Chapter 7 - THE ATTACK NOBODY TALKED ABOUT
Arthur Bennett had survived an attempted murder twenty-two years earlier.
I'd never known.
He told me the truth after Camden and Sloane left.
The incident happened outside a Boston hotel.
Arthur had been carrying copies of financial records connected to Harrison Voss's shipping investments.
A car struck him while he crossed the street.
The driver disappeared.
Police initially treated it as a traffic accident.
But Arthur believed someone arranged it.
"Why didn't you tell Grandmother?"
He looked at me.
"She knew."
I stared.
"And she did nothing?"
"She did plenty."
Arthur smiled faintly.
"She hired investigators. Secured the original records. And made sure I survived."
I looked down.
My grandmother had been far more formidable than I ever understood.
Then Vivian asked a question.
"Was Harrison ever charged?"
Arthur shook his head.
"No. The available evidence wasn't sufficient."
I nodded slowly.
"So we can't assume he ordered it."
Arthur sighed.
"Correct."
That mattered.
I wanted justice.
Not another family feud built on rumors.
The following day, Vivian arranged for independent security specialists to inspect Harbor House.
We also contacted local authorities about the apparent forgery and missing crest die.
Then we traveled to Newport.
I hadn't visited Harbor House in almost four months.
The last time I'd been there, Camden complained about the old furniture and suggested selling the property.
Now I walked through the front doors without him.
The house smelled like cedar, salt air, and old books.
Sunlight spilled across polished floors.
My grandmother's portrait hung above the staircase.
I stopped beneath it.
"Hi, Grandma."
For a moment, I imagined her answering.
Stand straight, Nora. Nobody gets to make you smaller in your own house.
I smiled.
Then Arthur led us toward the east wing.
A narrow staircase descended beneath the original foundation.
At the bottom stood a heavy iron door.
Arthur removed a brass key.
"This hasn't been opened in years."
My heart hammered.
"What's inside?"
"The records your grandmother wanted preserved."
He unlocked the door.
The hinges groaned.
Inside was a climate-controlled archive room.
Rows of shelves.
Old ledgers.
Metal cabinets.
Photographs.
And several sealed storage cases.
I stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of paper and cedar.
Vivian examined the labels.
Then stopped.
"Nora."
I turned.
"What?"
She pointed toward a cabinet.
A fresh scratch marked the lock.
Someone had tried to open it.
Arthur's expression changed.
"That's impossible."
I felt cold.
"Why?"
"Only three people knew this room existed."
I stared.
"Who?"
"Your grandmother. Me. And your grandfather."
The room went silent.
Then Vivian noticed something on the floor.
A tiny fragment of red sealing wax.
I knelt beside it.
The color was unmistakable.
May you like
The same deep red wax used on Sloane's wedding invitation.
Someone had already been inside the hidden archive.
