Chapter 17 - Victoria's Brother
Victoria didn't cry.
That would have been easier.
Instead, she stared at the photograph as if the paper itself had betrayed her.
“His name is Richard Sterling.”
Ruth nodded slowly.
“That’s him.”
Frank closed the conference-room door.
“You're certain?”
“I never forgot his face.”
Victoria turned sharply.
“What was he doing at Margaret Vance's house?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said you saw him.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“The night Claire disappeared.”
My skin prickled.
Victoria put the photograph down.
“Richard was in Boston in 2004.”
Ruth shook her head.
“No.”
“You're mistaken.”
“I served him dinner.”
Victoria went completely still.
Ruth continued.
“He arrived around seven. Margaret told me he was an old business associate.”
“What did they discuss?”
“I wasn't allowed in the dining room.”
“But?”
Ruth looked toward the table.
“But Margaret liked whiskey when she was nervous. She kept sending me back for ice.”
“And you heard something.”
“Pieces.”
“What pieces?”
Ruth took a breath.
“Claire had documents.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know. Financial records, I think. She had discovered something Andrew and Margaret were involved in.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What?”
“Property transfers. Insurance claims. Shell companies.”
Frank cursed softly.
Victoria looked at him.
“What?”
He glanced at me.
“During the investigation into Margaret and Andrew, we found irregular transactions. We assumed they were hiding assets.”
“They were,” I said.
“Maybe not only their assets.”
Ruth nodded.
“Claire threatened to go to the authorities.”
“And Richard?”
“He came to stop her.”
Victoria slammed both hands onto the table.
“No.”
Ruth flinched.
“Victoria.”
“No.” She pointed at the photograph. “My brother is arrogant. He's selfish. He is capable of a lot of things I don't admire. But you're implying murder.”
“I didn't say murder.”
“You said a woman screamed in a basement and disappeared.”
Nobody answered.
Victoria stepped away from the table.
For the first time, she looked less like the woman who had helped rebuild my life and more like someone whose own floor had just collapsed beneath her.
I knew that feeling.
I stood.
“Victoria.”
“Don't.”
“Look at me.”
“I said don't.”
I ignored her.
“You believed me when believing me was inconvenient.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You didn't owe me that.”
“Emily.”
“You could have walked away. You didn't.”
She looked at me.
“So don't ask me to walk away from you now.”
Something broke behind her eyes.
She looked down.
Frank cleared his throat.
“We need law enforcement.”
Ruth immediately stood.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“If Richard finds out—”
“He doesn't know you're here.”
“He will.”
“How?”
Ruth stared toward the closed blinds.
“Because someone has been following me.”
That changed everything.
Frank crossed the room.
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Vehicle?”
“Black SUV. Sometimes silver.”
“License plate?”
“I tried.”
She pulled out her phone.
There were photographs.
Blurry.
But one showed part of a plate.
Frank took the phone.
“I'm sending this to a detective I trust.”
Ruth looked terrified.
“I shouldn't have come.”
“Yes, you should have,” I said.
She stared at me.
“Twenty-two years ago would have been better.”
The words came out harder than I intended.
Ruth looked down.
“I know.”
I regretted them immediately.
Not because they weren't true.
Because shame had already punished her for twenty-two years.
I knew what fear could make people do.
And what it could make them fail to do.
I sat beside her.
“Why now?”
She wiped her eyes.
“Because I saw you walk.”
I frowned.
“At the trial?”
“No. Last month.”
She looked around the conference room.
“There was an interview about this foundation. You were walking through the construction site. You said something.”
“What?”
“That surviving wasn't the same as being free.”
I remembered.
Ruth's voice trembled.
“I realized I had survived Margaret Vance for twenty-two years.”
She looked at me.
“But I was still doing what she told me.”
Silence filled the room.
Then my phone rang.
My mother.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Mom?”
Her voice was breathless.
“Emily, where are you?”
“At the foundation.”
“Is Frank with you?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
I did.
“What happened?”
“Someone came to the house.”
Frank straightened.
“Who?”
“I don't know. A man.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked for Emily.”
My stomach dropped.
“Did you let him inside?”
“Of course not.”
“What did he say?”
My mother hesitated.
“Mom.”
“He said he had something that belonged to the Vances.”
Victoria moved closer.
“What?”
“He left a box on the porch.”
Frank was already reaching for his coat.
“Don't touch it.”
“We didn't.”
“Get away from the windows. Call police.”
My father said something in the background.
Then my mother whispered:
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“There’s writing on the box.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does it say?”
A pause.
May you like
Then:
“YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE DEAD ALONE.”
