Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT MY FATHER DIED
September 18, 2004.
I remembered the date.
Not because I knew it was the night my father supposedly died.
Because it was Beatrice’s eighteenth birthday.
My mother had thrown a huge party at Hale House.
White tents across the eastern lawn.
A string quartet.
Two hundred guests.
Beatrice wore a pale blue dress.
I was fourteen and angry because nobody had saved me a piece of chocolate cake.
Normal memories.
Childish memories.
All while something else had been happening in the background.
Father sat at the dining table.
“I was supposed to leave federal protection that night.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The primary threats had diminished. Richard was negotiating cooperation. Investigators believed I could eventually reestablish contact under controlled circumstances.”
Beatrice whispered, “On my birthday?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“I was coming home?”
He nodded.
“I had spent weeks imagining it.”
My heart hurt.
“What happened?”
Father looked toward the dark windows.
“At approximately seven twenty that evening, my federal contact received a call.”
“From whom?”
“Vivian.”
My mother.
“She said Richard had men watching the estate. She said if I came anywhere near Hale House, you would both be killed.”
Beatrice covered her mouth.
Father continued.
“I believed her because she gave details only someone close to Richard could know.”
“What details?”
“The license plate of the car assigned to my protective team.”
Daniel frowned.
“That would have been highly restricted.”
“Yes.”
“Meaning Vivian already had access to someone inside.”
Father nodded.
“She told my contact she was willing to cooperate. She requested a meeting.”
“Where?”
“A marina outside Annapolis.”
My stomach tightened.
The fake death certificate listed a boating accident.
Father said, “The plan was to move her and both of you into protective custody.”
“But she never brought us.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“She arrived alone.”
Beatrice whispered, “Why?”
“Because there was never a threat to you that night.”
Silence filled the room.
“She fabricated it,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“To know where investigators had stored the financial evidence against Richard.”
My father laughed bitterly.
“She told me she would bring you girls only after I gave her proof the files couldn’t be used against her.”
I stared at him.
“What did you do?”
“I refused.”
“Then?”
“She cried.”
Of course she did.
“She said she loved me. Said Richard had forced her. Said she had been terrified.”
Father’s mouth twisted.
“I wanted to believe her.”
Beatrice looked down.
We all knew that feeling.
“What happened next?”
“She asked me to walk to the docks.”
His voice slowed.
“There was a boat registered to Richard.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“And?”
“I saw someone inside.”
“Who?”
“Graham’s father.”
William Davenport.
The former senator.
A man who had died six years ago surrounded by glowing newspaper tributes.
Father continued.
“I understood immediately that Vivian had brought me into a trap.”
I felt cold.
“How did you escape?”
“Federal agents were watching.”
He paused.
“William pulled a gun.”
Beatrice made a small sound.
Father looked at her.
“He fired twice.”
“Were you hit?”
“One bullet grazed my shoulder.”
“Then what?”
“Agents returned fire. William escaped in the boat. Vivian disappeared during the confusion.”
My mind raced.
“But newspapers said you died.”
“Not immediately.”
“Then how?”
Father looked at Rachel’s frozen image on the tablet screen.
She had gone silent too.
“The next morning, Richard’s lawyer contacted prosecutors and claimed I had fled the country after stealing company funds.”
Mother had spent years telling us exactly that before announcing his death.
Father said, “Then the boat William used was discovered burned offshore.”
“With a body?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“Whose?”
“We never knew.”
“You never knew?”
“The remains were badly burned. Identification was based partly on personal effects.”
He looked at me.
“My watch.”
I remembered my father’s gold watch.
The one with the dark leather band.
Vivian claimed she buried it with him.
“How did they get your watch?”
Father stared at the table.
“I left it at the marina office during treatment for my shoulder.”
Daniel said quietly, “Someone planted it.”
“Yes.”
“And the death certificate?”
“Filed months later.”
Rachel finally spoke.
“Using false affidavits.”
Father nodded.
“Vivian testified that I had been depressed and talked about taking a boat alone.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“She testified?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody told us?”
“You were minors.”
Beatrice was crying silently.
Father looked at her.
“Your mother petitioned to have me declared dead.”
“How long did that take?”
“Less time than it should have.”
“Because of the Davenports?”
“That’s what we believe.”
Beatrice stood and walked to the window.
Her entire marriage had been built inside the shadow of the family that helped erase our father.
“What happened after?”
