Chapter 14 - THE MISSING CAMERA
Claire denied having the camera.
For exactly twelve seconds.
Then she sighed.
“I was trying to protect you.”
I stared at her across the table.
“You people need to stop using that sentence.”
She looked ashamed.
We were inside Naomi’s office again.
It had become the unofficial headquarters for dismantling my family.
Claire placed a storage key on the table.
“Your grandfather gave me instructions.”
“When?”
“A month before he died.”
“What instructions?”
“If something happened, I was supposed to retrieve certain records.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“The camera?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Why didn’t you give it to police?”
“Because the recording was gone.”
My anger stalled.
“What?”
“The memory card had been removed.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know.”
“So the camera is useless.”
“Not completely.”
Claire opened her purse.
She removed a folded piece of paper.
“Charles also kept backups.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“Where?”
“He had a server at one of the company warehouses.”
“Does it still exist?”
“The warehouse does.”
The building sat twenty miles outside Chicago.
It had been used for document storage until five years earlier.
My father sold the operating business but retained the property.
According to county records, the warehouse was now empty.
We went with police.
Dust covered everything.
Rows of metal shelves stretched into darkness.
An old office sat behind a locked steel door.
Technicians opened it.
Inside stood a server cabinet.
Most drives had been removed.
One remained.
The label read C.W. PRIVATE.
I stared at the letters.
Charles Whitmore.
My grandfather.
The drive was taken for forensic recovery.
We waited.
Twenty-four hours.
Then forty-eight.
On the third morning, Ortiz called.
“We recovered video.”
My legs went weak.
“From the night he died?”
“Yes.”
“Does it show my mother?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“What does she do?”
Ortiz paused.
“It does not show her poisoning him.”
The word poisoning made my stomach twist.
“What does it show?”
“She enters the study carrying water.”
“Then?”
“She places the glass beside him.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Correct.”
“What else?”
“They argue.”
“Audio?”
“Yes.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What does Grandpa say?”
Ortiz read from a transcript.
“Charles says, ‘I know what you moved, Margaret.’”
My throat tightened.
“She answers, ‘It was for Preston.’”
I closed my eyes.
“Then?”
“He says, ‘You stole from Evelyn’s future.’”
The room felt smaller.
Ortiz continued.
“Margaret says, ‘She doesn’t need it.’”
My hands began shaking.
“And Grandpa?”
“He says, ‘That is not your decision.’”
Silence.
“Then what?”
“Your mother leaves.”
I opened my eyes.
“She leaves?”
“For twelve minutes.”
“What happens to Grandpa?”
“He drinks from the glass.”
My breath stopped.
“He becomes distressed about eight minutes later.”
I stared at nothing.
“And my mother?”
“She returns.”
“When?”
“After he begins showing symptoms.”
“Does she call for help?”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“How long does she wait?”
“Approximately eleven minutes before calling your father.”
Not emergency services.
My father.
“And then?”
“Your father arrives.”
“What does he do?”
Ortiz became quiet.
“Evelyn…”
“Tell me.”
“He removes the memory card from the camera.”
My entire body went cold.
The video did not prove murder.
But it proved concealment.
It proved they knew the camera existed.
It proved my mother waited while my grandfather suffered.
And it proved my father removed evidence before paramedics arrived.
“Is there anything else?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“The final minutes contain audio after your father arrives.”
“What does he say?”
Ortiz’s voice became very careful.
“He asks Margaret one question.”
I gripped the edge of the chair.
“What question?”
May you like
She answered.
“‘How much did you give him?’”
