Chapter 2: My Funeral Was Already Planned
I stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed.
Richard had always been meticulous about appearances.
Even when our marriage was falling apart, he insisted on matching dinnerware, freshly pressed shirts, and flowers on the dining table.
He believed a beautiful house could hide an ugly truth.
Now he was preparing my funeral while my clothes were still drying in a stranger's conservation station.
“Mateo,” I said, “I need you to look at something.””
He approached.
I showed him the photograph.
He studied it carefully.
“That's your husband?””
“Yes.””
“And that paper?””
“A declaration of death.””
Mateo frowned.
“But you are not dead.””
“Apparently, that hasn't stopped him.””
I called Margaret.
She answered immediately.
“Eleanor, I've been trying to reach you.””
“Tell me what you're seeing.””
“Richard has contacted a local attorney in Brazil. He wants to establish that you died during the river incident.””
“On what evidence?””
“An incident report filed by the boat operator. It says you fell overboard and disappeared in the current.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Who signed it?””
“The operator. A man named Carlos Mendes.””
I remembered the boat.
The polished wooden deck. The expensive bottles of champagne. Julian's laughter when Richard suggested we take a photograph before sunset.
There had been another man steering the boat.
I had barely noticed him.
“Was Carlos on the boat when I went over?””
“Yes.””
“Then he knows what happened.””
“Eleanor, the report claims you slipped while walking near the railing.””
I closed my eyes.
I remembered Julian's hands.
One moment he had been standing beside me, pretending to help me with my shawl.
The next, his palms had slammed into my chest.
I had stumbled backward.
And Richard had stepped aside.
“I didn't slip,” I whispered.
“I know.””
“Find Carlos.””
“I'll try.””
“No. Find him before Richard does.””
At two in the afternoon, Daniel sent another message.
Northstar Capital had made an unexpected offer to purchase a controlling interest in Whitmore Global.
The offer was conditional on my death being legally confirmed and Julian's appointment as acting chairman.
The proposed transaction valued my controlling shares at a fraction of their actual worth.
I read the numbers twice.
They were stealing the company while pretending to rescue it.
And there was something even worse.
Northstar had already arranged financing.
Someone had deposited $180 million into an escrow account three days before our trip.
Three days before I went into the river.
I looked at Mateo.
“Can I borrow your laptop?””
He brought it over.
I logged into a secure account and opened my company's internal financial dashboard.
The familiar blue-and-white interface appeared.
For fifty years, I had watched numbers move across screens and understood that every transaction told a story.
This one was telling me something terrible.
Someone had transferred money through four holding companies.
The final recipient was an account registered to a company called JAR Holdings.
The initials made my stomach turn.
Julian Alexander Richard.
My son's full name.
I leaned back.
“That's clever,” I whispered.
Mateo looked over my shoulder.
“What is?””
“They created a company that looks unrelated to Northstar. But the money leads straight back to Julian.””
I opened another file.
A transfer authorization had been attached.
The document carried Richard's digital signature.
And Julian's.
They had been working together for months.
Not weeks.
Months.
That evening, Margaret arranged a secure call with the bank's fraud department.
A senior officer named Thomas Bell appeared on the screen.
He looked uncomfortable from the moment he saw me.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I need to verify your identity.””
I gave him the requested information.
After several minutes, he nodded.
“Your identity is confirmed.””
“Then freeze the accounts connected to JAR Holdings.””
“I'm afraid we cannot do that without a formal investigation.””
“There's an unauthorized transfer of company funds.””
“Mrs. Whitmore, your husband has provided documentation showing that he currently holds power of attorney.””
“That document is fraudulent.””
Thomas glanced away.
“I'm not in a position to make that determination.””
I leaned toward the camera.
“Mr. Bell, I built the company whose money you're allowing my husband to steal.””
“I understand.””
“No, you don't. Because if you understood, you would realize that I'm not asking you to do me a favor. I'm notifying you that your institution has received fraudulent instructions.””
He cleared his throat.
“I'll escalate the matter.””
“Do that.””
The call ended.
Margaret looked exhausted.
“They're going to move slowly,” she said.
“Then we move faster.””
“Eleanor, there's another thing I need to tell you.””
“What?””
“Richard has arranged a memorial service.””
I stared at her.
“When?””
“Tomorrow evening. At your estate in Virginia.””
I almost laughed.
Tomorrow.
My husband was planning to stand in front of our friends, colleagues, and family members and mourn a woman he had watched drown.
