me.""
David opened the file.
A scanned signature appeared.
It looked almost exactly like my mother's.
But beneath it was a digital timestamp.
November 17.
The day after her funeral.
I covered my mouth.
Someone had used my mother's signature after she died.
My father slowly sat down.
"Jonathan.""
Eleanor shook her head.
"We need to establish who submitted it.""
David nodded.
"Agreed.""
I stared at the document.
My mother had been dead for less than twenty-four hours when someone apparently used her identity to create a company.
The implications were overwhelming.
Then I remembered something.
"Dad, did Mom have a personal assistant?""
He looked at me.
"Yes. Why?""
"Who was she?""
"Angela Morris. She worked with your mother for years.""
I looked at Eleanor.
"Could she have witnessed the documents?""
Eleanor nodded.
"Possibly.""
My father took out his phone.
"Find Angela.""
Angela Morris lived in a quiet neighborhood outside Denver.
She was sixty-four now and had retired years earlier.
When Eleanor contacted her, she initially refused to discuss Margaret's affairs.
But after hearing that the original trust was being challenged, she agreed to meet.
We arrived at her home the following afternoon.
She opened the door wearing a gray cardigan.
The moment she saw my father, her eyes filled with tears.
"Richard.""
He hugged her.
"Angela.""
She looked at me.
"Danielle.""
I nodded.
"Thank you for seeing us.""
She invited us inside.
Her living room was filled with photographs.
One showed my mother and Angela laughing together at a company event.
Another showed my mother holding me as a baby.
Angela touched the photograph.
"She loved you so much.""
I smiled sadly.
"I miss her.""
Angela nodded.
"Every day.""
We sat around her dining table.
Eleanor explained the forged documents and the financial investigation.
Angela listened without interrupting.
When she finished, Angela stood and walked to a cabinet.
She returned with a small cardboard box.
"I kept these because I knew one day someone would need them.""
My father frowned.
"What are they?""
"Copies of documents Margaret asked me to preserve.""
She placed the box on the table.
Inside were letters, receipts, handwritten notes, and a small cassette recorder.
My father stared.
"What's that?""
Angela smiled sadly.
"Your wife was old-fashioned. She didn't trust computers.""
She picked up the recorder.
"She asked me to keep this after the meeting.""
Eleanor examined it.
"Is there a recording?""
Angela nodded.
"Yes.""
My father looked at her.
"Why didn't you give it to me?""
Angela's expression changed.
"Because Margaret told me not to.""
He looked wounded.
"Angela...""
She reached across the table.
"Richard, she said if she didn't come back from her meeting, I was to wait until Danielle was old enough to understand what had happened.""
I felt my eyes fill.
"What meeting?""
Angela looked at me.
"She met Jonathan the night before the accident.""
My father went completely still.
"What?""
Angela nodded.
"I drove her there.""
"Where?""
"An office building near the old headquarters.""
"Was anyone else there?""
"Yes.""
"Who?""
Angela hesitated.
Then she answered.
"Thomas Reed.""
My father stared.
Angela continued.
"Margaret was furious. She had discovered that money was being transferred through several companies. Jonathan told her he could fix everything if she signed a document.""
"What document?"" Eleanor asked.
"A release. Something that would allow him to restructure the trust.""
"Did she sign it?""
Angela shook her head.
"No.""
My father leaned forward.
"What happened?""
"She came out of the meeting carrying a folder. She looked frightened.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Did she say anything?""
Angela nodded.
"She told me, 'If anything happens to me, make sure Danielle gets the original documents.''"
My father closed his eyes.
Angela picked up the cassette recorder.
"Then she gave me this.""
Eleanor examined it.
"We need to digitize the recording and preserve the original.""
Angela nodded.
"That's fine.""
My father looked at her.
"Did you ever suspect Jonathan had something to do with her death?""
Angela stared at him.
Then she said something that made the entire room go silent.
"Yes.""
My father gripped the table.
"Why?""
Angela took a breath.
