Chapter 6: The Boy Who Walked Into the Trap
I had never driven faster in my life.
Daniel was behind the wheel, weaving through evening traffic while I repeatedly called James's phone.
Straight to voicemail.
Every time.
“Try again,” I ordered.
Daniel pressed the call button.
Nothing.
I called the house.
Margaret answered almost immediately.
“Richard?””
“Where is James?””
Her voice trembled.
“He left.””
“When?””
“About thirty minutes ago.””
“Why didn't you stop him?””
“I tried!””
I closed my eyes.
“Margaret, where did he go?””
“He said he had to find out what happened to Eleanor.””
“Did he tell you where?””
“No. But I saw the message before he left.””
“What message?””
She hesitated.
“It said Jonathan wanted to meet him.””
I clenched my jaw.
“Did you tell him not to go?””
“Of course I did. But he said Jonathan might have the original recordings.””
I looked at Daniel.
“Find his location.””
Daniel was already speaking into his security headset.
“I'm tracing the phone now.””
I returned to the call.
“Margaret, listen carefully. Don't leave the house. Lock every door. Nobody gets inside unless Daniel confirms their identity.””
“What about James?””
“I'm bringing him home.””
I ended the call.
Dr. Martin stood near the conference table.
“I can help.””
I turned toward him.
“You've helped enough.””
He flinched.
“Mr. Whitmore, Jonathan is dangerous. If he contacted James, he probably intends to use him as leverage.””
I stared at him.
“Where would Jonathan take him?””
Martin hesitated.
“There is an old property outside Greenwich. A warehouse near the river. It was used by one of his companies.””
“Address.””
Martin wrote it down.
Daniel took the paper.
“Sir, we're close.””
I called Thomas.
He answered immediately.
“Richard?””
“Jonathan has contacted my son. James is missing.””
“Have you notified the police?””
“Not yet.””
“Do it now.””
I hesitated.
“What if Jonathan destroys the evidence?””
“Richard, this is no longer just about evidence. It's about a seventeen-year-old boy.””
I knew he was right.
I called the police.
Then I called Senator Collins, who had previously offered assistance.
Within minutes, a state police contact was alerted.
But I still wanted to reach James before Jonathan could do anything.
At 7:02 p.m., Daniel's phone vibrated.
“Sir. We have a location.””
“Where?””
“Old industrial district near the river. The phone signal stopped moving six minutes ago.””
“Go.””
Daniel accelerated.
The warehouse appeared through the darkness twenty minutes later.
It was a massive brick structure surrounded by an overgrown parking lot. Several broken windows faced the river. A single light burned above the loading entrance.
There was a black SUV parked beside the building.
I recognized it.
Jonathan's vehicle.
Daniel pulled behind a row of abandoned trucks.
“Sir, wait here.””
“No.””
“Mr. Whitmore—”
“My son is inside.””
I opened the door.
Daniel followed me.
We approached the warehouse from the side.
The metal entrance was partially open.
Inside, a dim yellow light illuminated a long corridor.
Then I heard a voice.
James.
“Where is the recording?””
I stopped.
Jonathan answered.
“Patience, James.””
My son's voice was trembling.
“You said you had proof.””
“I do.””
“Then show me.””
Jonathan laughed.
“You sound exactly like your mother.””
I felt my blood boil.
Daniel signaled for me to stay behind him.
We moved toward the open doorway.
Through the gap, I saw James standing near a wooden table.
Jonathan Pierce was sitting opposite him.
He was older than the man in the photographs, but still carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to getting whatever he wanted.
A laptop sat open between them.
Jonathan slid a glass of water toward James.
“Drink something. You look nervous.””
James didn't touch it.
“I don't trust you.””
Jonathan smiled.
“Smart boy.””
“Where's the evidence?””
Jonathan leaned back.
“Your mother knew something about me. Something she should never have discovered.””
“What?””
“That I was your biological father.””
James stared at him.
I felt the world stop.
Jonathan continued.
“She never told you, did she?””
James shook his head.
“My father is Richard Whitmore.””
Jonathan smiled.
“Richard raised you. That's not the same thing.””
James stood.
“Don't talk about him.””
Jonathan's expression changed.
“You really think he loves you?””
“Yes.””
“Even after learning the truth?””
“Yes.””
Jonathan laughed.
“You're more like your mother than you realize.””
James reached for the laptop.
Jonathan slammed it shut.
“Sit down.””
“No.””
Jonathan stood.
“Your father has spent seventeen years believing you were his heir. Imagine what happens when he discovers that the entire family fortune could legally belong to someone else.””
James shook his head.
“You're lying.””
“Am I?””
Jonathan pulled a document from his jacket.
“Your grandfather knew. He made certain arrangements because he understood what would happen if the truth became public.””
James looked at the paper.
“What is that?””
“A copy of the original trust agreement.””
Jonathan pushed it toward him.
“Read the final page.””
James hesitated.
Then he picked it up.
I watched his expression change.
“What does this mean?””
Jonathan smiled.
“It means your grandfather anticipated that one day you might need to choose between two fathers.””
James dropped the document.
“I don't care about the money.””
Jonathan's smile vanished.
“You should.””
“I want to know what happened to my mother.””
For a moment, Jonathan said nothing.
Then he reached into his briefcase.
He removed a small digital recorder.
“This is what you came for.””
James stared at it.
“Is it real?””
“Yes.””
“Does it have Victoria's voice?””
Jonathan nodded.
“And Dr. Martin's.””
James reached for it.
Jonathan pulled it away.
“First, I need something from you.””
“What?””
“Your signature.””
He placed a document on the table.
It was a declaration stating that James voluntarily surrendered his rights to the Whitmore family trust.
James stared at it.
“No.””
Jonathan sighed.
