Chapter 5 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
The silence in the hospital room was suffocating. I stared at the microfilm, then at my mother’s fragile face, piecing together a terrifying puzzle.
“She knew,” I whispered. “My mother was his bookkeeper. She must have discovered the truth about Marcus and your mother. That’s why she kept the records. That’s why she was targeted.”
Tristan paced the small room, running a hand through his dark hair. The cold, unshakeable CEO was gone, replaced by a man watching his entire life unravel.
“If Marcus is my father,” Tristan muttered, “he has legal claim to the Cain empire. But he couldn’t act on it while my grandfather was alive. He needed the evidence destroyed. He needed your mother gone.”
He stopped pacing and looked at me. “We need to see Evelyn.”
Evelyn was Tristan’s stepmother. The woman who had raised him after his biological mother died in a suspicious boating accident twenty years ago.
“Are you sure she’s safe?” I asked.
“If Marcus is tying up loose ends, Evelyn is next on his list.”
We left Arthur to guard my mother with strict orders to shoot anyone who came within ten feet of the door. Tristan drove us to a sprawling estate in the Hamptons. The gates were locked, but Tristan punched in an override code, driving the SUV right up to the front steps.
Evelyn was in the conservatory, pruning orchids. She was elegant, sharp-eyed, and completely unbothered by our sudden intrusion.
“Tristan, darling,” she said, setting down her shears. “It’s three in the morning. Has the board finally driven you mad?”
“Cut the act, Evelyn,” Tristan said, slamming the microfilm onto the glass table. “I know about Marcus.”
Evelyn froze. For a fraction of a second, the polished society facade slipped, revealing something terrified and old beneath it.
She slowly picked up the film, held it to the light, and closed her eyes.
“I tried to protect you,” she whispered.
“By lying to me my entire life?” Tristan demanded.
Evelyn walked over to an antique desk in the corner. She unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out a faded child’s drawing. It was framed in cheap plastic. Stick figures in crayon: a small boy, a woman, and a dark shadow towering over them.
“You drew this when you were six,” Evelyn said softly, handing it to him. “Marcus used to visit your mother. He was cruel, Tristan. When she died, I knew he would come for you. I buried the truth to keep him from claiming you as his heir. To keep you safe.”
She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Sarah—your mother—she helped me hide the money Marcus was embezzling to fund his takeover. We were supposed to expose him. But he found out.”
I stepped forward. “Is that why he ran her over?”
Evelyn nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “He’s silencing everyone who knows. I’ve been packing my bags all night.”
She reached for her crystal water glass on the table and took a long, shaky sip.
“We have enough to go to the police now,” Tristan said, softening slightly. “We have the account numbers. The birth certificate. We have—”
Evelyn gasped.
The glass shattered on the stone floor.
She staggered backward, clutching her throat. Her eyes bulged in absolute terror. She fell to her knees, gasping for air that wouldn’t reach her lungs.
“Evelyn!” Tristan yelled, dropping the drawing and sliding to the floor beside her.
I grabbed my phone to call 911, but it was too late. A thin stream of dark blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.
She grabbed Tristan’s shirt collar, pulling him down. Her lips moved frantically.
“It’s… in the coat,” she choked out, her voice barely a rattle. “Not… Marcus. Not…”
Her eyes rolled back, and her grip went slack.
She was dead.
I backed away in horror, looking at the shattered glass. Someone had poisoned her water. Someone had been in this house minutes before we arrived.
“Tristan,” I stammered.
He didn’t answer. He was staring at the doorway.
May you like
Standing in the shadows of the hall, holding a suppressed pistol, was Arthur.
And he was smiling.
