Chapter 5 - A Mother Who Should Have Been Dead
Vincent did not sleep.
He spent the night reviewing old records, photographs, hospital reports, and every document connected to his mother's supposed death.
Eleanor Martell had disappeared from public life eleven years earlier.
Her death certificate stated that she had died in a private medical facility in Switzerland.
Vincent had attended the funeral.
But the casket had been closed.
He had been told that the injuries from the accident made identification impossible.
At the time, he had been too devastated to question anything.
Now he wondered whether his grief had been carefully managed.
At 7:30 the next morning, he called Grace.
“Can you meet me?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“It's important.”
“Is somebody else dead?”
“No.”
“Then try again.”
Vincent exhaled.
“I think my mother may be alive.”
Silence.
Grace sat up in bed.
“What?”
“I need to show you something.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because the last time I went there, I discovered my mother had been investigating your family, your uncle might have been a criminal, and your dead mother apparently isn't dead.”
Vincent paused.
“When you put it that way…”
“It's a terrible way to start a Tuesday.”
He almost laughed.
“Roselli's. Noon.”
“Better.”
At noon, Vincent arrived carrying a folder.
Grace was already seated with Tony.
Vincent placed a photograph on the table.
It showed an older woman entering a private clinic.
Grace recognized her from the photograph in the restaurant's storage room.
“Eleanor?”
Vincent nodded.
“This was taken six months ago.”
Tony leaned closer.
“Where?”
“Outside a clinic in Montreal.”
Grace looked at him.
“Why would your mother be there?”
“According to the man we questioned, she has been living under another name.”
“Which is?”
“Elizabeth Moore.”
Grace studied the photograph.
The woman looked older, thinner, but unmistakably alive.
“Why would she fake her death?”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Because she knew something about my father's murder.”
Tony closed his eyes.
“I knew it.”
Grace looked at him.
“You knew Eleanor was alive?”
“No. But I knew she wouldn't have abandoned Vincent without a reason.”
Vincent ignored the comment.
“My mother left me a message last night.”
Grace stared.
“You spoke to her?”
“No. An encrypted message arrived through an account I haven't used in years.”
He opened his phone.
The message contained one sentence.
Don't trust Sebastian's son.
Grace frowned.
“Sebastian's son?”
Vincent looked toward Tony.
Tony slowly shook his head.
“Sebastian never had children.”
“That's what I believed.”
Grace studied the message again.
“Could it mean Richard?”
“Possibly.”
“Or someone else.”
Vincent nodded.
Then Tony spoke.
“There was a woman who used to visit Sebastian. She was pregnant when the warehouse fire happened.”
Vincent turned sharply.
“Who?”
“I don't remember her name. But I remember your father arguing with Sebastian about the child.”
Grace's eyes widened.
“What if Sebastian had a son nobody knew about?”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Then someone has spent years protecting his identity.”
Before they could continue, the restaurant's front door opened.
Jenna entered wearing a pale sweater and carrying a paper bag.
“Grace?”
Grace stood.
“Jenna! I thought you were resting.”
Jenna looked nervous.
“I need to tell you something.”
She glanced at Vincent.
“Can we talk privately?”
Grace took her to the kitchen.
Jenna placed the paper bag on the counter.
Inside was a small silver USB drive.
“I found this in my apartment.”
Grace frowned.
“Where?”
“Under my door.”
“Did you touch anything else?”
“No.”
Jenna swallowed.
“There was a note.”
She pulled it from her pocket.
YOUR BOSS KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR MOTHER. ASK HIM ABOUT THE BLUE ROOM.
Grace felt her stomach drop.
“My mother?”
Jenna nodded.
“I'm sorry. I didn't know what it meant.”
Grace called Vincent into the kitchen.
He read the note.
For the first time since she had met him, his expression revealed genuine fear.
“The blue room,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“My father's private study. It was sealed after his death.”
“Why?”
“Because someone found blood on the carpet.”
Grace stared.
“Whose blood?”
“According to the report, my father's.”
Tony stepped into the kitchen.
“That's not what happened.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
Tony's voice trembled.
“The blood wasn't your father's.”
Grace looked between them.
“Then whose was it?”
Tony hesitated.
“Margaret's.”
Grace felt the floor tilt beneath her.
Her mother had been in Vincent's father's study on the night he died.
And nobody had told her.
Vincent took the USB drive from the counter.
“We need to see what's on this.”
They went to his office.
A technician opened the files.
There were several scanned documents, two photographs, and one audio recording.
Vincent pressed play.
A woman's voice filled the room.
Margaret's voice.
“If anything happens to me, make sure Grace never goes looking for the truth.”
A second voice answered.
Eleanor Martell.
“Then we have to finish this before Sebastian finds out.”
A third voice interrupted.
A man's voice.
Calm.
Familiar.
“I'm afraid you're both too late.”
Vincent froze.
He knew that voice.
It belonged to the man who had attended his father's funeral, managed his estate, and helped raise him after Eleanor disappeared.
His family's trusted attorney.
Arthur Bennett.
Grace slowly turned toward Vincent.
“Who is Arthur Bennett?”
May you like
Vincent's face had gone pale.
“The man who signed my mother's death certificate.”