“Who's attending?””
“Most of the board. Several politicians. Business associates. Julian's wife, Vanessa.””
Vanessa.
My daughter-in-law.
I thought about her last Christmas, when she had sat beside me and complained about the cost of raising children.
I'd offered to pay for their daughter's college education.
She'd hugged me.
“That's so generous, Eleanor. You're practically the only mother I've ever had.””
I had believed her.
Now I wondered what she knew.
“Margaret, arrange something for me.””
“What?””
“Make sure the memorial service is recorded.””
“Why?””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Because I want to hear what my family says when they think I can't hear them.””
The next morning, I was still recovering when Mateo brought me a cup of tea.
He had found a small television in the station's storage room.
A local news channel was reporting on a missing American businesswoman.
My photograph appeared beneath a headline.
<text color="secondary" italic>American Billionaire Eleanor Whitmore Feared Dead After Amazon River Accident.</text>
The presenter described me as a respected philanthropist and pioneering businesswoman.
Then the screen changed.
Richard appeared.
He was wearing a black suit and standing outside a hotel.
His eyes looked red.
His voice trembled.
“My wife was the center of my life,” he told the reporters.
“I don't know how I'll continue without her.””
I nearly dropped my tea.
He wiped his eyes with a white handkerchief.
“My son and I are devastated. We only wish we could have brought her home.””
Julian stepped beside him.
He placed one hand on his father's shoulder.
“We're going to honor Mom's legacy,” he said.
“That's what she would have wanted.””
Then he looked directly into the camera.
“And we're asking for privacy during this difficult time.””
The broadcast moved to another story.
Mateo turned off the television.
“Your husband is a good actor,” he said quietly.
I stared at the blank screen.
“No,” I replied.
“He's a terrible husband. That's different.””
That afternoon, Margaret sent me the first recording.
It came from a security camera in the estate's main living room.
The date was the previous night.
Richard sat in his leather armchair with a glass of whiskey.
Julian stood near the fireplace, scrolling through his phone.
“Are the papers ready?”” Richard asked.
Julian didn't look up.
“Almost.””
“Almost isn't good enough. The board meets at nine.””
“Dad, relax. She's gone.””
Richard placed his glass on the table.
“You saw her fall?””
Julian finally looked up.
“I pushed her. You watched her go under. What more do you want?””
Richard's face tightened.
“Don't say things like that.””
“Why? Nobody's listening.””
“You don't know that.””
Julian laughed.
“Mom's at the bottom of the Amazon. There's no one left to listen.””
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“And the shares?””
“Once the transfer is approved, Northstar gets control. We'll have the money within forty-eight hours.””
“Your mother was worth more alive.””
Julian shrugged.
“Not to us.””
I stopped the recording.
My hands had gone numb.
Not to us.
Those three words were worse than the river.
I had spent my entire life protecting Julian from consequences.
When he crashed his first car, I paid for the repairs.
When his business failed, I covered the debts.
When he was accused of falsifying expense reports at his first company, I personally called the chairman and asked him to give my son another chance.
I had spent years teaching him that failure was not the end of the world.
Apparently, he had learned that other people could be sacrificed to prevent it.
I pressed play again.
Richard's voice came through the speaker.
“There's still the matter of Vanessa.””
Julian sighed.
“She knows enough.””
“Does she know what happened on the boat?””
“No.””
“Make sure it stays that way.””
Julian smiled.
“Dad, Vanessa thinks Mom's death is tragic. She has no idea about the rest.””
The recording ended.
I sat perfectly still.
Then another notification appeared.
Margaret had sent a second file.
It was an email from Richard to an unknown recipient.
The subject line read:
*THE SECOND PAYMENT.*
I opened it.
There was only one sentence in the body.
Once the memorial is complete, we can finally tell Vanessa what really happened to her mother.
I read it again.
Then a third time.
Her mother?
Vanessa's mother had died six years earlier.
At least, that was what everyone had told me.
I picked up the phone.
“Margaret?””
“Yes?””
“Find out what happened to Vanessa's mother.””
“Why?””
I stared at the sentence.
“Because I think my son and husband have been hiding more than one death.””
Before Margaret could answer, another message arrived.
This one was from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph of Vanessa standing beside a woman in a hospital gown.
The woman looked frail.
But I recognized her immediately.
It was my former personal assistant.
Lydia.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was a message:
*Mrs. Whitmore, if you are alive, do not come home. They know about the missing signature. And Vanessa is not who you think she is.*
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