Chapter 6 - THE ROOM BENEATH MY OWN HOUSE

The key from Willa's bag opened a door inside my mansion.

A door I had walked past every day for twenty years.

Behind the wine cellar was a narrow iron panel hidden beneath dark wood molding.

My father recognized the description immediately.

"The old archive."

I stared at him.

"You knew about it?"

"Your grandfather built it."

"Why?"

Charles gave a humorless laugh.

"Whitmore men have always liked secret rooms."

The irony was not lost on me.

Investigators accompanied us while the chamber was opened.

Dust covered shelves.

Old ledgers.

Contracts.

Photographs.

Cassette tapes.

And one black accounting book wrapped in oilcloth.

Lorraine stared.

"The ledger."

Willa looked toward her.

"You've seen it?"

"Thirty-one years ago."

My mother stepped closer.

Her hands trembled.

"That's what started everything."

The ledger contained payments that never appeared in Whitmore Holdings' legitimate books.

Bribes.

Fraudulent shipping invoices.

Cash transfers.

Payments to medical facilities.

And names.

Judges.

Police officers.

Politicians.

Doctors.

My father sat down.

"I told Victor to burn it."

I looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because it proved everything."

Lorraine's eyes filled.

"You chose the empire over your family."

Charles lowered his head.

"Yes."

For once, the silence felt more powerful than anger.

Then the investigators found something newer.

Transactions dated after my father's disappearance.

Victor had continued using the same network.

Under my leadership.

My stomach turned.

"I didn't authorize these."

My attorney nodded.

"We'll verify each transaction."

Willa studied one page.

Then frowned.

"What's Hawthorne Care Initiative?"

Lorraine went pale.

"That's the program that paid for my medications."

We followed the entries.

Funds moved from Whitmore subsidiaries into shell nonprofits.

Then into private medical facilities.

Some of the same institutions that held Lorraine.

Charles.

And dozens of other unidentified patients.

This wasn't simply a family conspiracy.

Victor had turned my father's old network into a business.

People could be hidden.

Records altered.

Identities changed.

All using companies carrying my name.

I felt physically sick.

Willa looked at me.

"This happened while you were in charge."

I nodded.

"Yes."

She waited for an excuse.

I didn't give one.

"I didn't know."

Her expression remained hard.

I continued.

"But I should have."

Something changed in her face.

Not forgiveness.

But recognition.

Then one investigator pulled a photograph from the back of the ledger.

A younger Victor Shaw.

My father.

Marianne Mercer.

And another man.

I recognized him immediately.

My uncle Stephen Whitmore.

He had supposedly died in a construction accident when I was seventeen.

Willa turned the photograph over.

A note appeared.

Stephen knows where the patients are.

My blood ran cold.

"Patients?"

The investigator opened a second envelope.

Inside was a list of names.

Twenty-seven people.

All recorded as dead, missing, or voluntarily relocated.

Then Willa gasped.

May you like

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One name appeared halfway down.

Marianne Mercer.