Chapter 3 - THE LETTER HIDDEN BEHIND THE PORTRAIT
Mrs. Whitcomb had worked for the Costello family for twenty-nine years.
She knew every room.
Every secret passage.
Every hidden safe.
And apparently, every lie the family had buried.
Now she stood outside my basement room looking as frightened as I felt.
Arthur stepped closer.
"What did you mean?"
Mrs. Whitcomb swallowed.
"Daniel Hayes was supposed to leave Chicago."
My heart tightened.
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Because he discovered something."
Arthur's expression hardened.
"What?"
Mrs. Whitcomb hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Your mother's private accounts."
The air seemed to disappear.
Arthur stared.
"My mother died twelve years ago."
Mrs. Whitcomb nodded.
"Yes."
"Then why was Daniel investigating her accounts three years ago?"
She looked down.
"Because the accounts were still active."
Silence.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
"Who controlled them?"
Mrs. Whitcomb shook her head.
"I don't know."
Arthur studied her.
For once, he didn't threaten or shout.
He simply asked:
"Where are the records?"
Mrs. Whitcomb looked toward the staircase.
"Behind your mother's portrait."
My stomach tightened.
The enormous painting above the grand staircase.
I'd cleaned it every Thursday.
Polished the frame.
Dusted the ledge.
And never imagined something was hidden behind it.
Arthur turned toward me.
"Stay here."
I immediately stood.
"No."
He looked surprised.
"This concerns my father too."
Arthur hesitated.
Then nodded.
"All right."
We climbed the stairs together.
The mansion was silent.
Rain struck the tall windows.
Mrs. Whitcomb led us toward the portrait.
Arthur removed it carefully.
Behind the frame was a narrow wall compartment.
Inside lay a sealed envelope.
His mother's handwriting appeared across the front.
For Arthur, when the family can no longer keep its secrets.
Arthur stared.
Then broke the seal.
Inside were photographs.
Financial documents.
And a handwritten letter.
He read silently.
His expression changed.
Then changed again.
Finally, he sat down on the staircase.
I had never seen him look so lost.
"Arthur?"
He shook his head.
"My mother knew."
I swallowed.
"Knew what?"
He handed me the letter.
The first paragraph described suspicious financial transfers through several family-owned businesses.
The second mentioned Daniel Hayes.
My father.
The third contained a warning.
If Daniel is silenced, Arthur must never trust Victor Bellamy.
I looked up.
"Who is Victor Bellamy?"
Arthur's expression darkened.
"My family's attorney."
My stomach tightened.
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes."
"Does he work for you?"
Arthur nodded.
"Every day."
The room went silent.
Then Arthur reached the final page.
A small photograph slipped from the envelope.
I picked it up.
It showed Arthur as a young boy.
Beside him stood a little girl.
Dark hair.
Bright eyes.
A small scar above her eyebrow.
My breath caught.
I recognized her.
The same girl appeared in one of my father's oldest photographs.
Arthur stared.
"Who is she?"
I swallowed.
"My mother."
His face went pale.
I looked back at the photograph.
Then noticed the handwritten caption.
Arthur and Clara, summer 1994.
Clara Hayes.
My mother.
The woman who had died when I was six.
Arthur covered his mouth.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Norah, your mother wasn't a stranger to this family. She was my childhood best friend—and the girl my father ordered me never to see again."
