Chapter 12 - THE DETECTIVE WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Detective Samuel Price was waiting when Claire and Ethan arrived at police headquarters.
He greeted them with a calm smile.
“Mr. Mercer. Ms. Bennett. I understand you have new information.”
Claire studied him.
For the first time, she noticed how carefully he watched her.
How quickly he asked questions.
How little he volunteered.
Ethan placed a folder on the desk.
“We believe Victoria Hale arranged the theft and the fire.”
Price opened the folder.
“Interesting.”
“We also have reason to believe someone inside law enforcement is assisting her.”
The detective stopped turning pages.
“That’s a serious allegation.”
“So I’ve been told,” Claire said.
Price looked at her.
“Do you have evidence?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I suggest you be careful.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“Is that professional advice or a threat?”
Price smiled.
“Whatever keeps you alive.”
Claire felt a chill.
They left without revealing Evelyn’s location.
Outside, Ethan called Margaret.
“Get an independent investigator. Someone outside Boston.”
Margaret had already begun making arrangements.
By afternoon, a former federal investigator named Rebecca Sloan joined the case.
Rebecca was forty-eight, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by Ethan’s wealth.
“I don’t care how much money you have,” she told him. “If you interfere with my investigation, I walk.”
Ethan nodded.
“Understood.”
Rebecca reviewed the evidence.
Within hours, she found irregularities in Detective Price’s financial records.
Large deposits had been routed through a consulting company connected to Victoria Hale.
The payments began shortly before Daniel Cross’s death.
Claire stared at the report.
“He was paid to frame me.”
“Possibly,” Rebecca said. “We still need to establish what he did.”
Ethan folded his arms.
“Can we get him arrested?”
“Not on suspicion alone. We need admissible evidence.”
Rebecca arranged for independent authorities to examine the altered security footage and the forged email.
Meanwhile, Claire returned to the surviving Whitmore documents.
She needed something concrete.
Something that could explain why so many people were willing to destroy lives to conceal the archive.
At 6:30 p.m., she found it.
A water-damaged ledger contained references to property transfers involving twelve Boston neighborhoods.
The transactions had been disguised through shell companies.
Some properties had later become part of Mercer Heritage developments.
Claire compared the ledger with public land records.
Then she saw the pattern.
The original owners had been pressured into selling at artificially low prices.
Several had never received the compensation recorded in official documents.
The stolen funds had been moved into private trusts.
One trust still existed.
And its current controlling officer was Victoria Hale.
Claire called Ethan.
“I know what she’s protecting.”
“What?”
“Not just the past. The money is still there.”
“How much?”
Claire swallowed.
“Potentially more than eighty million dollars.”
Ethan went silent.
Then he said, “I’m coming.”
Before he arrived, Claire received a text.
Unknown number.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT GRACE TO LIVE.
Below was an address.
An abandoned textile mill outside Lowell.
Claire stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
DO NOT TELL ETHAN.
Attached was a photograph.
Grace sat tied to a chair.
A newspaper dated that morning rested on her lap.
Claire’s hands shook.
She knew going alone would be reckless.
So she forwarded the messages to Rebecca.
Then she typed a reply.
I’LL COME.
The response arrived immediately.
GOOD GIRL.
Claire looked toward the laboratory door.
May you like
Someone had just turned off the hallway lights.
And when she tried the handle, she discovered it had been locked from the outside.
