Chapter 4: The Secret My Husband Buried
For several seconds, nobody in the boardroom moved.
The photograph lay between us, its edges yellowed with age. Charles stood beside a younger Richard Delano, both men wearing dark suits and standing in front of a brick building with a faded sign above the entrance.
I recognized Charles immediately.
The man beside him was unmistakably Richard.
But there was something else in the photograph that made my fingers go cold.
Charles had one hand resting on Richard's shoulder.
They weren't posing like business associates.
They looked like family.
I turned the photograph over again.
If Richard returns, the truth will destroy us all.
"Where did you get this?"" I asked Faith.
She swallowed.
"From my father's desk. It was inside a locked drawer with a bunch of old financial papers.""
Richard moved toward her.
"Faith, give me the photograph.""
She stepped away.
"No.""
His expression hardened.
"I said give it to me.""
"And I said no!""
The shout startled everyone.
Faith stared at her father as though she had never spoken to him that way before.
"Why are you in this picture with Charles Whitmore?"" she demanded.
"Why did Grandma tell me never to ask about you and him?""
Richard's face became dangerously still.
"Your grandmother said a great many things when she was ill.""
"She wasn't ill when she told me.""
"Faith.""
"She said you had a brother who disappeared. She said your family stopped talking about him because of something that happened years ago.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
A brother.
Charles had never told me he had a brother.
Not once in forty-two years of marriage.
I turned toward Richard.
"Who is the man in this photograph?""
Richard looked at me, then at the board members.
"An old acquaintance.""
Faith laughed bitterly.
"An acquaintance? You keep his photograph locked in your desk!""
"Enough.""
"No! You told me our family had earned everything through hard work. You told me people who questioned us were jealous. And now you're standing here acting like you've never even met the man!""
Richard grabbed her wrist.
"You're embarrassing yourself.""
She yanked her arm free.
"That's your favorite thing to say whenever someone discovers something you don't want them to know.""
Jonathan Pierce rose from his chair.
"Mr. Delano, I think this meeting should be suspended until we understand the connection between your company and these documents.""
Richard's eyes flashed.
"This is a private family matter.""
"Not when your company is attempting to acquire club property using disputed legal documents.""
He turned toward me.
"Eleanor, I strongly advise you not to let a confused young woman dictate your judgment.""
I looked at Faith.
She was trembling, but she hadn't backed down.
For the first time that afternoon, I saw something in her beyond vanity and entitlement.
Fear.
"Faith," I said gently, "did your grandmother give you anything else?""
She looked at me.
"She gave me a key.""
Richard's expression changed so abruptly that even the board members noticed.
"What key?""
Faith glanced at him.
"The one she told me to keep safe.""
"Faith, give it to me.""
"No.""
His voice dropped.
"Do you understand what you're doing?""
"Not yet," she replied.
"That's why I'm asking questions.""
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small brass key attached to a faded blue ribbon.
The moment I saw it, I recognized the ribbon.
Charles had tied identical ribbons around the keys to his private archive cabinets years ago.
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped across the floor.
"Where did your grandmother get that?""
"She told me it belonged to the Whitmore family.""
Richard closed his eyes.
"Good Lord.""
I looked directly at him.
"Take me to the archive.""
He shook his head.
"There is no archive.""
"Then you won't mind showing me the building in the photograph.""
For the first time since I had known him, Richard Delano appeared genuinely afraid.
And that frightened me more than anything else.
Twenty minutes later, we stood outside a neglected brick building on the eastern edge of Los Angeles.
The property had once housed a small architectural firm. Its windows were boarded up, its iron gate rusted, and weeds grew through cracks in the concrete.
Faith stood beside me, hugging her arms against the breeze.
"My grandmother brought me here when I was twelve," she said.
"She told me never to mention it to my father.""
"Why?""
"She said there were things in this building that could destroy our family.""
Richard stood several feet away, speaking urgently into his phone.
I watched him.
"Your father seems familiar with the place.""
Faith gave a bitter laugh.
"He knows every place he claims doesn't exist.""
She inserted the brass key into a side entrance.
It turned.
The door opened with a long, metallic groan.
Inside, the air smelled of dust, damp paper, and old wood. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the boarded windows, illuminating rows of filing cabinets and shelves stacked with cardboard boxes.
At the far end of the room stood a heavy oak desk.
On it lay a leather-bound ledger.
I approached slowly.
My husband's initials had been carved into the cover.
C.W.
I opened it.
The first page contained a date from thirty-four years earlier.
The second listed the names of several investors.
The third contained a record of a property purchase that had never appeared in the public registry.
Then I saw the name.
Richard Delano.
Beneath it was another name.
Charles Whitmore.
And between them, a handwritten note.
Original ownership divided equally. No sale, transfer, or encumbrance without the consent of both surviving principals or their lawful successors.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"Richard," I said, without turning around.
"You told me you were merely an outside developer interested in the club's adjacent land.""
He didn't answer.
I faced him.
"Why does this ledger show that Charles and your family jointly owned the original property?""
Richard stared at the page.
"Because it was complicated.""
"Then explain it.""
He looked at Faith.
She was watching him with the expression of someone who had finally begun to suspect that her entire life had been built on a lie.
Richard rubbed his forehead.
"My father and Charles were partners. They bought the property together before either of them had significant money.""
"And?""
"And the partnership ended.""
"Why?""
He remained silent.
Faith stepped forward.
"Tell her.""
"Faith, you don't understand.""
"Then make me understand!""
Richard's hands curled into fists.
"Charles left the partnership after an argument. My father claimed he'd taken money that belonged to both of them. The families stopped speaking.""
"Did Charles steal anything?"" I asked.
Richard looked away.
"No.""
The answer came so quietly that I almost didn't hear it.
Faith stared at him.
"Then why did you spend my entire childhood telling me the Whitmores were dishonest?""
Richard's face tightened.
"Because your grandfather believed that if he admitted what happened, it would ruin everything he had built.""
"And you believed him?""
"I was a boy!""
"You were old enough to know better when you became a man!""
Her voice echoed through the empty building.
I looked down at the ledger again.
There were additional pages, some containing bank references, others listing transfers to companies I had never heard of.
Near the back, Charles had written a short paragraph.
If these records are ever discovered, it will mean the original agreement has been violated. The property must return to the trust before any further development can occur.
My pulse quickened.
"Richard, who is Westbridge Asset Management?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached toward the ledger.
I pulled it away.
"Don't.""
His expression hardened.
"You have no idea what those records contain.""
"Then enlighten me.""
He looked at me with an intensity I had never seen before.
"Those records could destroy my company.""
I closed the ledger.
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before someone forged my signature.""
A sound came from the doorway.
We all turned.
A man in a gray suit stood in the entrance, holding a slim black briefcase.
I recognized him immediately.
David Mercer, my attorney.
He looked at the ledger in my hands, then at Richard.
"Well," he said quietly, "it appears we've found the missing partnership agreement.""
He set his briefcase on the desk and opened it.
Inside lay a sealed envelope bearing Charles's handwriting.
David looked at me.
"Eleanor, your husband left specific instructions about this envelope. I was to give it to you only if the original ledger was recovered.""
I took the envelope.
The seal was intact.
On the front, Charles had written:
For Eleanor, if Richard ever comes back.
I broke the seal.
The first line made my knees weaken.
My darling, if you're reading this, it means the man who helped destroy our family has finally returned to claim what was never his.
I looked up at Richard.
He had gone white.
May you like
Because he knew what the next page would say.
And he knew Faith was standing close enough to hear every word.