"Because the following morning, Jonathan called me and told me Margaret had been involved in a terrible accident.""
"How did he know?""
Angela looked down.
"Because the police hadn't even contacted me yet.""
My father's face drained of color.
"You're certain?""
"I remember it clearly. I asked him how he knew. He said someone from the company had called him.""
She shook her head.
"But when I asked which hospital Margaret had been taken to, he didn't answer.""
I felt a chill move through me.
"Did you tell the police?""
Angela nodded.
"I tried. But Jonathan told me the family didn't want unnecessary rumors. Then, two days later, I was told my position had been eliminated.""
My father stared at her.
"You were fired?""
"Yes.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
Angela looked at him sadly.
"I was afraid. And I thought you knew more than you were saying.""
My father lowered his head.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Angela pressed the play button.
Static filled the room.
A chair scraped.
Then my mother's voice emerged.
"Jonathan, I won't sign it.""
A man's voice answered.
"You're making a mistake, Margaret.""
"Then let me make it.""
"You don't understand what happens if Richard finds out.""
"He deserves to know.""
Another voice interrupted.
A man.
Not Jonathan.
"Mrs. Brooks, perhaps you should think about your daughter.""
My blood turned cold.
My mother answered sharply.
"Do not bring Danielle into this.""
The man continued.
"Nobody wants anything to happen to her.""
My father stood.
"Who is that?""
Angela looked at him.
"I don't know.""
The recording continued.
Jonathan spoke again.
"Margaret, we can still settle this quietly.""
"No. You had your chance.""
Then the unknown man said something that made my father grab the edge of the table.
"Then we'll have to make sure you never get the chance to tell him.""
The recording stopped.
Silence.
My father looked at Eleanor.
"Who was that man?""
She shook her head.
"We'll need audio analysis.""
Angela wiped her eyes.
"There is something else.""
My father turned.
"What?""
"After Margaret died, Jonathan came to my apartment.""
"When?""
"Three days later.""
"Why?""
"He asked whether she had left anything behind.""
My father frowned.
"What did you say?""
"I told him no.""
Angela opened another drawer and removed a folded note.
"But Margaret had left me something.""
She handed it to Eleanor.
Eleanor opened it.
Inside was a handwritten address.
And beneath it was a name.
*JONATHAN'S PRIVATE LAWYER.*
My father stared.
"Why would Margaret write that?""
Angela looked at us.
"Because she believed Jonathan's lawyer was helping him create the false documents.""
Eleanor read the address again.
Then she looked up.
"That's not just a private law office.""
"What is it?"" I asked.
She hesitated.
"It's the address of the law firm currently representing Victoria Harris.""
I looked at my father.
The same firm that had submitted the forged trust amendment.
The same firm that had tried to erase my rights.
And the same firm that had apparently been connected to my mother before her death.
My father took the note.
Then he turned to David.
"I want that firm investigated through the proper channels.""
David nodded.
"We'll coordinate with outside counsel.""
Just then, James called.
My father answered.
"James?""
"Sir, we've received confirmation from London.""
"What confirmation?""
"Jonathan, Victoria, and Thomas have checked into a private apartment under a corporate booking.""
My father frowned.
"Have they contacted anyone?""
"Yes. A fourth person met them less than an hour ago.""
"Who?""
James paused.
Then he said:
"His name is Alexander Cole.""
My father looked at Eleanor.
She slowly closed her eyes.
I recognized the name from the company's old photographs.
Alexander Cole had been Brooks Hospitality Group's former chief financial officer.
He had supposedly retired eleven years earlier.
My father whispered:
"That's impossible.""
James continued.
"There's something else, sir. Mr. Cole has been listed as deceased in the company's records since 2019.""
Nobody spoke.
Then my father looked at the recording.
The unknown man's voice.
The threat against my mother.
The forged documents.
The hidden accounts.
He slowly realized what we were looking at.
May you like
The man who had threatened my mother might not have been a stranger.
And if Alexander Cole was alive, then someone had spent years pretending he wasn't.