Chapter 2 - THE MUSIC BOX KEY
The safe deposit box belonged to a bank that had been operating in Manhattan since 1898.
Nathaniel knew the president personally.
That should have made things easy.
It did not.
“Mr. Reed, the box is registered under Evelyn Reed’s name.”
“My wife is dead.”
The banker looked uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“And this is her key.”
“Yes.”
“So open it.”
“We still require probate authorization.”
Nathaniel stared.
I watched the banker’s courage weaken in real time.
Then I put one hand on Nathaniel’s arm.
“Threatening him probably won’t speed up probate.”
“I wasn’t threatening him.”
The banker looked unconvinced.
I smiled.
“Of course not.”
Nathaniel glanced at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
It was strange joking with him.
Before that morning, our relationship had been formal.
Employer.
Employee.
Mr. Reed.
Clara.
I managed household schedules.
He signed checks.
Now we were sitting beside each other holding a key left by his dead wife.
Life changed quickly.
Nathaniel called his attorney.
Emergency court paperwork began.
While waiting, we went to the hospital where Julian had been admitted.
He was conscious.
Barely.
His wife, Rebecca, sat outside the room.
She looked terrified.
“What happened?” Nathaniel asked.
“Someone came to the apartment.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Security?”
“Camera system went down.”
Nathaniel’s face hardened.
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“They searched his study.”
“For what?”
Julian answered from the bed.
“The notebook.”
We entered.
His face was bruised.
One arm in a sling.
Nathaniel stood at the foot of the bed.
“You knew about Evelyn.”
Julian closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“You told her to stop investigating.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep her alive.”
Nathaniel laughed bitterly.
“That worked.”
Julian flinched.
Good.
He deserved it.
“I thought if she stopped, they would back off.”
“Who?”
Julian looked at me.
Nathaniel said:
“She stays.”
Something in my chest moved.
Julian continued.
“Reed Biomedical acquired a research company called Bexley Therapeutics eight years ago.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“I remember.”
“Bexley had a private pediatric trial division overseas.”
“What kind?”
“Neurological drugs.”
I thought about Evelyn’s recording.
Children.
Julian swallowed.
“The trials were illegal.”
Nathaniel went still.
“Did you know before the acquisition?”
“No.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“And you hid it?”
“I tried to unwind it quietly.”
Nathaniel stared at him as though seeing a stranger.
“You buried dead children under accounting language?”
Julian looked away.
“Two deaths were already covered.”
“By who?”
Julian whispered:
“Dad.”
Nathaniel’s father, Richard Reed, had died six years earlier.
Cancer.
Revered businessman.
Philanthropist.
Founder of Reed Holdings.
Nathaniel looked sick.
“Dad knew?”
“He authorized settlements.”
“Mother?”
“No.”
“Evelyn?”
“She discovered records after reviewing foundation grants.”
“Why was she reviewing them?”
“She suspected someone was still moving money.”
“Who?”
Julian hesitated.
That was when I understood.
“Someone currently inside Reed Holdings.”
Julian nodded.
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed.
“Name.”
“Arthur Voss.”
I knew that name too.
Chief financial officer.
Nathaniel’s closest executive adviser.
The man who visited the estate every Thursday.
Julian explained that Voss had been with Richard Reed for twenty-five years.
After Bexley’s illegal research was discovered, Richard ordered it shut down.
Voss secretly continued financing parts of it through shell charities.
Why?
Money.
Patents.
If certain treatments worked, the intellectual property could be worth billions.
Evelyn found the transfers.
“She wanted to go federal.”
Nathaniel looked toward the floor.
“She never told me.”
“She was going to.”
“How do you know?”
“She made me promise I would be there when she did.”
“What happened?”
Julian’s face changed.
“The next morning, she died.”
Silence.
Nathaniel turned toward the window.
I watched his shoulders.
He had spent two years believing a rainy highway took his wife.
Now he had to consider that someone intentionally sent her over a guardrail.
“Why didn’t you tell me after?”
Julian whispered:
“Because Voss sent me photographs of Eli.”
Nathaniel turned.
“What?”
“Your son at the park. At his pediatrician. Sleeping in the nursery.”
Every ounce of warmth disappeared from Nathaniel’s face.
“He threatened Eli?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I thought silence kept him safe.”
Nathaniel laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite excuse.”
I thought about Margaret hiding the key.
Julian hiding information.
Evelyn hiding the video.
All trying to protect someone.
All creating darkness.
Nathaniel looked at me.
“Go back to the house.”
“What?”
“With security.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m not taking Sophia somewhere Voss clearly had surveillance access.”
He paused.
That was a good point.
“What do you suggest?”
“Bring Eli and Sophia somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“My sister’s apartment.”
He stared.
“Your sister lives in Queens.”
“Yes.”
“You want to hide the Reed heir in a two-bedroom apartment in Queens?”
“No one hunting billionaires looks for them above a laundromat.”
Julian actually laughed.
Then groaned from pain.
Nathaniel considered.
“Fine.”
My sister Isabel almost fainted when three black SUVs arrived.
She recovered quickly.
“Your boss is prettier than you described.”
“Isabel.”
“What?”
Nathaniel pretended not to hear.
Sophia immediately took over the living room.
Eli discovered Isabel’s cat.
For a few hours, they were simply children.
No security cameras.
No ballroom ghosts.
No billion-dollar secrets.
That evening, the bank called.
Court authorization granted.
We returned to Manhattan.
The safe deposit box contained no money.
No jewelry.
Just a red notebook.
Three flash drives.
A sealed envelope addressed to Nathaniel.
And a photograph.
Evelyn standing beside Arthur Voss.
Date stamped three days before her death.
On the back:
If Arthur says I was alone, he is lying.
Nathaniel opened the letter.
His hands shook.
My love,
If you are reading this, then I failed to tell you in person.
He stopped.
I looked away.
He continued silently.
Then handed me the page.
One paragraph had been underlined.
Do not let grief make you trust the people who comfort you first. Someone close to this family is helping Arthur. Someone who can enter our home without being questioned.
I looked at Nathaniel.
“Who comforted you first?”
His face became empty.
“My mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Evelyn loved my mother.”
“Then maybe she meant someone else.”
Nathaniel looked at the photograph again.
Before either of us could speak, his phone rang.
Security.
A fire had started at Reed House.
East wing.
The ballroom.
By the time firefighters arrived, the room containing Evelyn’s recording had been destroyed.
Except the recording was no longer there.
Sophia had taken it with her.
Because three-year-olds apparently considered obeying rules optional.
When I realized the disc was inside her tiny yellow backpack, I nearly cried.
Nathaniel stared at my daughter.
“You stole it again?”
Sophia hugged the backpack.
“I was saving Eli’s mommy.”
Nathaniel knelt in front of her.
Then did something I never expected.
He kissed the top of her head.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“You were.”
But if someone had burned the ballroom believing the evidence remained inside, it meant one thing.
May you like
Arthur Voss knew we had watched the recording.
And someone inside Reed House had told him.
