Chapter 5 - The Night Caroline Died
Claire confronted Grant before noon.
She found him in his study.
“Did you know Caroline was coming to find me the night she died?”
Grant slowly stood.
The question struck him harder than Claire expected.
“Who told you?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Claire.”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
She stepped backward.
Grant moved around the desk.
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“I knew she was looking for someone named Claire Donovan. I didn’t know who you were when you came here.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I didn’t recognize you.”
“You hired me.”
“The agency hired you.”
“You approved every employee in this house.”
“I approved a résumé.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“Caroline told me she had found someone from her childhood. That’s all.”
“Your mother says the accident report was changed.”
Grant became very still.
“What?”
“She paid someone.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if Caroline’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Grant crossed the room.
“Who did she pay?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
He reached for his phone.
Claire caught his wrist.
“No.”
Grant looked at her hand.
Then her face.
“If your mother is involved, calling people gives them warning.”
“You think someone killed my wife?”
“I think your mother spent eight years lying about me.”
Grant stared at the floor.
Then he whispered, “Richard.”
“Richard Vale?”
“Caroline hated him.”
“Why?”
“She believed he was stealing from Ashford Holdings.”
Claire’s mind raced.
Grant opened a locked drawer.
Inside was an old phone.
“Caroline’s.”
“You kept it?”
“I couldn’t throw it away.”
The battery was dead.
Grant connected a charger.
Minutes passed.
Then the screen illuminated.
A password request appeared.
Grant entered six digits.
Wrong.
Again.
Wrong.
“What would she use?” Claire asked.
Grant swallowed.
“Our anniversary.”
Wrong.
“Leo’s birthday?”
“She died before he was born.”
Claire frowned.
“What about St. Agnes?”
Grant looked at her.
Claire entered the date stamped on the oldest letter.
The phone unlocked.
Both of them froze.
A folder sat on the home screen.
VALE.
Inside were photographs of financial records.
Transfers.
Shell companies.
Payments from Ashford subsidiaries to entities Claire did not recognize.
Grant’s face drained.
“Twenty-eight million dollars.”
Claire scrolled.
Then she found an audio recording.
Dated the night Caroline died.
Grant pressed play.
Caroline’s voice filled the study.
“If you’re hearing this, something happened before I reached Claire.”
Grant gripped the desk.
“I found proof Richard has been moving company money. Margaret knows something is wrong, but she thinks protecting the family name matters more than exposing him.”
Static crackled.
Then Caroline said something stranger.
“Claire is the key.”
Claire stopped the recording.
“What does that mean?”
Grant shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
They continued.
Caroline again:
“There is a trust attached to Hawthorne Foundation. It was established by my grandfather. Richard cannot access its controlling shares if Claire Donovan is alive.”
Claire stared at Grant.
“What?”
“I have no idea.”
The study door slammed shut.
Grant spun.
Smoke curled beneath it.
Claire smelled gasoline.
“Grant.”
He rushed toward the door.
The handle was hot.
“Back.”
He kicked once.
Nothing.
Twice.
The wood cracked.
Above them, an alarm began screaming.
Claire grabbed Caroline’s phone.
“Leo!”
Grant’s face transformed.
He rammed his shoulder into the door.
On the third strike it burst open.
Smoke filled the hallway.
They ran.
Upstairs, Leo’s nanny was screaming.
“His room!”
Flames climbed the east staircase.
Grant charged forward.
Claire grabbed his arm.
“Service stairs!”
They ran through the linen corridor.
Claire knew every hidden route in Hawthorne Hall.
She reached Leo’s nursery first.
The door was locked.
“Leo!”
A tiny scream came from inside.
Grant threw himself against the door.
Claire grabbed a brass fire extinguisher and smashed the lock.
They entered.
Leo stood crying beside his bed.
Claire scooped him up.
“Got you.”
“Claire!”
“I’ve got you.”
Grant wrapped both of them in his arms.
Then Claire saw the window.
Open.
Someone had been inside.
A curtain moved in the cold wind.
On the carpet lay a muddy shoe print.
Not from a firefighter.
Not from a child.
Someone had locked Leo inside.
They escaped through the service wing as firefighters flooded the estate.
Outside, wrapped in blankets, Grant held his son.
Claire stood beside them.
Captain Morris approached.
“Mr. Ashford?”
“Yes.”
“We found an accelerant.”
Grant looked toward the burning windows.
“So this wasn’t electrical.”
“No.”
The captain hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
He held up a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a silver lighter.
Engraved with initials.
G.A.
Grant Ashford.
Claire looked at him.
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“That isn’t mine.”
Captain Morris answered carefully.
“It was found beside the point of ignition.”
Police cars turned into the estate.
Margaret arrived moments later.
She rushed toward Leo.
Then she saw the evidence bag.
Her expression changed.
Claire caught it.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen that lighter,” Claire said.
Margaret said nothing.
“Whose is it?”
Grant demanded.
Margaret stared at the initials.
Then whispered:
“Your father’s.”
Grant frowned.
“My father has been dead twelve years.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
May you like
Tears appeared in Margaret Ashford’s eyes.
“I mean your father isn’t dead.”
