Chapter 8: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I spent the next morning in Michael Reeves's office, listening to Susan Cole's recorded phone message for the third time.
Andrew Cole wasn't dead.
Or at least, his wife had received evidence suggesting he might not be.
The possibility sounded absurd, but so had the idea that my father had secretly arranged for me to control my husband's company.
Eight years ago, I had believed Daniel when he said Andrew was a thief.
Three years ago, I had believed him when he said Andrew died in a boating accident.
And now I had to consider the possibility that Daniel had lied about both.
Michael sat across from me, reviewing the documents Susan had sent overnight.
“She has provided a copy of the letter,” he said.
“The handwriting appears consistent with samples attributed to Andrew, but that will need to be verified.””
“Can we find him?””
“We can try. Susan has agreed to meet us this afternoon. She says the letter contains information about a place where Andrew may have been staying.””
I looked at the photograph of my father and Daniel outside the courthouse.
“Why would Andrew disappear?””
“If the allegations about financial misconduct are accurate, he may have feared retaliation. But we cannot conclude that he went into hiding voluntarily.””
“What if Daniel arranged it?””
“Then we need evidence of that arrangement.””
I nodded.
I was learning that the truth rarely arrived as a single dramatic confession. It came in pieces, each one requiring patience, verification, and the courage to keep asking questions.
At two o'clock, Susan Cole arrived with a canvas bag and a folder of old documents.
She was in her early fifties, with tired eyes and short brown hair. She wore a plain black coat and kept glancing toward the office windows.
When Michael introduced us, she took both my hands.
“Your father tried to help my husband,” she said.
I swallowed.
“I'm sorry I didn't know.””
“You were grieving. Daniel made sure none of us knew how much Thomas had discovered.””
Susan sat down and opened her folder.
Inside were copies of bank statements, old photographs, and several pages of handwritten notes.
“My husband worked with Daniel before Bennett Urban Group became successful,” she explained.
“They bought distressed properties, renovated them, and sold them to investors. Andrew handled the accounts. Daniel handled the deals.””
“And the transfers?””
“Andrew discovered that money was being moved into Northstar Holdings without proper authorization. When he confronted Daniel, Daniel accused him of stealing.””
Michael examined one of the statements.
“Did Andrew report this to the authorities?””
“He tried. But before he could complete the complaint, he received a letter threatening to expose private information about our family.””
“What kind of information?””
Susan looked down.
“Andrew had been treated for depression after his mother died. Daniel threatened to use that history to portray him as unstable and unreliable.””
I felt anger rise in my chest.
“So Daniel used Andrew's grief against him.””
“He used everything he could find,” Susan said.
“He told investors that Andrew was stealing. He told employees that Andrew was having a breakdown. By the time Andrew tried to defend himself, nobody wanted to listen.””
“What happened after the settlement?””
“Andrew disappeared for several weeks. When he returned, he said he needed to leave Chicago until he could prove what Daniel had done.””
“Did you go with him?””
“No. I had a daughter in school. Andrew promised he'd come back when it was safe.””
Susan's eyes filled with tears.
“Then, three years ago, Daniel called me. He said Andrew had died in a boating accident on a lake in Wisconsin. He claimed he had been contacted by the authorities and was helping them identify the remains.””
“Did you see a death certificate?””
“Yes. Daniel's attorney provided one.””
Michael looked up.
“Do you still have it?””
Susan nodded.
“And that's why I'm here. Last week, I found the letter hidden inside Andrew's old toolbox. It was dated two days before the supposed accident.””
She placed a folded page on the table.
I read the first line.
Susan, if you receive this after I am gone, do not believe anyone who tells you Daniel helped identify my body.
My fingers went cold.
The letter continued.
I have evidence that could expose the transfers and the forged settlement. I am going to meet someone who can help me deliver it safely. If I disappear, look for the original records in the place where Thomas Bennett first confronted Daniel.
I looked up.
“The old theater.””
Susan nodded.
“I think so. Andrew worked there during the early renovation project. He helped Thomas review the property accounts.””
I remembered the hidden panel behind my father's photograph.
The recorder.
The documents.
The possibility that another piece of evidence remained concealed in the building.
“Did Andrew name the person he was meeting?”” I asked.
Susan pointed to the bottom of the letter.
A name had been written there.
*M. Reeves.*
Michael went completely still.
I turned toward him.
“You were supposed to meet Andrew?””
“Yes,” he said slowly.
“Thomas arranged an introduction. Andrew wanted independent legal advice before submitting his evidence.””
“What happened?””
