Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN INSIDE THE WHITMORE HOUSE
Everyone believed Eleanor Whitmore was weak.
Genevieve had believed it too.
For three years, she had watched Preston’s mother move quietly through charity dinners and political fundraisers, always one step behind her husband.
She spoke softly.
Rarely disagreed publicly.
Never challenged Harrison.
But Thomas Hayes had trusted her.
That changed everything.
Genevieve called from a secure phone.
Eleanor answered after one ring.
“Genevieve?”
Her voice cracked.
“Are you safe?”
“How did my father know you?”
Silence.
Then Eleanor whispered, “Where are you?”
“Answer me.”
Another pause.
“Your father saved my life twenty-two years ago.”
Genevieve closed her eyes.
“What happened?”
“Harrison found out I was helping Maria Navarro.”
Gabriel stiffened beside her.
Eleanor continued.
“I gave Maria copies of Harrison's financial records. When she died, I knew what it meant.”
“Why didn't you go to police?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“The detective I spoke to delivered me back to my husband.”
Genevieve felt cold.
Eleanor's voice lowered.
“Harrison told me that if I ever tried again, Preston would grow up without a mother.”
“So you stayed.”
“I survived.”
There was no pride in the answer.
Only exhaustion.
“Your father helped me hide documents. Years later, when you began dating Preston, I warned Thomas.”
Genevieve's throat tightened.
“Why didn't anyone warn me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The engagement dinner. I asked whether you were certain.”
Genevieve remembered.
She had thought Eleanor disliked her.
God.
“How much does Preston know?”
“Enough.”
“Did he know about my father?”
Silence.
“Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
The word destroyed the last foolish piece of Genevieve that had hoped Preston was merely repeating his father's crime.
Eleanor began crying.
“I am sorry.”
Genevieve stared through the window.
“Can you testify?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
Genevieve looked at him.
“Then we get you out.”
They planned it for midnight.
Eleanor would leave through the greenhouse while Harrison attended a judicial foundation dinner.
But at 11:42, Eleanor stopped answering.
At 11:51, Preston called Genevieve.
She answered.
“Where is your mother?”
Preston laughed softly.
“You've become dramatic.”
“Where is she?”
“Home.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
Genevieve's hand tightened around the phone.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Gabriel shook his head.
Genevieve ignored him.
“Why?”
“Because you're still my fiancée.”
“No. I'm not.”
“You're emotional.”
“I heard you confess to paying for my father's murder.”
“That isn't what you heard.”
“I heard enough.”
Preston’s voice changed.
The tenderness disappeared.
“Bring back my ring.”
Genevieve looked at Gabriel.
There.
Not her.
The ring.
“What is inside it?”
Silence.
Then Preston said, “Come home, Jenny.”
Only her father called her Jenny.
Hearing it from Preston made her skin crawl.
She hung up.
Gabriel took the ring beneath a magnifying lens.
Nothing obvious.
Then Declan found a microscopic seam behind one emerald.
A jeweler arrived twenty minutes later.
Inside the setting was a tiny strip of photographic film.
Gabriel stared at it.
His mother had hidden something inside her own ring.
They digitized the images.
Account numbers.
Dates.
Names.
And one photograph.
Harrison Whitmore shaking hands with Charles Navarro beside stacks of cash.
Gabriel stepped away from the screen.
Genevieve followed him.
“Gabriel.”
“Don't.”
“Your father isn't you.”
He laughed once.
“You barely know me.”
“I know you opened a door for a terrified woman when helping me could have started a war with a judge.”
“You were useful.”
“Liar.”
His eyes met hers.
Something shifted.
Dangerous in a completely different way.
He stepped closer.
Genevieve did not move.
“You should be careful deciding I'm a good man.”
“I didn't.”
That surprised him.
“I said you're not your father.”
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Gabriel's phone rang.
Declan.
Gabriel answered.
His expression hardened.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then looked at Genevieve.
“They moved Eleanor.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
Another phone rang.
Genevieve’s secure line.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
A woman whispered.
“Genevieve?”
Eleanor.
“Where are you?”
“I don't know.”
A shaky breath.
Then:
“Preston found the documents.”
A male voice sounded in the background.
Eleanor hurried.
“Listen to me. Harrison isn't the one who ordered your father's death.”
Genevieve froze.
“What?”
“He covered it up.”
“Then who ordered it?”
Footsteps approached Eleanor.
She whispered three words.
May you like
“Preston did it.”
The line went dead.
