Chapter 5: The Man Behind the Cameras
The photograph remained on the bank manager's screen.
Daniel Brooks.
Our head of security.
The man who had shown us Vanessa's midnight recordings.
The man who had warned us about the missing documents.
My father looked as though someone had struck him.
“That's not possible,” he said.
Patricia didn't move.
“Let's not jump to conclusions. The photograph is unclear.””
Helen enlarged the image.
The man wore a dark jacket and a baseball cap. His face was partially hidden, but his build and posture were familiar.
I stared at his left hand.
A silver ring.
Daniel wore one exactly like it.
Dad stood.
“I want to speak to him.””
Patricia placed a hand on his arm.
“Not yet. If he's involved, confronting him now could destroy our opportunity to establish what happened.””
I understood her reasoning.
I hated it.
We left the bank with copies of the applications and a written record of the failed access attempts.
On the drive home, Dad barely spoke.
Finally, he turned toward me.
“Ethan, how long have you known Daniel?””
“Since I was sixteen.””
“He was with us when your mother was diagnosed. He helped move her belongings. He attended her funeral.””
“I know.””
Dad stared through the windshield.
“I trusted him.””
I looked at the road.
“That's what everyone keeps saying.””
When we arrived at the mansion, Daniel was waiting near the security office.
“Everything all right, sir?””
Dad looked at him.
“Come into the study.””
Daniel followed us.
Patricia remained near the doorway.
Dad placed the bank photograph on the desk.
“Do you recognize this man?””
Daniel leaned closer.
For a fraction of a second, his expression changed.
Then he shook his head.
“It's difficult to tell.””
Dad watched him.
“Look again.””
Daniel picked up the photograph.
“Could be anyone.””
“Interesting,” I said.
“Because Helen Porter believes it's you.””
Daniel's eyes moved toward me.
“Who is Helen Porter?””
“The security manager at First National.””
His fingers tightened around the photograph.
Then he placed it down.
“I haven't been near that bank in months.””
Patricia spoke calmly.
“Did you accompany Laura Bennett there two days ago?””
“No.””
“Did you give Richard Cole access to the house?””
“No.””
“Have you ever possessed a key to Evelyn Hale's safety deposit box?””
Daniel's face hardened.
“What is this? An interrogation?””
Dad leaned forward.
“Answer the questions.””
Daniel looked at him.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Not nervously.
Not awkwardly.
He actually laughed.
“Marcus, you've known me for fifteen years. And you're going to believe a blurry photograph over me?””
Dad's voice was cold.
“I believed my wife when she told me never to trust Richard Cole. I should have listened.””
Daniel's expression changed.
He placed both hands on the desk.
“Be careful, sir. You don't know what you're accusing me of.””
I stepped closer.
“Then explain why someone used my identity to access Mom's box.””
Daniel looked at me.
“I don't know anything about that.””
“Why was your image captured at the bank?””
“Because I wasn't there.””
Patricia took out her phone.
“Daniel, you're suspended from your security duties pending an investigation. Please surrender your access card and company devices.””
His face turned red.
“You can't do that.””
Dad didn't hesitate.
“I just did.””
Daniel looked between us.
Then he slowly removed his security card and placed it on the desk.
Before leaving, he turned toward me.
“You think you've uncovered something important, Ethan?””
I didn't answer.
He leaned closer.
“Your mother wasn't as innocent as you think.””
Dad immediately stood.
“Get out.””
Daniel walked away.
But he left us with one final sentence.
“Ask Marcus what happened to the original partnership agreement.””
The study door closed.
Dad remained standing.
I turned toward him.
“What partnership agreement?””
He looked exhausted.
“Your mother and I owned a company together before Hale Developments became what it is today. Evelyn handled the legal and financial arrangements.””
“Why would Daniel bring that up?””
Dad rubbed his face.
“Because the original agreement disappeared shortly after her death.””
Patricia immediately looked up.
“Was it replaced?””
“No. We had copies, but the original contained certain restrictions concerning the family properties.””
“What restrictions?””
Dad swallowed.
“Evelyn had the authority to prevent the sale or transfer of several properties if she believed someone was acting against the family's interests.””
I thought about the deed in the hidden compartment.
The trust.
The account references.
“Could Vanessa be trying to get around those restrictions?””
Patricia nodded slowly.
“Possibly. But we need the original agreement.””
Dad walked toward the bookshelf.
He removed a photograph of my mother and himself standing outside their first office.
“Evelyn built this business with me,” he said quietly.
“I used to tell everyone she was the reason it survived.””
I looked at him.
“Then why did you let Vanessa convince you that Mom's documents didn't matter?””
He looked down.
“I was grieving. I wanted someone to tell me everything would be all right.””
Patricia closed her folder.
“Marcus, grief doesn't make you responsible for someone else's dishonesty.””
Dad nodded.
But I could tell he wasn't convinced.
That evening, I returned to my apartment to retrieve some personal documents.
When I opened the door, I immediately noticed something wrong.
My desk drawers were open.
My bedroom closet had been searched.
The small lockbox where I kept my passport and old family photographs was lying on the floor.
I called the police.
Then I called Patricia.
She arrived within thirty minutes.
Nothing expensive had been taken.
My television was untouched.
My laptop was still on the desk.
But the envelope containing my mother's handwritten letters was missing.
I showed Patricia the empty drawer.
“She knew about these.””
“Who?””
“Vanessa. I mentioned the letters once at dinner.””
Patricia examined the room.
“Who has a key?””
“Only me.””
“Did you give anyone temporary access?””
I shook my head.
Then I remembered something.
Daniel had helped me move boxes into the apartment when I first rented it.
He had been alone in the bedroom for several minutes while I carried furniture upstairs.
Patricia looked at me.
“Do you think he made a copy?””
“I don't know.””
A police officer arrived and began documenting the scene.
While he worked, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke immediately.
“Ethan, you need to stop asking questions.””
“Who is this?””
“You've already made things difficult enough.””
“Richard?””
Silence.
Then a quiet chuckle.
“Your mother was smarter than you. She understood when to walk away.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“What did you do with her letters?””
“Find something better to worry about.””
“Did you try to access her safety deposit box?””
The man exhaled.
“Your mother made a mistake when she trusted your father.””
The call ended.
I immediately showed Patricia the number.
She instructed me to preserve the call details and report the threat.
Then she said something that made me realize how dangerous the situation had become.
“Ethan, whoever this is, they believe your mother's letters contain something that could expose them.””
I looked at the empty drawer.
“What if the letters weren't the only thing they were looking for?””
Patricia glanced at the remaining documents.
“Then we need to identify what they took and why.””
At that moment, Dad called.
His voice was unusually urgent.
“Ethan, come back to the house. Now.””
“What happened?””
“I found something in Vanessa's dressing room.””
“What?””
“An envelope addressed to Richard Cole.””
I heard paper rustling.
Then Dad spoke again.
“There's a copy of your mother's death certificate inside.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why would Vanessa have that?””
Dad went silent.
Then he said:
“Because someone has written a different date of death on the copy.””
I stopped breathing for a moment.
“Dad, what are you saying?””
“I'm saying that the date on this document doesn't match the official record.””
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And then he added something even more disturbing.
“Ethan, the date they've written is three weeks earlier than the day your mother actually died.””
