Chapter 3 - Eleanor’s Phone
The phone would not turn on.
A forensic technician from the Middlesex County district attorney’s office took possession of it the next morning.
Daniel wanted answers immediately.
He got forms.
Chain-of-custody signatures.
Questions about ownership.
Consent paperwork.
Patience was not a quality Daniel possessed.
Detective Serena Holt noticed.
“You built skyscrapers,” she said.
“Hotels.”
“Same personality.”
Daniel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You think speed and control are the same thing.”
Daniel would have disliked her if she were wrong.
Detective Holt examined Eleanor’s warning.
A handwriting specialist could authenticate it formally, but Daniel did not need one.
He had known Eleanor’s handwriting for fourteen years.
“When did your wife die?” Holt asked.
“October seventeenth, two years ago.”
“Single-car collision?”
“Yes.”
“Weather?”
“Rain.”
“Any evidence of another vehicle?”
“Not that I was told.”
“Autopsy?”
“Blunt-force trauma. She died at the scene.”
Holt wrote.
“Was Mrs. Mercer upset before she left?”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
“We argued.”
Marcus looked at him.
Daniel had never told him.
Holt noticed.
“About?”
“Work.”
“Yours?”
“Hers.”
Eleanor chaired the Mercer Foundation, the charitable arm of Daniel’s development empire.
She had discovered irregularities in grant expenses.
Daniel had been in the middle of closing a $600 million hotel acquisition.
Eleanor wanted him to postpone his flight.
Daniel refused.
Their final argument lasted eleven minutes.
He remembered nearly every word.
You care more about deals than people.
That isn’t true.
Then prove it.
I cannot cancel London because your accounting department misplaced invoices.
Eleanor had stared at him as if he were a stranger.
“It wasn’t misplaced invoices,” Daniel said now.
“How do you know?”
“Because Vanessa said Eleanor was auditing the foundation.”
“Vanessa said that last night?”
“Yes.”
Holt’s pen stopped.
“What was Vanessa’s relationship with Eleanor?”
Daniel looked away.
“They knew each other.”
Marcus answered.
“They were friends.”
Daniel turned.
“Friends?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“Before Vanessa worked with Mr. Cole, she consulted for the foundation.”
Daniel knew Vanessa had done fundraising work.
He did not know she had worked directly with Eleanor.
“How close?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Close enough that Mrs. Mercer invited her here.”
Daniel felt something cold move through him.
Vanessa had told him they barely knew one another.
Detective Holt asked, “How did you meet Vanessa?”
“Adrian introduced us at a charity dinner ten months after Eleanor died.”
Marcus looked down.
Daniel saw it.
“You knew that wasn’t the first time I’d met her.”
Marcus remained silent.
“Marcus.”
“I saw her at Ashcroft twice before Mrs. Mercer died.”
Daniel stared.
“Why did nobody tell me?”
Marcus’s answer hurt.
“You were here, sir.”
Daniel stopped.
“Once she attended a foundation dinner. Once she met Mrs. Mercer privately.”
Daniel searched his memory.
There had been hundreds of guests.
Donors.
Consultants.
Board members.
Vanessa could have stood ten feet away and meant nothing to him.
Later she had presented herself as someone outside Eleanor’s world.
Fresh.
Uncomplicated.
“You didn’t recognize her when Adrian introduced us?”
“I did,” Marcus said.
“And?”
“I assumed you did too.”
Again.
Assumptions.
Daniel walked away.
That afternoon, Mercer Development Group’s internal audit department provided the foundation records Eleanor had reviewed.
Three vendors stood out.
Stonewell Outreach.
Brighton Community Strategies.
Avery Impact Consulting.
Together they had received $3.8 million over four years.
All three addresses led to virtual offices.
All three invoices had been approved by Adrian Cole.
One included Vanessa’s electronic initials.
Daniel called Adrian.
“Come to Ashcroft.”
Adrian sighed.
“I’m in New York.”
“Then get on a plane.”
“What’s this about?”
“Eleanor.”
Silence.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Adrian recovered quickly.
“What about her?”
“You approved foundation payments she was investigating.”
“That was years ago.”
“She died two days after requesting the records.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Listen to yourself.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re grieving again because Lily got scared in an elevator.”
Daniel’s hand tightened.
“She didn’t get scared in an elevator. Vanessa deliberately trapped her.”
Adrian went quiet.
Daniel continued.
“Why did Eleanor have Vanessa’s initials on foundation invoices?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You introduced Vanessa to me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know she knew Eleanor?”
Another pause.
“I assumed you knew.”
There it was again.
Daniel felt fury rise.
“Everyone assumed I knew everything while telling me nothing.”
Adrian lowered his voice.
“You need sleep.”
“I need answers.”
“You need to stop building a murder mystery because your second marriage is falling apart.”
Daniel said nothing.
Adrian continued.
“Eleanor’s accident destroyed you once. Don’t let Vanessa’s stupidity drag you back into it.”
Daniel stared through the windows at the river.
“How did you know police called it an accident that night?”
Adrian sighed.
“Because I was there.”
Daniel had forgotten.
Or buried it.
Adrian had arrived at the crash before Daniel.
Identified Eleanor.
Spoken with officers.
Handled the hospital.
Handled the vehicle.
Handled everything Daniel had been too devastated to handle.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“What happened to Eleanor’s phone?”
Silence.
Daniel’s pulse rose.
“I don’t know.”
“You told me police never found it.”
“They didn’t.”
“It was in my house.”
Another silence.
Daniel whispered, “You knew.”
Adrian ended the call.
Twenty minutes later Detective Holt called.
The forensic technician had managed to access Eleanor’s phone.
There were deleted messages.
Photographs.
Voice recordings.
And one unsent email addressed to Daniel.
May you like
Its subject line contained only three words.
ADRIAN IS STEALING.