“I was hoping you would be reasonable.””
“I'm not signing anything.””
“Then I suppose we have a problem.””
I stepped into the doorway.
“Actually, Jonathan, you have a problem.””
Both men turned.
James's face changed instantly.
“Dad!””
I moved toward him.
“Are you all right?””
He nodded.
I placed myself between him and Jonathan.
“Step away from my son.””
Jonathan slowly stood.
“Richard. I was wondering when you'd arrive.””
“You've got about five seconds to explain why you're holding my son in a warehouse.””
Jonathan chuckled.
“Still dramatic. Just like your father.””
I took another step.
“Don't mention my father.””
Jonathan glanced at James.
“Have you told him?””
“Told me what?”” I demanded.
Jonathan picked up the recorder.
“The truth about Eleanor.””
I held out my hand.
“Give me that.””
“Not until we discuss something.””
“There is nothing to discuss.””
“Your father stole from me.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“Your grandfather promised me a share of the Whitmore estate. Then he changed the trust agreement. He left everything to a child who wasn't even biologically yours.””
James stepped forward.
“Stop calling me that!””
Jonathan ignored him.
“Your father knew about Eleanor and me. He knew James might be my son. He used the trust to keep the money away from me.””
I looked at the document on the table.
“That's why you married Victoria?””
Jonathan laughed.
“Victoria married you. I simply made sure she understood what was at stake.””
The implication was clear.
They had been working together long before my marriage.
“Did you help her poison Eleanor?””
Jonathan's face became expressionless.
“I helped her protect what was rightfully ours.””
I took another step.
“Did you kill my wife?””
He didn't answer.
James looked at him.
“Did you?””
Jonathan sighed.
“Your mother was a very difficult woman.””
My hands curled into fists.
“She was dying.””
“And she refused to cooperate.””
“Cooperate with what?””
Jonathan looked at James.
“She had documents that could have destroyed everything.””
“What documents?””
“The original trust agreement. The financial records. Proof that Victoria and I were connected.””
I felt sick.
“Where are they?””
Jonathan smiled.
“Ask your wife.””
Before I could respond, a metallic sound echoed from the far end of the warehouse.
Daniel turned.
Two men emerged from behind a stack of crates.
Both were wearing dark jackets.
One held a metal pipe.
Daniel stepped in front of me.
“Stay back.””
Jonathan laughed.
“You really should have brought more people, Richard.””
I reached for my phone.
One of the men moved quickly.
Daniel intercepted him.
A struggle erupted beside the loading entrance.
James grabbed my arm.
“Dad, we have to go!””
I pushed him toward the door.
“Run!””
But Jonathan caught the back of his jacket.
James fell against the table.
The recorder dropped to the floor.
I lunged.
Jonathan struck my shoulder, and pain shot down my arm.
I grabbed his collar.
“Touch my son again and I swear—”
A crash interrupted me.
Daniel had knocked one of the men against a stack of crates. The second man was trying to reach the exit.
Then headlights flooded the warehouse.
Police sirens.
Jonathan's smile disappeared.
He released James.
“Damn it.””
I pulled my son behind me.
Two officers entered with weapons raised.
“Police! Hands where we can see them!””
Jonathan slowly lifted his hands.
The two men were restrained.
Daniel was breathing heavily, with blood running from a cut above his eyebrow.
James rushed toward me.
“Dad!””
I held him.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I felt something in his jacket pocket.
A folded piece of paper.
“What is this?””
James looked confused.
“I don't know.””
I unfolded it.
It was a photograph of Eleanor.
She was sitting in a hospital bed, looking directly at the camera.
On the back, someone had written:
If anything happens to me, find the woman who was in the room that night.
I stared at the words.
“James, where did you get this?””
He shook his head.
“It was inside the document Jonathan gave me.””
I looked toward the officers.
“Where is Jonathan?””
An officer was escorting him toward the entrance.
I stepped forward.
“Wait.””
Jonathan turned.
I held up the photograph.
“Who was in the room with Eleanor?””
For the first time that evening, Jonathan looked genuinely frightened.
He glanced toward the police officer.
Then he looked back at me.
“You really don't know?””
“Tell me.””
Jonathan swallowed.
“Victoria wasn't alone.””
My stomach tightened.
“Who was with her?””
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Your sister.””
I froze.
My sister, Catherine, had been living in London for the past six years.
She had attended Eleanor's funeral, embraced me, and promised she would always look after James.
She had been the person I called when I needed someone to talk about Eleanor.
The person who had encouraged me to marry Victoria.
The person who had told me that moving forward was the only way to heal.
I shook my head.
“No.””
Jonathan nodded.
“She was there the night Eleanor died.””
I couldn't breathe.
The police officer pulled him away.
I stood motionless, holding the photograph.
James approached me.
“Dad?””
I looked at him.
He was frightened.
I forced myself to speak.
“It's okay. We're going home.””
But as we walked toward the police vehicles, my phone vibrated.
An incoming international call.
London.
Catherine.
I answered.
“Catherine?””
Her voice was quiet.
“Richard, I heard what happened.””
I stopped walking.
“How?””
A pause.
Then she said:
“Because Victoria called me.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why was she calling you?””
Another pause.
Then my sister whispered:
“Richard, you need to listen carefully. Whatever Jonathan told you about Eleanor is only half the truth.””
I looked at James.
“What are you talking about?””
Catherine began crying.
“I was there that night.””
My heart stopped.
“Were you involved?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she whispered six words.
“Eleanor wasn't supposed to die.””
Then the call disconnected.
And before I could call her back, a message arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of Catherine standing beside Victoria.
Taken that very evening.
Beneath it were seven words:
Ask your sister what happened to the baby.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Because Eleanor and I had never had another child.
Or at least, that was what I had believed for seventeen years.
