Chapter 8 - EMILY’S SECOND SECRET
Ryan returned home furious.
Not loud.
That would have been easier for everyone.
He became quiet.
Emily knew that version of her husband.
It meant every thought was being organized into something sharp.
Ava slept in Lily’s room because she refused to be alone.
Two security officers stood outside.
Mark had triple-checked every door.
Detective Ellis remained downstairs coordinating with Wisconsin authorities.
Ryan entered the bedroom once.
Lily slept sideways across the mattress.
Ava was curled near the wall, clutching Ethan’s yellow baby blanket—the one recovered from Locker 417.
Ryan stood there longer than he intended.
His brother’s daughter.
His niece.
Six years old.
She had spent four nights sleeping inside a wall because the adults responsible for protecting her had failed in different ways.
Ryan included himself even though he had not known she existed.
Ignorance did not feel innocent anymore.
He found Emily in the kitchen.
She was waiting.
“Tell me everything.”
Emily did not pretend to misunderstand.
“I told you.”
“No.”
Ryan pulled out a chair.
“You told me what became impossible to hide.”
She winced.
He regretted the cruelty for about two seconds.
Then remembered three months.
“Sit.”
Emily sat.
Ryan remained standing.
“When you met Claire, did she come alone?”
“No.”
Ryan stared.
“Who was with her?”
“No one came inside the diner.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Emily looked down.
“There was a car outside.”
“With Ava?”
“I think so.”
“You saw her?”
“Through the window.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“You saw Ava three months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight was not the first time you recognized her.”
“No.”
The truth hurt more because Emily said it quietly.
“Why?”
Emily began crying.
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“Because Claire begged me.”
Ryan walked away from the table.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Listen to me.”
He turned.
Emily wiped her face.
“Claire said someone inside your company was giving Graham information.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Then tell me. Let me investigate.”
“She said Ethan tried that.”
Ryan stopped.
Emily continued.
“She believed that was why Ethan died.”
The kitchen became still.
Ryan lowered himself into the chair across from her.
“What exactly did Claire tell you?”
“That Ethan found records proving Graham had been moving money from family trusts for years.”
“We know that now.”
“She said Ethan planned to confront your father first.”
Ryan frowned.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Graham couldn’t have moved that much money alone.”
Ryan stared.
His father, Charles Carter, had died four years earlier.
Heart attack.
Seventy-two years old.
Controlling until the day he died.
Ryan had loved him.
Ryan had also spent most of adulthood trying not to become him.
“Did Claire say my father was involved?”
“No.”
“She suspected him?”
“Yes.”
Ryan leaned back.
Another dead man.
Another question.
“What else?”
“Claire gave me a code.”
Emily stood and retrieved her phone.
She opened a locked note.
Eight digits.
“What is this?”
“She said Ethan used it.”
“For what?”
“She didn’t know.”
Ryan stared at the numbers.
“Why keep it?”
“Because she told me to.”
He almost laughed.
“At least you followed one instruction.”
Emily flinched.
Ryan immediately hated himself.
He looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You get to be angry.”
“I don’t want permission.”
“I know.”
A silence passed.
Emily continued.
“I also gave Claire something.”
Ryan looked back.
“What?”
“The carriage-house gate code.”
His expression changed.
“That’s how Ava got inside.”
“I think so.”
“You knew Claire might come here.”
“I hoped she would.”
“Did she tell you she planned to send Ava?”
“No.”
Emily leaned forward.
“I swear, Ryan. If I had known a six-year-old was sleeping inside our wall, I would have torn the house apart myself.”
Ryan believed that.
Whatever else Emily had done, her reaction to Ava had contained terror—not indifference.
“Why didn’t Claire knock on the front door?”
“Because she thought Graham had access to your security.”
He did.
That was the worst part.
Ryan looked at the eight-digit code again.
Mark entered after Ryan called him.
They tested the number against old Carter systems.
Nothing.
Bank accounts.
No.
Safe combinations.
No.
Then Mark tried the original property management server for the mansion.
Access granted.
A buried archive opened.
Ryan leaned closer.
The system contained digitized maintenance records dating back twenty-five years.
Service passages.
Renovations.
Security upgrades.
And a restricted folder labeled C.C. PRIVATE.
Charles Carter.
Ryan’s father.
The code opened it.
Inside were hundreds of scanned documents.
Most appeared mundane.
Then Ryan found a video file.
Date:
Six years and nine months earlier.
Two weeks before Ethan died.
Ryan clicked.
The image showed this same home office before Ryan renovated it.
His father sat behind the desk.
Graham Whitmore stood opposite him.
No audio.
Graham placed a red ledger on the desk.
Charles opened it.
Read several pages.
Then slammed it shut.
Ryan leaned closer.
A third man entered.
Tall.
Dark coat.
Ryan did not recognize him.
Emily did.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Ryan looked at her.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Hollis Kane.”
On-screen, Ryan’s father pointed directly at the unknown investigator.
Then at Graham.
Then made a gesture across his throat.
The video ended.
Ryan stared at the black screen.
They had finally found Hollis Kane.
May you like
But nothing in the footage revealed whether Ryan’s father was ordering him to stop something—
or end someone.
