Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT HER FATHER ALMOST DIED
The explosion happened at 6:17 the following morning.
Arthur Sterling had just entered the garage beneath his Manhattan headquarters when a black sedan parked near the elevator erupted into flames.
The blast shattered windows across the underground level.
Alarms screamed.
Smoke poured through the concrete structure.
Two security guards threw themselves behind a support column.
Arthur was knocked to the ground.
For several seconds, he could hear nothing but a high, piercing ringing.
Then someone grabbed his coat.
“Sir! We have to move!”
His security chief, Marcus Reed, dragged him toward an emergency exit.
Arthur tried to stand.
Pain shot through his left shoulder.
“Benjamin?”
“He's not here, sir.”
“Where's my daughter?”
“At the estate.”
Arthur struggled to breathe.
“Keep her there.”
Isabella learned about the explosion from a breaking news alert.
She was sitting at the breakfast table when the notification appeared.
Explosion Reported at Sterling Global Headquarters. Billionaire Arthur Sterling Believed to Be on Site.
Her coffee cup slipped from her hand.
It shattered on the floor.
“Dad?”
Mrs. Whitmore rushed into the room.
“Miss Bella?”
Isabella was already calling her father's number.
No answer.
She tried again.
And again.
Then Benjamin called.
“Isabella.”
Her heart stopped.
“Where is he?”
“Your father is alive.”
She covered her mouth.
“Oh, thank God.”
“He's being taken to the hospital. He has injuries, but he's conscious.”
“I need to see him.”
“We're arranging secure transportation.”
“Benjamin, please.”
His voice softened.
“I know. We'll get you there.”
Twenty minutes later, Isabella entered a private hospital entrance accompanied by security.
Arthur lay in a hospital bed with his left arm supported in a sling and a bandage near his temple.
When he saw her, he smiled.
“Well, this is embarrassing.”
She burst into tears.
“Dad!”
He opened his uninjured arm.
She carefully embraced him.
“You scared me.”
“I scared myself.”
“Don't joke.”
“Your mother used to say that.”
She pressed her face against his shoulder.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Arthur whispered, “I'm all right, sweetheart.”
She pulled back.
“No, you're not.”
He sighed.
“Fair enough.”
Benjamin entered with Marcus Reed.
Their expressions were grim.
Arthur looked toward them.
“What do we know?”
Marcus closed the door.
“Investigators believe the explosion was deliberate.”
Isabella felt cold.
“Someone tried to kill him?”
“We can't confirm the intended target yet,” Marcus replied. “But the circumstances are suspicious.”
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
“Richard.”
Benjamin spoke carefully.
“We're investigating every possibility.”
Marcus placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a damaged access card recovered near the garage.
The card had been issued to a contractor.
That contractor had worked for a subsidiary connected to Phoenix Cultural Development Fund.
Isabella stared.
“The charity.”
Benjamin nodded.
“Again.”
Arthur looked at his daughter.
“Bella, I want you somewhere safe until this is resolved.”
She shook her head.
“I'm not leaving you.”
“I'm not asking you to abandon me.”
“Then don't ask me to disappear.”
Arthur sighed.
She reached for his hand.
“We're stronger together.”
He looked at her.
Then nodded.
Across Manhattan, Elliot watched the news from his apartment.
He looked pale.
Chloe stood near the window.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
He turned sharply.
“Of course not.”
“Richard said he was going to pressure Arthur.”
“Pressure isn't murder.”
Chloe crossed her arms.
“Then why are you shaking?”
Elliot looked down at his hands.
They were trembling.
He clenched them into fists.
“Because if Sterling dies, everyone will look at me.”
Chloe stared at him.
“Would they be wrong?”
He stepped toward her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You've been meeting Richard for months.”
“So have you.”
Her expression changed.
Elliot lowered his voice.
“What exactly did you promise him?”
Chloe looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Don't lie.”
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “He said if we helped secure the financing, we'd both be rich.”
“We were supposed to be rich anyway.”
“No, Elliot. You were supposed to be rich. I was supposed to be the woman you kept hidden in hotel rooms.”
He stared.
Chloe continued.
“Richard offered me an ownership interest in the film company. He said all I had to do was keep you distracted.”
Elliot's eyes widened.
“Distracted from what?”
She swallowed.
“From the fact that he was moving money through your development project.”
Elliot felt the room spin.
“You knew?”
“Not everything.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He turned away.
For months, he had believed he was manipulating everyone.
Isabella.
Chloe.
Arthur.
His investors.
Now he was beginning to understand that Richard had been manipulating him.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
Richard Halden spoke.
“Elliot.”
Elliot stiffened.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
“Did you arrange the explosion?”
Richard chuckled.
“You ask dangerous questions.”
“You said nobody would get hurt.”
“I said you would get what you wanted.”
Elliot's stomach tightened.
“What do you want now?”
“Meet me tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because your wife has something I need.”
Elliot frowned.
“What?”
Richard's voice became cold.
“Her mother's journal.”
At the hospital, Isabella sat beside her father while he slept.
She kept thinking about her mother's studio.
The paintings.
The sketchbooks.
The memories Arthur had preserved.
Why had Richard spent so many years pretending to be part of their family?
A thought suddenly struck her.
She opened her phone and called Mrs. Whitmore.
“Can you check Mom's studio?”
“Of course.”
“Look for anything that seems out of place. Especially old journals.”
Mrs. Whitmore hesitated.
“Miss Bella, there is a journal.”
Isabella sat upright.
“What?”
“Your mother kept a leather notebook. Your father stored it in the locked cabinet after she died.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“Please don't open it. Just make sure it's secure.”
“I will.”
Isabella ended the call.
Arthur stirred.
“What is it?”
She turned toward him.
“Dad, did Mom keep a journal?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
“Did Richard know about it?”
Arthur went silent.
“Dad?”
He looked toward the window.
“Your mother discovered something before she died.”
Isabella's heart began to race.
“What?”
Arthur swallowed.
“She suspected Richard was stealing from the company.”
Isabella stared.
“Then why did you keep him?”
“Because after Margaret died, the evidence disappeared. Richard convinced me she had misunderstood the transactions.”
Her voice trembled.
“How did Mom die?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“In a car accident.”
“I know that.”
“Bella—”
“Was it really an accident?”
Arthur said nothing.
The silence was answer enough to frighten her.
She stood.
“I need to see that journal.”
Arthur reached for her hand.
“Wait.”
She turned.
His face was filled with regret.
“There's something I've never told you.”
Isabella felt her breath catch.
“What?”
Arthur's voice broke.
“Your mother called me the night she died.”
A tear slid down his cheek.
“She said she had proof Richard was stealing from us.”
Isabella whispered, “And?”
Arthur looked directly at her.
“She also said someone was following her.”
The room became terribly quiet.
Then Isabella's phone rang.
Mrs. Whitmore.
She answered immediately.
“Did you find it?”
The older woman's voice was shaking.
“Miss Bella, I'm so sorry.”
Isabella went still.
“What happened?”
“The cabinet was open.”
May you like
“And?”
“The journal is gone.”
