Chapter 3 - THE CALL FROM A DEAD MAN
For several seconds, I could hear nothing except my own breathing.
“Who is this?”
The distorted voice did not answer.
“Ask Thomas why he was supposed to be on that plane,” it repeated. “Then ask him who took his seat.”
The line went dead.
Around me, the ballroom had become a scene of controlled chaos.
Guests crouched beneath tables.
Federal agents secured the exits.
Police officers searched the upper floor after the gunshot.
Christopher remained on his knees with an agent gripping each arm. Even restrained, he watched me with the confidence of a man who believed the worst secret still belonged to him.
I dialed Thomas.
No answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Adrian hurried toward me.
“Ms. Harrington, your daughter is safe. The sound came from an empty service corridor. Someone fired into the ceiling.”
“A distraction.”
“That is what security believes.”
“Brenda is missing.”
His face tightened.
“We’re checking every camera.”
I looked at Christopher.
“Where is she?”
He smiled.
“Who?”
I crossed the distance between us.
“The woman you paid to humiliate our daughter.”
“You assume I paid her.”
“Did you know my father?”
His smile faded.
One of the agents, Special Agent Mara Keene, stepped between us.
“Mrs. Adams, we need to move you and your daughter to a secure location.”
“Not until he answers me.”
Christopher tilted his head.
“You always were impatient, Abby.”
The nickname sounded wrong in his mouth now.
“You told me we met by chance at a bookstore.”
“We did.”
“I have a photograph of you with my father before his plane crashed.”
For the first time that night, genuine fear entered his eyes.
It vanished quickly, but I saw it.
Agent Keene saw it too.
“Mr. Adams,” she said, “you are advised not to speak.”
Christopher ignored her.
“Where did you get the photograph?”
“Someone left it for me.”
“Who?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
He lunged forward so suddenly that the agents almost lost their grip.
“Destroy it,” he hissed. “Abigail, listen to me. Destroy the photograph and take Emily out of Minnesota tonight.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t about our marriage.”
“You lied to me for nine years.”
“Yes.”
“You had another family.”
His jaw tightened.
“Madeline was an arrangement.”
“And Emily?”
Something passed across his face.
Pain, perhaps.
Or calculation.
“I never meant for Emily to be involved.”
“She is your daughter. She was always involved.”
Agent Keene ordered the officers to take him away.
As they dragged him toward the ballroom doors, Christopher shouted over his shoulder.
“Thomas knows about Horizon! Ask him who Elias Voss is!”
The name meant nothing to me.
But several older investors reacted.
One man dropped his champagne glass.
Madeline Sinclair, still surrounded by agents, went pale.
I turned toward her.
“You know that name.”
She shook her head too quickly.
Agent Keene escorted me to the private lounge where Emily waited.
The moment I entered, she ran into my arms.
“Was that a balloon popping?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
I hated how easily the lie came.
“Did Daddy get arrested?”
I glanced at Camille, who looked away.
Emily had seen more than I realized.
“The police are asking him questions.”
“Because he has another wife?”
I sat beside her.
“I need you to understand something. None of this is your fault.”
“Does Daddy love Jackson more than me?”
My heart broke in a new place.
“No child is more valuable than another.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Seven years old, and already brave enough to demand the truth adults avoided.
“I don’t know what your father feels,” I said. “But I know you deserve a father who never hides you.”
She leaned against me.
Her gift box remained unopened beside her.
I called Thomas again.
This time he answered.
“Where are you?” I demanded.
“At the Minneapolis office.”
“Why did the video call disconnect?”
“Our network was attacked.”
“Were you supposed to be on Dad’s plane?”
Silence.
That was my answer.
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we believed the crash was an accident.”
“Someone called me from Dad’s old number.”
“What?”
“The caller told me to ask who took your seat.”
Thomas exhaled slowly.
“Abigail, leave the hotel immediately. I’m sending Daniel.”
“Who took your seat?”
Another silence.
“Our uncle, Richard.”
I remembered Uncle Richard as a distant man with silver hair who had managed some of my father’s overseas investments. He died in the crash with three other passengers and two pilots.
“Why did he take it?”
“I developed appendicitis that morning. Richard went in my place.”
“And Horizon?”
Thomas’s voice lowered.
“That was the confidential name of a project Dad was investigating before he died. He believed money from our European funds was being diverted through construction contracts.”
“Connected to Sinclair Meridian?”
“We never proved it.”
“Who is Elias Voss?”
Thomas did not answer immediately.
“A financier. Or at least that was the name he used.”
“Used?”
“No verified birth record. No confirmed nationality. No photographs after 2005. He specialized in acquiring companies through debt, blackmail, and political influence.”
“Is he alive?”
“We don’t know.”
A knock struck the lounge door.
Camille checked the security monitor.
“Agent Keene,” she said.
I opened the door.
Keene entered carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was Emily’s glitter-covered gift box.
I turned.
The box beside Emily was gone.
“When did you take that?” I asked.
“We found this one in a service stairwell,” Keene said. “It appears identical to your daughter’s.”
Emily looked under the chair.
“I put mine right there.”
Keene placed the recovered box on a table and carefully opened it.
There was no paper tie.
No photograph.
No card.
Inside lay a small digital recorder and a bloodstained hotel key.
Room 1708.
Keene pressed play.
Brenda’s frightened voice filled the lounge.
“My name is Brenda Cole. If Abigail Harrington hears this, Christopher’s plan has failed. The boy named Jackson is not Christopher’s son. Madeline knows. Lorraine knows. The child’s real father is connected to Horizon.”
A crash sounded in the recording.
Brenda gasped.
Then she whispered:
“They chose Emily because she is the only legitimate Harrington heir they could reach.”
The recording ended.
Emily stared at me.
“What does legitimate mean?”
Before I could answer, Adrian’s voice came over the security radio.
“Agent Keene, we have located Brenda Cole in Room 1708.”
Keene grabbed the radio.
“Condition?”
A pause followed.
Then Adrian answered.
“She’s alive.”
Another pause.
May you like
“But the room is registered to William Harrington.”
My dead father.
