Chapter 11 - The Green Book
Samuel Cole lived three states away.
Or at least he had until six months ago.
Investigators traced him to a small town less than an hour from Lake Marston.
Near my mother’s hidden cabin.
Nothing about that felt accidental.
Alvarez contacted him.
At first, he denied knowing my mother.
Then she mentioned the diary.
He hung up.
For six hours, nobody could reach him.
By evening, officers went to his house.
Empty.
Not abandoned.
Empty recently.
Coffee still in the pot.
A jacket over the chair.
His truck missing.
“He ran,” Dad said.
We were back at his house with security outside.
“Or someone reached him first,” Rebecca replied.
I hated that possibility.
Police circulated Samuel’s vehicle information.
At 9:20 p.m., a traffic camera captured his truck heading south.
Not north toward Canada.
Not toward an airport.
South.
Toward us.
At 11:03, the doorbell rang.
Every adult in the room froze.
The officer outside answered first.
Several voices followed.
Then a knock.
“Ms. Bennett?”
Alvarez.
Dad opened the door.
She entered with an older man.
Late fifties.
Thin.
Gray beard.
Cracked glasses.
Samuel Cole.
He looked at me.
“You look like Margaret.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew my mother?”
“Better than she knew me.”
“What does that mean?”
“She spent six months asking questions about my brother.”
He carried no bag.
No green book.
“Where is it?” I asked.
Samuel’s expression tightened.
“Safe.”
“Daniel is missing.”
“I know.”
“You may have evidence that can stop him.”
“I may have evidence that can get people killed.”
My father stepped forward.
“People are already hurt.”
Samuel looked at my leg.
“I see that.”
Alvarez gestured toward a chair.
“Start at the beginning.”
Samuel sat.
Eight years earlier, Andrew Cole had worked as controller for Bennett Restoration under Daniel’s father.
When Daniel began taking a larger role in the company, Andrew discovered duplicate invoices.
Inflated claims.
Payments to fake subcontractors.
He confronted Daniel privately.
Three weeks later, Andrew’s car left a rural highway during heavy rain.
Police ruled it accidental.
“He had alcohol in his system,” Samuel said.
“Was he drinking?” Alvarez asked.
“Andrew hadn’t touched alcohol in nine years.”
The toxicology level had been low but present.
Enough to support the accident theory.
Samuel never believed it.
“Did you have evidence?”
“No.”
“What changed?”
“Margaret.”
My mother had found Andrew’s name while tracing Northline Advisory.
She searched old news reports and contacted Samuel.
“He gave her something,” Rebecca said.
Samuel looked at her.
“Andrew gave me something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“The green book?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“The green book is Margaret’s.”
I leaned forward.
“What’s inside?”
“Names.”
“What names?”
“Everyone Daniel paid.”
Alvarez’s expression sharpened.
“How would Margaret know that?”
“Andrew’s ledger contained account numbers, vendor codes and initials. Margaret spent months matching them.”
“She created a key.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Samuel stared at me.
“Before I tell you, I need to know something.”
“What?”
“Do you want to destroy Daniel?”
My father’s face hardened.
I answered first.
“No.”
Samuel studied me.
“He broke your leg.”
“I know.”
“He threatened your child.”
“I know.”
“He used your mother.”
“I know.”
“Then why not destroy him?”
Because for years Daniel had controlled my emotions by deciding what I should fear.
I would not let him control my future by deciding whom I should hate.
“I want him stopped.”
Samuel nodded.
“Margaret said you would answer that way.”
My eyes burned.
“Where is the book?”
He reached inside his jacket.
Alvarez tensed.
Samuel slowly removed a small green notebook.
He placed it on the table.
“I never left home without it.”
Dad stared at him.
“You made the police chase you while carrying it?”
“I needed to know whether I was being followed.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Everyone went silent.
“By whom?” Alvarez asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What vehicle?”
“Black SUV.”
My pulse quickened.
Daniel drove a black SUV before police impounded it.
But so did millions of people.
Samuel opened the notebook.
My mother’s handwriting filled the pages.
Names.
Businesses.
Dates.
At least fourteen individuals.
One name was circled repeatedly.
Victor Lang.
Rebecca gasped.
“Daniel’s attorney?”
I looked at her.
“His current attorney?”
“No. His company attorney.”
Victor Lang had handled Bennett Restoration contracts for years.
“Why is he circled?”
Samuel pointed to several entries.
Payments.
Transfers.
Property filings.
“He appears everywhere,” Alvarez said.
My father leaned closer.
“Could he have prepared the forged documents?”
“Possibly.”
Samuel turned several pages.
Then we reached a folded sheet.
My mother had written:
V.L. holds duplicate archive. D. does not trust him.
“Archive of what?” I asked.
Samuel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Alvarez photographed the page.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Nobody moved.
It buzzed again.
Then Dad’s phone.
Then Rebecca’s.
Three phones.
Same time.
Each received the same video.
The image showed a dim room.
Concrete walls.
A chair.
Michael Reeves sat in it.
His wrists appeared tied.
There was blood near his eyebrow.
A distorted voice spoke from behind the camera.
“Claire.”
My stomach dropped.
Daniel.
“You wanted the truth.”
The camera moved closer to Michael.
“So did your mother.”
Michael looked terrified.
Daniel continued.
“Bring the green book to the Whitmore cabin before sunrise.”
Alvarez immediately began typing instructions into her phone.
On the recording Daniel said:
“No police.”
Samuel gave a humorless laugh.
“Classic.”
Then Daniel spoke the sentence that made Rebecca grab the table.
“If I see one patrol car, Michael dies, and then I start telling the world what Margaret really did to Andrew Cole.”
The video ended.
I looked at Samuel.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel had gone completely still.
“What did my mother do?”
He removed his cracked glasses.
“Nothing to Andrew.”
“Then why would Daniel say that?”
Samuel looked at my father.
“Because Andrew wasn’t alone the night he died.”
My father frowned.
Samuel turned to me.
“There was another person in the car.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“She survived.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No one ever told me.”
“She made me promise.”
My father stared at Samuel.
“My wife was in a fatal accident eight years ago and never told me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Samuel looked at the green notebook.
“Because Andrew wasn’t driving away from Daniel that night.”
He looked at me.
“He was driving your mother to meet him.”
“Meet who?”
Samuel answered quietly.
“Your husband.”
May you like
Eight years ago.
Before I believed Daniel and I had even met.