“The federal government relocated me again. The investigation fractured. Richard cooperated enough to avoid major charges. William Davenport denied involvement. Several witnesses recanted.”
“And Mom?”
“She received my life insurance.”
Three million dollars.
She then told two daughters their father was dead.
“And the six million in joint accounts?” I asked.
“Gone within eighteen months.”
“How?”
“That,” Father said, “is one of the reasons I returned.”
He opened a file Rachel had brought earlier.
“Much of it went through companies now connected to Graham.”
Beatrice turned.
“But Graham was twenty-nine then.”
“Yes.”
“He was already involved?”
“Apparently.”
She sat down again.
I suddenly remembered the first time she met him.
A charity event.
She was twenty-three.
He was thirty-four.
Mother had been thrilled.
Too thrilled.
“Mom introduced you,” I whispered.
Beatrice stared at me.
Our eyes met.
“She did.”
She looked like she might be sick.
“My marriage…”
Father didn’t say it.
I did.
“Was arranged.”
“No.”
Beatrice shook her head violently.
“No. Graham pursued me.”
“After Mom introduced you.”
“He loved me.”
Nobody spoke.
She stood.
“He loved me.”
I walked toward her.
“Maybe he did in some way.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m stupid.”
I shook my head.
“I spent thirty-eight years believing Mom’s lies too.”
She started crying again.
This time she let me hug her.
“I was awful to you.”
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped her through tears.
“At least you’re consistent.”
“You want me to lie today?”
“No.”
She pulled back.
“I treated you the way she treated you.”
“Yes.”
“I called Emma a brat.”
“Yes.”
“I let Mom humiliate you.”
“Yes.”
She wiped her face.
“Are you going to keep saying yes?”
“Probably.”
For the first time that day, Beatrice actually laughed.
Then my phone rang.
Evan again.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“In a police station.”
Everyone exhaled.
“What happened?”
“I thought someone was following me. Maybe I panicked.”
“You mentioned September 18.”
“Yes.”
“What do you know?”
“I found a recording in Graham’s private archive last year.”
Father leaned toward the phone.
“What recording?”
“A conversation between Graham and Vivian.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Evan continued.
“They were arguing about Hale House. Vivian threatened him with ‘the marina tape.’”
My father froze.
“What marina tape?”
“I don’t know. Graham said, ‘That recording implicates you too.’”
Father stood.
“There was a recording device at the marina?”
“Apparently.”
“Where is it?”
“That’s why I called.”
Evan’s voice became quieter.
“Graham has it.”
Beatrice leaned toward the phone.
“Where?”
“He keeps sensitive originals in a safe inside his Washington office.”
“That office is in the state senate building,” Rachel said. “You cannot simply enter it.”
Evan replied, “He has another office.”
“Where?”
“A private townhouse on N Street.”
Beatrice’s face changed.
“I know that house.”
I looked at her.
“What is it?”
“He told me it belonged to a donor.”
Evan said nothing.
Beatrice’s expression hardened.
“It belongs to him, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is that where my sons are?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
My sister was already reaching for her purse.
Rachel’s voice snapped through the tablet.
“No one is driving to Washington tonight.”
“My children are there.”
“Then we involve the appropriate authorities.”
Beatrice turned toward Daniel.
“Can you get a plane?”
He answered immediately.
“Yes.”
I said, “Then we go together.”
Father looked at me.
“What about Emma?”
“She stays with Daniel.”
Daniel frowned.
“You’re assuming I’m not coming.”
“I need one parent with her.”
He looked at our sleeping daughter’s monitor on his phone.
He hated it.
But he knew I was right.
My father said, “I’m coming.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Graham knows you’re alive, he may panic.”
“He already knows.”
“Exactly.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Grace and I go.”
I stared at her.
“When was the last time we went anywhere together?”
“Your wedding.”
“You complained about the hotel for three straight days.”
“It was terrible.”
“It was the Ritz.”
“The pillows were too soft.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then Evan spoke again.
“There’s one more thing.”
We stopped.
“The safe contains more than the marina tape.”
“What else?”
“Graham keeps a document there that Vivian has been trying to get back for years.”
“What document?”
Evan answered.
“The original agreement she signed with William Davenport in 2004.”
Father’s face drained of color.
“What agreement?”
Evan swallowed.
“The agreement promising him control of Hale House…”
May you like
A pause.
“…in exchange for making Thomas Hale disappear.”