“I was waiting for him at my office the day after Thomas died. Andrew never arrived.””
“Did you report him missing?””
“I contacted his last known address. His apartment had been emptied. His phone was disconnected. At the time, I assumed he had fled.””
Susan shook her head.
“He wouldn't have left without telling me.””
Michael looked at the letter again.
“If Andrew believed he was in danger, he may have gone somewhere he thought Daniel couldn't find him.””
I thought about the supposed boating accident.
“Who identified the body?””
Susan pulled out the death certificate.
The document listed an unidentified witness and a county medical examiner. Daniel's name appeared on a separate form as the person who had supplied identifying information.
Michael's expression tightened.
“Did you ever speak directly to the medical examiner?””
“No. Richard Hale told me the paperwork was complete.””
“Then we need to verify the record.””
He made several calls while Susan and I waited.
By late afternoon, he had confirmed that the death certificate contained inconsistencies. The recorded identification procedure had not been completed in the manner described in the accompanying paperwork.
It didn't prove Andrew was alive.
But it meant the official account required further examination.
Michael contacted Detective Hayes and arranged for the documents to be delivered to the appropriate investigators.
Then he turned to me.
“Claire, I want you to understand that we may be dealing with several separate issues. The company transactions, the settlement agreement, your father's death, and Andrew's disappearance may be connected, but we have to establish those connections rather than assume them.””
“I understand.””
“Good. Because if Daniel learns that we're looking into Andrew's disappearance, he may try to destroy whatever records remain.””
I thought of the message Vanessa had received.
You'll regret what happened to Andrew.
“What should we do?””
Michael looked at the letter.
“We follow the evidence.””
That evening, Emily drove me back to the old theater.
The staff had agreed to let us inspect the restoration archives under supervision. We searched the storage rooms, examined old architectural plans, and checked the concealed panel where I had found my father's recorder.
There was nothing else inside.
For nearly two hours, we searched.
Then Emily noticed a small discrepancy in one of the original floor plans.
A narrow service corridor had been marked on the blueprint but removed from the final renovation drawings.
It ran behind the stage wall, connecting an old dressing room to a basement storage area.
“Why would they remove a corridor from the plans?”” she asked.
“Maybe it was sealed during restoration.””
We found the entrance behind a movable shelving unit in the old costume room.
The door was locked.
I took the brass key from my pocket.
It turned.
Inside, the corridor smelled of damp plaster and old wood. We followed it down a short flight of stairs until we reached a storage room with a rusted filing cabinet.
Most of the drawers were empty.
One contained a small metal box.
Inside was a bundle of letters, a photograph of Andrew Cole, and a USB drive.
The photograph showed Andrew standing beside my father outside the theater. On the back, my father had written:
Andrew knows where the original records are.
Emily plugged the USB drive into a laptop.
It contained scanned contracts, bank statements, and a series of audio files.
The first recording began with Andrew's voice.
“If this recording reaches Thomas Bennett, it means Daniel has discovered that I kept copies of the original transactions.””
A second voice answered.
My father's.
“Then we need to get them to the authorities immediately.””
Andrew spoke again.
“I will. But there's something else you need to know. Daniel has been using Northstar to transfer properties out of the company. The money isn't going where he says it is.””
“Where is it going?””
“I haven't traced every payment, but I found several transfers to accounts connected to Richard Hale.””
I froze.
Richard.
Daniel's attorney.
The man who had offered me eight million dollars to surrender my shares.
The recording continued.
“Thomas, if Daniel learns I have these records, he won't stop at destroying my reputation.””
My father's voice grew quiet.
“What are you saying, Andrew?””
“I'm saying he already knows I can prove the settlement was forged.””
The audio ended.
Emily stared at the screen.
“Claire, we need to call Michael.””
I reached for my phone.
Before I could dial, the laptop chimed.
A new audio file had appeared in the folder.
Its timestamp was eight years old, recorded on the night my father died.
I pressed play.
At first, there was only static.
Then I heard rain.
A car door slammed.
A man's voice spoke.
“Thomas, please. We can still fix this.””
Daniel.
My father's reply was faint.
“No. You had your chance.””
A sudden crash sounded through the recording.
Then Daniel shouted a sentence that made my blood turn to ice.
“You said you'd keep Andrew quiet!””
The recording stopped.
Emily grabbed my arm.
“Claire, don't move.””
A sound came from the corridor behind us.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate footsteps approaching the storage room.
Then a man's voice called from the darkness.
“Claire? I know you're in there.””
I recognized the voice immediately.
May you like
Richard Hale.
And he wasn't alone.
