Chapter 7 - THE SECRET UNDER THE HOUSE
The clue came from an unlikely source.
Thomas Reed had worked as the estate’s maintenance supervisor for thirty-two years.
Charles fired him after accusing him of stealing antique silver.
Thomas always denied it.
Eight years later, he walked into Northstar carrying a yellowed envelope.
“I heard you’re asking about the Heritage Trust.”
Ethan invited him into the conference room.
Olivia joined them.
Thomas removed an old key.
“This opens a storage room beneath the west wing.”
Ethan frowned.
“There’s no storage room beneath the west wing.”
Thomas smiled.
“That’s what your father wanted everyone to think.”
According to Thomas, Charles had converted part of the old wine cellar into a private records room.
Only three people had regular access.
Charles.
Derek.
And the family controller, Martin Crowe.
“Why would he keep records there instead of at the company?”
Thomas looked at Ethan.
“Because company records can be subpoenaed.”
Olivia understood.
“Personal papers stored at a residence are harder to discover if nobody knows they exist.”
Thomas nodded.
Ethan leaned forward.
“Why are you telling us this?”
Thomas’s expression changed.
“My wife had cancer.”
Ethan remained silent.
“Whitmore Industries canceled our health coverage three weeks after Charles fired me.”
Thomas looked down.
“She died six months later.”
Olivia’s eyes softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Thomas nodded once.
“I’m not here for revenge.”
His voice became firmer.
“I’m here because men like your father call revenge anything that looks like consequences.”
The problem was access.
Ethan could not enter the estate without permission.
Police needed probable cause.
A civil lawsuit required stronger evidence.
Rebecca suggested waiting.
Ethan hated waiting.
Then Charles made the next move himself.
He invited Ethan to dinner.
The invitation came by handwritten letter.
No lawyers.
No conditions.
Just one sentence.
It is time we ended this foolishness.
Olivia read it.
“It’s a trap.”
“Probably.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“Then I’m going with you.”
“He invited me.”
“He pushed me out of that family before I hit the bottom step.”
Olivia folded the letter.
“I don’t require an invitation.”
Three nights later, they returned to Whitmore estate for the first time in almost nine years.
The gates opened slowly.
Ethan felt his stomach tighten.
The driveway looked exactly the same.
The stone lions.
The fountain.
The enormous oak trees.
Even the windows seemed unchanged.
Then he saw the staircase through the foyer doors.
Olivia stopped walking.
Ethan touched her hand.
“We can leave.”
“No.”
She breathed slowly.
“I’m walking through that door.”
Charles waited in the dining room.
He had aged considerably.
His hair was almost white.
But his posture remained rigid.
Derek sat beside him.
Ethan had not expected that.
Neither had Olivia.
Derek smiled.
“Welcome home.”
Ethan remained standing.
“This isn’t my home.”
Charles gestured toward the chairs.
“Sit.”
Olivia sat beside Ethan.
Dinner was served.
Nobody ate much.
For twenty minutes, Charles spoke about the company.
Falling margins.
Unstable markets.
The danger of outsiders exploiting family divisions.
Finally, Ethan interrupted him.
“What do you want?”
Charles placed down his glass.
“I want Northstar merged into Whitmore Industries.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“You want my company.”
“I want the family unified.”
Derek leaned forward.
“You owe us.”
Olivia turned toward him.
“He owes you?”
Derek’s expression darkened.
Charles ignored her.
“You would become chief executive.”
Ethan stared at him.
For years, that title had once represented everything he thought he wanted.
Now it meant almost nothing.
“And Derek?”
“Chairman.”
Ethan laughed.
Derek slammed his hand against the table.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s very funny.”
Charles’s face hardened.
“If you refuse, Northstar will face challenges you have not begun to imagine.”
Olivia set down her fork.
“There it is.”
Charles looked at her.
“What?”
“The threat.”
She stood.
“You almost made it through one dinner pretending to be human.”
Ethan rose beside her.
“We’re leaving.”
As they crossed the foyer, Ethan glanced toward a hallway leading to the west wing.
A familiar man stood near the door.
Martin Crowe.
The family controller.
Crowe looked at Ethan.
Then deliberately looked down.
In his hand was a brass key.
Thomas’s description flashed through Ethan’s mind.
Before Ethan could react, Crowe slipped the key into his pocket.
But the message was clear.
May you like
The hidden room existed.
And Martin Crowe wanted Ethan to know it.
