Chapter 7 - THE THIRD MAN
There were two police vehicles outside the Sterling townhouse when we arrived.
No sirens.
No flashing lights.
Agent Reeves wanted Nathaniel to believe I had followed his instructions.
Carter remained behind with Charles.
Richard came with us only because I insisted.
“You know more about my grandmother than anyone alive,” I told him.
“That may not be a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
The townhouse smelled exactly as I remembered.
Old wood.
Leather.
Dust.
And faint lavender.
My grandmother’s scent.
The library doors stood open.
Nathaniel was nowhere in sight.
The red folder sat on the table.
So did the bracelet.
Reeves checked the room.
“Clear.”
I walked slowly toward the table.
The DNA report was gone.
Richard examined the red folder.
“Don’t touch it.”
Reeves photographed everything before opening it.
Inside were copies of corporate agreements, trust amendments, and a handwritten ledger.
Then something slid out.
A photograph.
Three people stood outside the New York Stock Exchange nearly thirty years ago.
My grandmother Eleanor.
A younger Charles Harrington.
And a third man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Handsome.
I had never seen him before.
Richard did.
“Oh God.”
I looked at him.
“Who is he?”
Richard stared at the photograph.
“Thomas Vale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who was Thomas Vale?”
“A financier. Brilliant. Reckless.”
“Was he involved with my mother?”
Richard looked toward Reeves.
“This is family history.”
“It became relevant when someone forged Mrs. Harrington’s identity,” Reeves said.
Richard sighed.
“Yes. Thomas knew Serena’s mother.”
“How well?”
“Very.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Was he my father?”
Richard studied my face.
“I don’t know.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Agents immediately drew their weapons.
“Stay here.”
They moved toward the stairs.
I ignored the instruction.
Richard grabbed my arm.
“Serena.”
I pulled free.
“This is my house.”
We followed at a distance.
At the top of the stairs, a bedroom door stood open.
Inside, someone had covered the walls with documents.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Newspaper clippings.
My entire family history mapped with red lines.
Nathaniel had built an archive.
On the center wall was my photograph.
Underneath it were three names.
MICHAEL STERLING.
NATHANIEL COLE.
THOMAS VALE.
The first two names were crossed out.
Thomas Vale was circled.
Then I noticed a fourth name written below them.
CHARLES HARRINGTON.
I stopped breathing.
Richard whispered, “No.”
A speaker hidden somewhere in the room clicked on.
Nathaniel’s voice filled the space.
“Welcome, Serena.”
Reeves shouted, “Cole!”
Nathaniel laughed.
“I’m already gone.”
I stared at Charles’s name.
“What is this?”
“You’ve spent your entire life protecting a family you never understood.”
“What does Charles have to do with my father?”
Silence.
Then Nathaniel spoke again.
“Ask him what happened in Boston on March 14, thirty-three years ago.”
The speaker went dead.
Reeves found the device inside a closet.
Remote connection.
Nathaniel truly had left.
Then Richard walked toward the wall.
He removed an old photograph.
Behind it was a newspaper clipping.
PRIVATE PLANE CRASH KILLS FINANCIER THOMAS VALE.
I read the date.
March 15.
Thirty-three years earlier.
One day after the mysterious Boston meeting.
Then I noticed something handwritten beneath the article.
May you like
A sentence in my grandmother’s unmistakable handwriting.
Charles knows the plane was sabotaged.
