Richard walked toward him.
“Daniel.”
His son looked up.
“I'm sorry.”
Daniel's face crumpled.
Richard placed one hand on his shoulder.
“I should have asked you what happened that night.”
Daniel began crying.
For the first time in many years, father and son embraced.
It was not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was the beginning of something they had both forgotten how to do.
Tell the truth.
Three days later, Isabella was allowed to leave the hospital.
Her recovery would take time.
She still experienced headaches and needed assistance walking, but the doctors were satisfied with her progress.
Richard arranged for a private nurse to stay at the mansion.
He also ordered the security system to be completely replaced.
But the biggest change was not physical.
For the first time in twenty years, the family began speaking openly about Eleanor.
They discussed her favorite songs.
Her habit of leaving handwritten notes around the house.
The way she used to make breakfast on Sunday mornings, even when the kitchen staff offered to do it.
They remembered her laughter.
They remembered her temper.
They remembered the woman she had been before tragedy reduced her to a photograph on the living room wall.
On the fourth evening, Richard received a call from Agent Bennett.
“Mr. Harrison, we need you to come to our office.”
“Is it about Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Has he confessed?”
“Not completely.”
Richard waited.
“But we've found something.”
“What?”
“A second vehicle connected to Eleanor's accident.”
Richard's grip tightened around the phone.
“Where?”
“It was registered to a private security company.”
“Who owned it?”
Agent Bennett paused.
“That's the interesting part.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“The company was owned by Victor Hale. But the vehicle was assigned to a woman named Margaret Cole.”
Richard did not recognize the name.
“Who is she?”
“She was your wife's personal assistant.”
Richard went silent.
Margaret.
He remembered her.
She had worked for Eleanor for almost six years.
She had attended family celebrations, helped organize charity events, and often stayed late in the mansion.
After Eleanor's death, Margaret had resigned.
She had moved away.
Richard had not heard from her since.
“Where is she now?”
“We're trying to locate her.”
Richard looked toward the staircase.
“Is she involved?”
“We don't know yet.”
He thanked the agent and ended the call.
Then he went to Isabella's room.
She was sitting near the window, watching the garden.
“Dad?”
He sat beside her.
“We may have found another person connected to Mom's accident.”
“Who?”
“Margaret Cole.”
Isabella frowned.
“Mom's assistant?”
“Yes.”
She looked thoughtful.
“I remember her.”
“Do you remember anything unusual?”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“She used to come into Mom's room at night.”
Richard nodded.
“She often worked late.”
“No. I mean after everyone had gone to bed.”
He turned toward her.
“What do you mean?”
“When I was little, I sometimes woke up and saw her standing in the hallway. She would be talking to Mom in a very quiet voice.”
“Did you ever hear what they were saying?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not really. But I remember Mom crying once.”
Richard felt his stomach tighten.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was little. I thought they were arguing about work.”
She paused.
“Actually, I remember something else.”
“What?”
“Mom gave Margaret a small key.”
Richard leaned forward.
“What kind of key?”
“A silver key. It had a little flower engraved on it.”
Richard stood.
He remembered seeing that key once.
Eleanor had worn it on a chain around her neck.
He had asked her what it opened.
She had smiled and said it belonged to something important.
He had never asked again.
“Where is it now?” he whispered.
“I don't know.”
Richard looked toward the garden.
Then he remembered the old study.
The room had remained untouched since Eleanor's death.
Perhaps the answer was there.
The old study was at the end of the second-floor corridor.
Richard had avoided entering it for years.
The room still smelled faintly of Eleanor's perfume.
Her books remained on the shelves.
A small framed photograph of the family sat on the desk.
In it, Eleanor was holding Isabella while Daniel stood beside Richard.
They were all smiling.
Richard looked at the photograph for several seconds.
Then he opened the desk drawers.
The first contained ordinary papers.
The second held old photographs and birthday cards.
The third was locked.
Richard searched through the desk for a key.
He found several, but none fit.
Then he remembered Isabella's description.
A silver key with a flower engraved on it.
He searched the jewelry box Eleanor had kept in the top drawer of her wardrobe.
It was empty.
But beneath the velvet lining, he noticed a small opening.
He pulled the lining aside.
A silver key lay beneath it.
The engraved flower was tiny but unmistakable.
Richard took it downstairs.
Behind the study was a narrow storage room.
It contained old furniture, boxes of Christmas decorations, and several paintings Eleanor had never hung.
At the far end was a wooden cabinet.
Richard tried the key.
It turned.
Inside the cabinet was a small metal safe.
He opened it.
There were three envelopes.
One contained photographs.
Another held bank records.
The third was addressed to Margaret.
Richard opened the photographs first.