Chapter 8 - THE ACCIDENT THAT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT
Six months earlier, my car had lost its brakes.
I had never told my family.
The incident happened outside San Francisco after a board meeting.
The dealership blamed a defective brake line.
The manufacturer called it unusual but possible.
My security team insisted on inspecting the vehicle.
They found nothing conclusive.
I bought another car and moved on.
Now I felt the memory crawl across my skin.
Claire saw my expression.
“What?”
“The Mercedes.”
She understood immediately.
Vanessa didn’t.
“What Mercedes?”
I ignored her.
“Call Mason.”
Claire stepped away.
Mason Grant handled security for Bennett Holdings.
Former federal investigator.
Paranoid in exactly the way wealthy people occasionally needed someone to be paranoid.
He answered on speaker.
“Audrey?”
“Mason. The brake incident.”
Silence.
“What about it?”
“Did you keep the parts?”
“Yes.”
“Reopen it.”
His tone changed.
“Why?”
“Because someone accessed my succession documents.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Where are you?”
“Monterey.”
“Stay with security.”
“Mason.”
“I mean it.”
“Do you think the brakes were tampered with?”
“I think I told you six months ago that the failure pattern bothered me.”
I remembered.
I had told him not to turn a mechanical failure into a conspiracy.
He had reluctantly agreed.
“Check everything.”
“I already am.”
He disconnected.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Someone tried to kill you?”
“We don’t know that.”
“Daniel accessed documents about what happens if you die.”
“We don’t know he personally accessed them.”
She laughed in disbelief.
“You’re still defending him?”
“No.”
“I am.”
Her eyes hardened.
“He knew who you were before he married me. He used my mother. He stole information. And now this?”
She ripped off her wedding ring.
“I was a door.”
“What?”
“That’s why he married me.”
I wanted to disagree.
I couldn’t.
Vanessa threw the ring onto the bank conference table.
“All these years, I thought I won.”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought I had the better husband, the better house, the better life.”
She looked at me.
“He chose me because I was connected to you.”
Before I could respond, Claire’s phone rang.
Mason.
Too fast.
That was bad.
Claire answered on speaker.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“The replacement brake line from your vehicle was sent to an independent lab.”
My stomach tightened.
“We kept a section that showed unusual scoring.”
“And?”
“There was no manufacturing defect.”
Nobody moved.
Mason continued.
“The line was cut.”
Vanessa made a choking sound.
“With what?”
“A narrow blade. Probably while the vehicle was parked.”
“When?”
“We can’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
Six months ago.
At the time, only four people knew where I would be parked that evening.
My driver.
Mason.
Claire.
And the executive who arranged the meeting.
Daniel’s boss.
Thomas Bell.
Daniel’s senior vice president promotion had been approved by Thomas two months later.
A reward?
Coincidence?
I no longer believed in coincidences.
“Mason, where is Thomas Bell?”
“We’re checking.”
Claire opened her laptop.
“I can pull his corporate travel.”
Vanessa whispered, “Daniel told me something.”
I turned.
“When?”
“After your accident.”
My blood went cold.
“He came home angry. He said, ‘Some people survive things they shouldn’t.’”
Claire looked at her sharply.
“You remember the exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t that seem strange?”
“Because I thought he was talking about someone at work.”
She began crying again.
“I never imagined…”
Her phone rang.
DANIEL.
We all stared at it.
Vanessa declined.
It rang again.
Declined.
Again.
Finally I said, “Answer.”
She put it on speaker.
Daniel did not say hello.
“Vanessa, listen carefully.”
Her face hardened.
“No.”
“Listen to me. Get away from Audrey.”
Claire looked at me.
Daniel’s breathing sounded frantic.
“Why?”
“Because she has no idea what she just bought.”
I took the phone.
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
“Audrey?”
“Yes.”
He cursed.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because Vale knows you found the trust.”
My skin prickled.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what I bought.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Seaside Springs isn’t just a resort.”
“What is it?”
“You need to find the original architectural plans.”
“Why?”
Another voice sounded in the background.
A door opening.
Daniel suddenly whispered:
“They’re coming.”
“Who?”
“Find the old wine cellar.”
The line crackled.
“Daniel?”
“Your grandfather hid the records there.”
“What records?”
He spoke faster.
“The proof. Everything started at Seaside Springs. Vale. Whitmore. Your father—”
I froze.
May you like
“My father?”
The call disconnected.
