The first showed Eleanor standing outside a courthouse.
The second showed Victor Hale entering a restaurant.
The third showed Michael Reeves speaking to a man Richard had never seen.
But the final photograph made him stop.
It showed Eleanor sitting in a car.
In the passenger seat was Margaret.
On the back, Eleanor had written:
The person I trusted most may be the one I should fear.
Richard stared at the words.
He opened the second envelope.
The bank records showed payments from Victor's company to an account belonging to Margaret.
The payments had begun six months before Eleanor died.
Richard felt cold.
Had Margaret betrayed Eleanor?
Had she helped Victor?
Or had Eleanor discovered something else?
He opened the final envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Margaret,
I know what you did.
I know why you accepted the money.
But I also know you were not the one who arranged the accident.
You have one chance to make this right.
Please tell the truth before it is too late.
Richard read the letter twice.
Then he looked at the date.
It had been written the day before Eleanor died.
He sat down.
The woman who had worked beside his wife for six years had been receiving money from Victor.
And Eleanor had known.
But she had also believed Margaret could still make things right.
Richard immediately called Agent Bennett.
“We need to find Margaret Cole.”
“We're already working on it.”
“I found something in Eleanor's study.”
“What?”
“Payments from Victor Hale to Margaret. And a letter from my wife.”
There was a pause.
“Mr. Harrison, don't confront her yourself.”
“I'm not planning to.”
“Good. Send us copies of everything.”
Richard agreed.
But before he could end the call, another phone began ringing.
It was the landline in the study.
Richard stared at it.
Nobody used that number anymore.
He picked up.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice spoke.
“Richard?”
He recognized it immediately.
“Margaret?”
The woman began crying.
“I know you found the letters.”
Richard gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because Eleanor didn't die in an accident.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“No,” Margaret whispered. “You don't.”
She paused.
Then she said something that made his entire body go still.
“I was in the second car.”
Margaret agreed to meet Richard at a small café outside the city.
Agent Bennett insisted that officers remain nearby.
Richard arrived early.
He sat near the window and ordered coffee he did not drink.
At 6:20 p.m., Margaret entered.
She looked older than he remembered.
Her hair was gray.
Her face was thinner.
She wore a long brown coat and carried a small handbag.
When she saw Richard, she stopped.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then she approached the table.
“Hello, Richard.”
He did not stand.
“Sit down.”
Margaret lowered herself into the chair.
Her hands were trembling.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
She nodded.
Richard placed Eleanor's letter on the table.
“Explain.”
Margaret looked at it.
Then she began crying.
“Victor paid me to give him information about Eleanor.”
Richard's jaw tightened.
“What information?”
“Her schedule. Her meetings. The people she spoke to. The documents she was collecting.”
“Why?”
“My husband was dying.”
Richard said nothing.
“He needed expensive treatment. We had no insurance, and I was drowning in debt. Victor approached me and offered money.”
“So you sold my wife's information.”
Margaret lowered her head.
“Yes.”
Richard looked at her.
“How much?”
“Enough to pay for the treatment.”
“Did it save him?”
She nodded.
“He lived another three years.”
Richard leaned back.
“And Eleanor found out.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Margaret wiped her eyes.
“She confronted me. She was furious. But she didn't report me immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because she understood why I had done it.”
Richard looked away.
Margaret continued.
“She told me that desperation could explain a mistake, but it couldn't erase the damage. She gave me a chance to help her expose Victor.”
“Did you?”
“I tried.”
“What does that mean?”
“The night she died, I was supposed to meet her at a safe location.”
Richard felt his throat tighten.
“Where?”
“An old house outside the city.”
“Why didn't she go?”
“She called me and said someone was following her.”
Richard stared at her.
“What happened next?”
“I was driving behind her. I saw the second vehicle.”
“Was Victor in it?”
Margaret nodded.
“I recognized the driver.”
“Who?”
She looked at Richard.
“Michael Reeves.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“He was driving?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hit her car?”
Margaret began crying harder.
“I saw him force her toward the side of the road. Her car lost control.”
Richard's hands curled into fists.
“And you did nothing?”
“I was terrified.”
“You watched my wife die?”
“I tried to stop.”
“YOU WERE RIGHT THERE!”
People in the café turned toward them.
Margaret lowered her head.
“I know.”
Richard stood.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to demand why she had not called an ambulance, why she had not told the police, why she had allowed him to bury his wife believing the death was a tragic accident.
But Margaret reached into her handbag.
She removed a small cassette recorder.
“There's something else.”
Richard stared at it.
“What?”
“I recorded the conversation between Victor and Michael that night.”