Chapter 3 - THE PROPERTY MY FATHER NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT
I called Karen immediately.
She arrived at my house that afternoon with a folder under one arm and the expression of someone who had just realized the case was far more complicated than expected.
“I pulled what I could.”
She placed the folder on the table.
“What is Monroe Creative Partners?”
“A legitimate company.”
“Owned by Rachel?”
“Majority owned.”
“Daniel owns eight percent.”
“Correct.”
“Nathan advises them.”
“Yes.”
“And there is a family trust.”
Karen nodded.
“Daniel's father established something called the Bennett Legacy Trust.”
I frowned.
“My husband’s family has a trust?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because it was established before your marriage and structured privately.”
“Who controls it?”
“Currently, Daniel's mother is the primary trustee.”
I sat back.
“So Rachel is connected to Daniel's family trust.”
“Indirectly.”
“How?”
Karen opened another document.
“Your husband's father placed several properties and investments into the trust.”
“Which properties?”
“One of them is the old Bennett waterfront property.”
My heart stopped.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“My father owned the neighboring property.”
Karen looked at me.
“That's exactly why this is interesting.”
I stared at her.
“My father never told me.”
“Maybe he couldn't.”
“Couldn't?”
“Claire, your father's property was transferred into a holding company twenty-one years ago.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
She pushed a document toward me.
I recognized my father's signature.
But beneath it was another name.
Daniel Bennett.
The date was two months before our wedding.
I stared.
“What did my husband sign?”
“An option agreement.”
“For what?”
“The property.”
My hands became cold.
“Daniel had an option to buy my father's property?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I stood.
“I need to see the property.”
Karen looked concerned.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I'll come with you.”
The property was three hours north.
A small lake house surrounded by trees.
I hadn't been there since I was sixteen.
My father had loved it.
He used to take me there every summer.
Fishing.
Barbecues.
Long walks.
After his death, I assumed the property had been sold.
Apparently, it hadn't.
The gate opened automatically when we arrived.
I stopped the car.
“How?”
Karen looked at the gate.
“Maybe the access code was never changed.”
We walked toward the house.
Dust covered the windows.
The door was locked.
Karen called the property manager.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
His name was Walter.
He looked nervous when he saw me.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
“Who owns this?”
He hesitated.
“The holding company.”
“Who controls the holding company?”
He looked at Karen.
She stepped forward.
“Answer her.”
Walter swallowed.
“Bennett Legacy Trust.”
I looked around.
“My husband?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Daniel had owned access to my childhood home for twenty years.
And never told me.
“Why?”
Walter shook his head.
“I was instructed not to discuss it.”
“By whom?”
He looked down.
“Your father.”
That stopped me.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he tell you not to tell me?”
“I don't know.”
Karen looked at him.
“Did he ever mention Daniel?”
Walter nodded.
“Your father trusted him.”
I stared.
That didn't make sense.
Daniel had always told me my father disliked him.
That my father thought he was too ambitious.
That he didn't approve of our marriage.
Was that another lie?
We entered the house.
Everything was exactly as I remembered.
The blue sofa.
The fireplace.
The old fishing photographs.
My father's desk.
I walked toward it.
There was a drawer.
Locked.
Karen looked at me.
“Do you have a key?”
I shook my head.
Walter reached into his pocket.
“My father gave me this.”
He handed me a small brass key.
I stared.
“Why?”
“He told me if you ever came here asking questions, I should give it to you.”
The key fit.
Inside the drawer was a stack of envelopes.
All addressed to me.
But none had ever been mailed.
I opened the first.
Claire,
If you're reading this, something has gone wrong.
I stopped.
The letter was dated twenty years earlier.
Two weeks before my wedding.
I read faster.
Your father was trying to protect you.
Daniel's father approached me with an offer.
They wanted control of the Bennett waterfront properties.
I refused.
Then the threats began.
I looked at Karen.
She was reading over my shoulder.
The letter continued.
Daniel does not know everything his father is doing.
That sentence changed everything.
Daniel's father had apparently threatened my family.
But Daniel himself might have been innocent.
The next paragraph made my hands shake.
I believe Daniel loves you.
But I do not trust the people around him.
If you marry him, make sure you never surrender your financial independence.
My father had known.
He had warned me.
And I had never seen the letter.
Why?
The answer was in the final lines.
I am placing the lake property into a trust that cannot be sold without your approval.
It is your inheritance.
Do not let anyone convince you otherwise.
I stared at the page.
“Then why did Daniel have an option?”
Karen looked at the documents.
“That may be the question.”
There were seven letters.
Each more disturbing than the last.
The final one mentioned Rachel.
I read it twice.
Rachel Monroe knows more than she admits.
She was raised by a woman who once worked for Daniel's father.
If Rachel ever returns, be careful.
I sat down.
Rachel's connection wasn't romantic.
It was family.
Her mother had worked for Daniel's father.
Possibly in the same network.
Karen looked at me.
“We need to find Rachel.”
“I agree.”
Then I noticed something beneath the letters.
A photograph.
My father.
Daniel's father.
Rachel's mother.
And another man.
I recognized him.
Daniel's father had always called him a “business associate.”
His name was Victor Hale.
Daniel's uncle.
The man who had died twenty-one years ago.
Karen looked at the photograph.
“That's interesting.”
“What?”
“Victor Hale wasn't supposed to have been in the country when this was taken.”
I stared.
“What?”
“His official travel records say he was in London.”
“Then how was he here?”
Karen turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
A date.
A location.
And one sentence.
THE NIGHT THE MONEY DISAPPEARED.
My heart raced.
“What money?”
Karen didn't answer.
She was staring at another document.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“This trust wasn't created only to protect the property.”
She pointed to a paragraph.
“The trust holds funds.”
“How much?”
Karen read the number.
I stared at her.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
“That's millions.”
“Yes.”
“Whose money?”
Karen looked at me.
“Your father's.”
“But I thought he died with almost nothing.”
“That was the story.”
I felt dizzy.
For twenty years, I had believed my father had died financially ruined.
But he hadn't.
He had hidden millions.
And apparently, the money was still sitting in a trust controlled partly by Daniel's family.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“At the lake house.”
Silence.
“How did you know?”
“Karen called me.”
I looked at the old desk.
“You knew.”
“I knew about the trust.”
“You knew about my father's letters?”
“No.”
“You knew this house belonged to me?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because my father warned me not to.”
“Your father?”
“He said if I told you, people would come after you.”
“Who?”
“Claire, please listen to me.”
“No.”
“You need to leave the house.”
“Why?”
“Because if the letters are still there, someone else may know.”
I froze.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“The housekeeper.”
Silence.
“What housekeeper?”
“The one who used to work for my father.”
Daniel's voice changed.
“Claire, get out.”
The front door slammed.
Karen turned.
Walter was gone.
We heard footsteps upstairs.
May you like
Then the sound of a drawer being opened.
Someone else was inside.
