Chapter 8 - RICHARD’S DEAD BROTHER HAD NEVER BEEN BURIEDDavid Bennett had drowned twelve years earlier.
Sailing accident off Nantucket.
Boat recovered.
Body never found.
Richard had mourned him for years.
Now Sarah’s video suggested he was alive.
Michael stared.
“Uncle David?”
Richard’s mouth went dry.
“He’s dead.”
Brooks raised an eyebrow.
“So was this foundation archive, apparently.”
Richard couldn’t argue.
Sarah’s video continued.
“I found payments made to D.B. Holdings six months after David Bennett supposedly died.”
Brooks immediately searched.
The company existed.
Registered in Delaware.
Owned through layered shell corporations.
Still active.
Still receiving money from Winter Haven.
Richard felt betrayed by the dead.
Again.
Michael asked:
“Why would Uncle David steal from the foundation?”
Richard knew exactly why.
“Because he hated me.”
Silence.
“He helped build Bennett Industries,” Richard explained. “But I bought him out after we discovered he was using company funds for gambling debts.”
Michael stared.
“You told me he retired.”
“I protected his reputation.”
Richard almost laughed at himself.
Protection.
The Bennett family word for burying truth.
“What happened afterward?”
“He threatened me.”
“With what?”
“Destroying everything I built.”
Brooks asked:
“Did you believe he died?”
“Yes.”
“Who identified the wreckage?”
“The Coast Guard.”
“The body?”
“There wasn’t one.”
Richard closed his eyes.
He had never questioned it.
Why would he?
People die.
Boats sink.
Families accept stories because alternatives are unbearable.
Brooks searched old records.
David’s life insurance was never claimed.
Richard frowned.
“Why?”
“Beneficiary declined it.”
“Who was beneficiary?”
“David’s wife.”
Richard stared.
“Marianne.”
Marianne Bennett had moved to Europe after David died.
She had not spoken to Richard in years.
Brooks made calls.
Marianne had died six months ago in Switzerland.
But before her death, she had returned to the United States once.
Three years ago.
The week Sarah died.
Richard felt cold.
The pattern widened.
Sarah had discovered theft.
Claire was involved.
Paul was involved.
Thomas was involved.
And perhaps David.
Why did Noah’s photograph matter so much?
Richard looked at the still image Sarah had hidden.
Claire.
Sarah.
Red SUV.
Paul Mercer.
There was another person reflected in the car window.
A man.
Blurred.
Tall.
Richard enlarged the digital scan.
His heart stopped.
David.
Older.
Beard.
Alive.
Michael whispered:
“Jesus.”
The photograph was dated eleven days before Sarah’s crash.
Richard sank into a chair.
“My brother was here.”
Brooks pointed to Sarah’s handwritten message.
Tell Michael before it’s too late.
Maybe Sarah was about to tell Michael David was alive.
But why would Claire care if Noah found that now?
Unless David was still alive.
Unless he still controlled her.
Richard’s phone rang.
Claire.
He answered on speaker.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was trembling.
“Richard, you need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Digging.”
“You left Noah outside until his legs froze.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“No. You just locked the door.”
“He found something he wasn’t supposed to find.”
“The photograph.”
Silence.
Richard continued.
“David.”
Claire inhaled sharply.
That was enough.
“He’s alive.”
“No.”
“Stop lying.”
“Richard—”
“Where is my brother?”
Claire started crying.
Not elegantly.
Actually crying.
“You don’t understand him.”
“I understand he used my foundation to steal millions.”
“That’s not why you should be afraid.”
“Then why?”
Claire whispered:
“Because Sarah tried to expose him.”
“And you helped kill her?”
“No!”
“Paul?”
“No.”
“Thomas?”
Silence.
Richard leaned toward the phone.
“Claire.”
“I didn’t know what they were going to do.”
Michael closed his eyes.
Richard felt rage burn through him.
“You knew enough.”
“I was supposed to get the files from Sarah.”
“Then?”
“She wouldn’t give them to me.”
“So you followed her.”
“Yes.”
“Paul?”
“He followed me.”
“And Thomas?”
Claire’s voice broke.
“Thomas was waiting.”
“Where?”
“On the highway.”
Richard stopped breathing.
“What did he do?”
“He was supposed to scare her into pulling over.”
“Did he damage her tire?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“I swear!”
Then Claire’s voice dropped.
“Richard, listen to me. David doesn’t know Noah found the key yet.”
“He does now.”
Silence.
“You opened the archive?”
“Yes.”
Claire whispered something Richard couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“You just put Noah in more danger.”
Richard’s blood turned cold.
“He’s protected.”
“Not from David.”
“What does he want with a six-year-old?”
Claire began crying harder.
“You still don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Why Sarah created that trust.”
Richard stared at Michael.
“What are you talking about?”
“The twenty-two million wasn’t Sarah’s.”
Richard froze.
“Whose was it?”
Claire whispered:
May you like
“David’s.”
Then the line disconnected.
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