Chapter 6 - the signet ring
The revelation hung in the hospital corridor like toxic gas. Julian Whitmore was Richard’s pride, the heir apparent, the disciplined corporate strategist who had supposedly spent the last decade expanding the Whitmore shipping empire across Europe.
"Julian knew?" Richard whispered, staring at the paper. "My own son knew his sister was alive?"
"Julian has been in London for six months managing the transatlantic merger," Arthur said carefully. "Or so we believed. But this account was opened four years ago in Geneva."
Lucy stirred on Claire’s lap, rubbing her eyes. She sat up, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway. She looked around, frightened for a second, before recognizing Claire’s face.
"Where is Mom?" Lucy asked, her voice raspy.
"She’s in a room down the hall, sweetheart," Claire said gently. "The doctors are taking care of her. She’s resting."
Lucy reached into her dress, pulling out a thin, tarnished silver chain hidden beneath her collar. Attached to the chain was a heavy gold ring, completely out of place against her cheap cotton dress.
Richard’s breath hitched.
He knew that ring before he even touched it. It was the Whitmore signet ring, solid eighteen-karat gold with the family crest—a falcon clutching a broken sword. Richard had given that ring to his father, who had passed it to Eleanor on her sixteenth birthday.
"Mom said I should only take this out if they didn't believe the picture," Lucy said, untying the chain from her neck with clumsy fingers. She held it out to Richard. "She said my grandfather was a stubborn man who only trusted gold and signatures."
Richard took the ring into his weathered palm. It was cold, but heavy with memories. He turned it over. On the inside band, engraved decades ago, were three initials: *E. M. W.*
"She kept it," Richard whispered, his voice cracking. "Through the pawn shops, through the shelters... she kept it."
"She said a bad man tried to steal it once," Lucy added, looking up at Richard. "In the old apartment. A man with a scar on his hand came in while Mom was at work. Mom hid me in the laundry basket. He tore up the floorboards looking for a box."
Arthur stepped forward, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "A scar on his hand? Lucy, what kind of scar?"
Lucy held up her right hand and drew a line across her palm. "A big white line, right across the middle. He had loud shoes that clicked when he walked."
Arthur and Richard exchanged a swift, chilling look.
"Thomas Vance," Richard muttered.
May you like
Claire looked between the two men. "Who is Thomas Vance?"
"The head of our private estate security for twenty-five years," Arthur answered, his voice devoid of color. "And the man who filed the official investigative report declaring that Eleanor had perished in the Zurich fire."
