Chapter 6 - THEY CAME BEFORE ERIC DID
I watched the gate camera from the library.
Madison leaned toward the intercom.
Frank sat beside her, expressionless.
Samuel looked at me.
“Should security turn them away?”
“No.”
He frowned.
“Mr. Hale.”
“Let them in.”
Sometimes the fastest way to understand people is to stop blocking the door.
The Mercedes rolled up the drive.
Madison entered first.
She had changed clothes.
Black pants.
Gray coat.
No funeral dress.
Apparently grief had a wardrobe schedule.
Frank followed her.
He looked at me as though the last nine years had been a minor inconvenience.
“Thomas.”
“Frank.”
Madison glanced around the library.
Her eyes moved toward the artwork.
The fireplace.
The shelves.
Calculating.
Always calculating.
“I came to explain.”
“No,” I said. “You came because Eleanor left evidence.”
Her face changed.
Frank’s did not.
He knew.
“You recorded my wife?”
“Your wife recorded me.”
That landed differently.
Madison stared at Frank.
“You said that meeting was harmless.”
He ignored her.
I leaned back.
“Why forge my will?”
Madison stepped forward.
“I didn’t forge it.”
“Then who did?”
She looked at Frank.
There it was.
A fracture.
Small.
Useful.
Frank smiled.
“Thomas, you’re upset.”
“I buried my wife this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight I discovered someone prepared documents for my death.”
His smile disappeared.
Samuel placed copies of the forged will on the table.
Frank barely glanced at them.
“Drafts.”
“Fraudulent drafts.”
“Never executed.”
“The loan was.”
He turned toward Madison.
“You borrowed against my house.”
She snapped.
“Eric needed money.”
“Eric didn’t sign.”
“He would have.”
That sentence told me everything about her.
Consent, in Madison’s world, was merely an inconvenience if she believed the outcome was justified.
Then headlights swept across the library windows.
Eric’s truck.
He entered less than a minute later.
He looked exhausted.
Furious.
And heartbroken.
“Madison.”
She turned.
“Eric, I can explain.”
“No.”
He held up his phone.
“I found the account.”
Her face drained.
“What account?” I asked.
Eric looked at me.
“A bank account in my name.”
“How much?”
He swallowed.
“One-point-eight million dollars.”
Madison whispered, “Eric—”
May you like
He looked at her.
“And I never opened it.”
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