Robert answered:
"Because you are asking me to sign something that transfers control of the company without protecting Daniel's inheritance."
William sighed.
"Daniel is a child. He doesn't need to be involved in business matters."
"He is my son. His future is my responsibility."
Then a third voice appeared.
Margaret.
She sounded younger, but unmistakably angry.
"You are both behaving like fools. If the company continues to operate this way, neither of our families will have anything."
Robert responded:
"Margaret, this agreement was made between William and me. You have no authority to change it."
Margaret laughed.
"Authority? You have no idea how much influence I have."
The recording ended abruptly.
Nobody spoke.
Daniel stared at the screen.
He had spent his entire life believing that his father had died without leaving anything behind.
Now he was hearing his father defend his future.
Richard wiped his eyes.
"Robert knew."
Elizabeth looked at the audio file.
"This could be important evidence."
Daniel looked toward the lawyer.
"Is it enough?"
"Not by itself. We need to establish authenticity, context, and how the recording was obtained. But it gives us a significant lead."
She paused.
"And it raises another question."
"What question?"
Elizabeth turned the computer toward them.
"Why was this recording hidden?"
Richard answered quietly.
"Because someone was afraid of what it contained."
CHAPTER 10 β THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Two days later, Emily received a letter.
It arrived in an ordinary white envelope.
There was no return address.
Inside was a single handwritten sentence.
YOUR FATHER DID NOT DIE BY ACCIDENT.
Emily read it once.
Then again.
Her hands began shaking.
Daniel entered the kitchen.
"What happened?"
She handed him the paper.
He read it.
His face hardened.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
Daniel called Elizabeth.
She advised them not to discard the letter and to report it to the police.
But Emily could not stop thinking about the message.
Her father had died after suffering a sudden medical emergency.
The official report had stated that the cause was a heart condition.
There had never been any evidence of foul play.
Yet the letter suggested something different.
That evening, Emily opened an old box of family photographs.
She found a picture of her father standing outside his repair shop.
He was smiling.
Behind him was a black sedan.
Emily remembered the car.
It had appeared outside their home several times during the final months of his life.
She had asked her father about it once.
He had told her it belonged to a customer.
Now she was not so sure.
She searched through the box again.
At the bottom, she found a small notebook.
It belonged to Thomas.
Most of the pages contained ordinary notes about customers, repairs, and business expenses.
But the last few pages were different.
They contained dates and names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
CHARLES BENNETT.
Emily did not recognize it.
She called Richard.
When he heard the name, he became silent.
"Where did you find that?"
"In my father's notebook."
Richard took a long breath.
"Charles Bennett was William's personal attorney."
Daniel looked up.
"Was?"
"He retired fifteen years ago."
Emily turned another page.
There was an address.
A small town in New Jersey.
Daniel stood.
"Then we should visit him."
Richard hesitated.
"That may be difficult."
"Why?"
"Because Charles Bennett was the man who prepared the revised ownership documents."
Emily looked at the notebook.
"Then he knows what happened."
Richard nodded.
"And he may be the only person alive who can explain why."
CHAPTER 11 β THE ATTORNEY'S CONFESSION
Charles Bennett lived in a quiet residential neighborhood.
His house was modest compared with the Whitmore mansion.
A small garden surrounded the entrance.
When Daniel, Emily, and Richard arrived, an elderly woman answered the door.
"May I help you?"
"We're looking for Charles Bennett," Richard said.
The woman hesitated.
"Who is asking?"
Richard gave his name.
The woman looked surprised.
Then she opened the door wider.
"Please come in."
Charles was sitting in a wheelchair near the living room window.
He was eighty-one years old.
His hair was almost completely white, and his hands trembled slightly.
When he saw Richard, his expression changed.
"I wondered when you would come."
Richard sat down.
"Then you know why we're here."