Chapter 12 - The Account Worth Forty-Two Million DollarsArthur Dean talked fast.
Preston had found him shortly after the necklace fell.
He forced Arthur upstairs.
Demanded access to archived financial systems.
Arthur initially believed Preston wanted to destroy evidence of current fraud.
He was wrong.
“He wanted historical wire records.”
“From when?” Detective Bennett asked.
“Nineteen eighty-nine through nineteen ninety-one.”
The same period Adam disappeared.
Arthur used old scanned banking files to identify the institution connected to the account number from Adam's whistle.
The original bank no longer existed.
Its assets had passed through mergers.
The dormant account eventually became part of a private trust administered in Switzerland.
“How much?” Evelyn asked.
Arthur looked pale.
“Current value?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately forty-two million dollars.”
No one spoke.
Forty-two million.
The original balance had been far smaller.
Investments and decades of growth multiplied it.
“Who owns it?” Victoria asked.
“Technically a holding trust.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Unknown.”
“Who can access it?”
Arthur swallowed.
“That is the problem.”
The account required two verification components.
An account identifier.
And a physical authentication phrase created when the trust was established.
“What phrase?”
“I don't know.”
Preston believed Charles had it.
Perhaps written among old documents.
Perhaps hidden in the whistle.
Diane looked at the tiny strip of paper.
Only numbers and the word Bennett.
No phrase.
Arthur continued.
“Preston thinks your father discovered the authentication method before he died.”
“How?”
“He said Charles tried accessing the account six years ago.”
Evelyn stared.
“That would explain the payment records.”
Maybe Charles hadn't been stealing.
He had been tracing stolen money.
“Why tonight?” Victoria asked.
Arthur looked toward her.
“Because the refinancing agreement changes ownership authority at midnight.”
Page seven.
If Victoria signed, Preston would gain temporary control over her voting shares under certain conditions.
But how did that connect to a thirty-year-old trust?
Arthur explained.
Whitmore Hotel Group appeared in original documents as one of the defrauded investors whose money Richard Hale had diverted.
If the Hale trust couldn't establish legal ownership, the stolen assets might eventually be reclaimed by victims.
The Whitmores potentially had a claim.
Preston needed control over Whitmore before accessing the funds.
“If he controlled the company that could challenge ownership,” Evelyn said, “he could settle the claim with himself.”
Arthur nodded.
Diane closed her eyes.
The marriage.
The loan.
The proxy.
All components of one strategy.
Preston hadn't selected Victoria because he loved her.
Maybe he had eventually felt something.
But the reason he entered her life was becoming obvious.
He needed a Whitmore.
Victoria removed her ring completely now.
She dropped it onto the conference table.
“Where is he?”
Arthur shook his head.
“He took my laptop.”
“Why?”
“It contains access to the trust administrator's portal.”
“But he doesn't have the authentication phrase.”
“No.”
“Then he still needs something.”
Arthur nodded.
“He kept asking about Charles's private archive.”
Diane frowned.
“We searched it.”
“Not the hotel archive.”
Arthur looked toward Evelyn.
“Charles's original office.”
The room had been preserved after his death.
Diane couldn't bear to dismantle it.
Twenty-fourth floor.
Locked.
Preston had access.
Everyone moved.
The office looked untouched.
Charles's desk.
Old books.
Photographs of his daughters.
A framed drawing Evelyn made when she was nine.
Nothing obviously disturbed.
Then Sophie walked toward the bookshelf.
“Grandpa liked puzzles?”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“He loved them.”
“Like Dad.”
Evelyn's husband had too.
Sophie looked at a row of books.
One volume sat backward.
She pulled it.
Nothing.
Then another.
Behind it was a narrow wooden slot.
Inside rested a small envelope.
Diane whispered:
“I've cleaned this room dozens of times.”
“You never moved the books,” Evelyn said.
The envelope contained an index card.
Three words.
BLUE BOAT. SEVEN BELLS.
Evelyn stared.
Lake Geneva.
The boathouse where she'd found Adam had been painted blue.
Seven bells?
Sophie suddenly said:
“The whistle.”
Everyone turned.
“What?”
“You blow it.”
Evelyn frowned.
The toy whistle produced a sharp tone.
“Seven times?”
Sophie shrugged.
“Maybe.”
They tried.
Nothing magical happened, of course.
Then Buddy barked at the sound.
Sophie laughed.
But Evelyn remembered something.
Adam had told her the whistle was lucky.
And when he'd been frightened near the boathouse, he'd blown it repeatedly.
Seven short blasts.
Then waited.
A signal.
“To who?”
Diane whispered.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
A memory surfaced.
After seven whistles, another sound had answered from across the lake.
A boat horn.
Two long blasts.
“Blue boat,” Evelyn said.
“What?”
“There was a boat.”
She remembered Charles arriving later in a blue motorboat.
But he hadn't come alone.
Another man sat beside him.
Detective Bennett asked:
“Who?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I don't remember.”
Diane did.
Her face turned white.
“Thomas Bennett.”
Everyone stared at Detective Laura Bennett again.
She raised both hands.
“Still not me.”
Diane ignored the joke.
“Thomas Bennett was Charles's attorney.”
The word on Adam's paper wasn't merely a banking reference.
Bennett was a person.
Charles's lawyer.
A man who had helped create the trust.
“Where is he now?” Victoria asked.
Diane swallowed.
“Dead.”
Of course.
But Thomas had a son.
A lawyer still practicing in Chicago.
Michael Bennett.
Detective Bennett sighed.
“You're enjoying this.”
Nobody was.
They called Michael.
He answered after midnight.
The moment Evelyn said Charles Whitmore, he became silent.
Then:
“You found Adam's whistle.”
Evelyn's heart stopped.
“You know about it?”
“Yes.”
“What is the authentication phrase?”
Michael didn't answer.
“Mr. Bennett.”
“You need to come to my office.”
“Why?”
“Because Preston Hale called me twenty minutes ago.”
Everyone froze.
“What did he want?”
Michael's voice lowered.
“The same thing you do.”
May you like
A pause.
“And he's already on his way here.”
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