Chapter 4 - THE LAST MEETING WITH MY FATHER
I spent the afternoon trying not to make Julian guilty simply because I hated him.
That would have been easy.
Easy was dangerous.
So Naomi obtained records.
My father, Richard Whitmore, entered Arden headquarters at 6:42 p.m. the night before he died.
He left at 9:18.
Three people were documented inside the executive floor.
Evelyn.
Thomas.
And Julian.
Julian was not an executive then.
He was a junior strategy manager.
My father had helped him get the interview.
That detail hurt.
“He was there?” I asked.
Naomi nodded.
“According to building access.”
“Did he meet Dad?”
“We don’t know.”
I knew someone who might.
Evelyn.
When I confronted her, she did not deny the meeting.
“Richard found irregularities.”
“What irregularities?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Offshore vendors.”
“Thomas?”
Her eyes filled with pain.
“Yes.”
“You knew your son was taking money?”
“I suspected.”
“My father found proof?”
“Enough to demand an outside audit.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked him for forty-eight hours.”
“To hide it?”
“To confront Thomas.”
I stared at her.
“Did Julian know?”
“He was in Thomas’s department.”
“Was he involved then?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But now?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened after Dad left?”
“He met Thomas.”
“Where?”
“Parking garage.”
“How do you know?”
“Security footage.”
“Why wasn’t this investigated?”
“Your father died at home the next morning. Natural causes. There was no reason.”
“Did you save the footage?”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“No.”
My anger rose.
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
She did not defend herself.
That made it harder.
Then she walked to a safe and removed an old envelope.
“Richard gave me this.”
My father’s handwriting.
If anything happens before the audit, give Clara the blue file.
My knees nearly gave out.
“What blue file?”
“I never found it.”
“Why didn’t you give me this?”
“Because your father died naturally.”
“You believed.”
“Yes.”
“And because exposing Thomas would destroy your family.”
Her silence said enough.
“You protected your son.”
“I protected the company.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You protected yourself from knowing which one mattered more.”
She accepted that.
Then another memory surfaced.
Blue file.
I remembered my father’s home office.
He organized investment records by colors.
Green taxes.
Red insurance.
Blue personal holdings.
After he died, Julian helped my mother clear the office.
My stomach twisted.
“Julian had access.”
Naomi immediately requested that we search my old storage legally.
My mother agreed.
Boxes filled a warehouse outside Miami.
Three hours later, I found one blue folder.
Empty.
Except for a receipt.
Private safe deposit box.
First Atlantic Bank.
Opened by Richard Whitmore.
Joint access authorization added one week before his death.
Second authorized person:
Julian Arden Whitmore.
My husband.
I stared at the name.
“Julian had access to Dad’s safe deposit box?”
Naomi nodded.
“And according to this, he accessed it two days after your father died.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he remove?”
“We need the bank records.”
The bank had retained an inventory note because the box was later closed.
Contents removed:
Corporate documents.
One external hard drive.
One sealed envelope marked CLARA.
I stopped breathing.
Julian had taken a letter my father left for me.
May you like
Nine years ago.
And had never told me it existed.
