Chapter 4 - The Desk at Lake Geneva
By sunrise, Sophie had been admitted overnight for observation.
Nathan had disappeared.
He left the emergency department before detectives formally asked him to remain.
His phone went directly to voicemail.
Preston had been detained at the hotel.
My parents were already demanding his release.
I knew because my mother sent seventeen messages.
The first said Preston had made a mistake.
The second said Sophie had provoked him.
The fifth said family problems should remain private.
The ninth said I would regret involving police.
The seventeenth simply said, “Your grandfather would be ashamed of you.”
I deleted every one.
Then I called the only person who might understand the silver key.
Arthur Whitmore.
My grandfather’s younger brother.
Uncle Arthur was seventy-eight and lived in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
He answered on the third ring.
“Evelyn?”
“I need to ask you about Grandpa Henry’s desk.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“You know about the key?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What does it open?”
“Not the desk.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The key opens a compartment inside the desk.”
“What compartment?”
Arthur exhaled slowly.
“Henry told me someone would eventually come looking for it.”
I gripped my phone.
“Someone already did.”
I told him everything.
The wedding.
The phone.
The attack.
Nathan.
The security footage.
When I finished, Arthur did not sound shocked.
He sounded tired.
“Then Henry was right.”
“Right about what?”
“That Preston would eventually become desperate.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather knew what your brother had been doing.”
A chill moved through me.
“What had Preston been doing?”
“Stealing.”
The word landed heavily.
“From Grandpa?”
“From the family company.”
My grandfather had founded Whitmore Commercial Holdings forty years earlier.
My father became chairman after Henry retired.
Preston joined the company straight out of business school.
I wanted nothing to do with it.
Arthur continued.
“Henry discovered false consulting invoices about eighteen months before he died.”
“How much?”
“Nearly four million dollars.”
I stopped moving.
“Preston stole four million dollars?”
“Henry suspected Preston and someone else.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
My thoughts immediately went to Nathan.
“Why didn’t Grandpa report it?”
“He was gathering evidence.”
“And the evidence is inside that desk?”
“I believe so.”
I looked through the hospital-room window at Sophie sleeping.
“Where is the desk?”
“At the Lake Geneva house.”
The estate had been locked since my grandfather’s death.
My father controlled access.
Or at least I thought he did.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“Did Grandpa leave the lake house to Dad?”
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who owns it?”
“You do.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Henry placed it in a separate trust.”
“Why was I never told?”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“The documents were mailed to your attorney eighteen months ago.”
I closed my eyes.
My attorney.
Nathan’s college roommate.
James Collier.
Suddenly the conspiracy widened again.
Arthur’s voice became firm.
“Evelyn, listen carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
“If Preston has that key, he knows what Henry hid.”
“What should I do?”
“Get to the house before he does.”
I looked at the clock.
7:14 a.m.
Then Detective Brooks walked toward me.
Her expression told me something had happened.
“We found your husband.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“Traffic cameras picked up his Mercedes heading north.”
“Toward where?”
She showed me the route.
Interstate 94.
Northbound.
Straight toward Wisconsin.
Straight toward Lake Geneva.
May you like
Nathan wasn’t running away.
He was going after whatever my grandfather had hidden.
