Chapter 17 - The Midnight Call
At 2:14 AM, the rain outside Crestview Terrace turned into sleet, rattling violently against the high glass conservatory.
Arthur sat in the study, his laptop screen glowing in the dark.
Agent Harris had spent four hours walking him through the financial web that had strangled his family.
Thomas hadn't vanished because of gambling debts.
He had vanished because he had orchestrated a multi-million-dollar insurance fraud scheme, using Eleanor as his front woman.
They had targeted wealthy estates across New England for nearly a decade.
Arthur had simply been their biggest prize.
His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk, vibrating against the polished wood with a dull, rhythmic rattle.
*UNKNOWN CALLER.*
Arthur hesitated. He glanced at the recording device the FBI had attached to his line.
He clicked the button and brought the phone to his ear.
"Arthur," the voice said.
It was Eleanor.
Her voice sounded distant, filtered through prison phone static, but her tone was unmistakable. It was that calm, condescending cadence she used when ordering catering for two hundred guests.
"Where are you calling from?" Arthur demanded, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. "The police know everything, Claire."
She chuckled softly on the other end of the line.
"Claire is a very old name, darling. You shouldn't dwell on the past."
"Thomas is alive," Arthur said, his voice trembling with fury. "You two planned this from the day we met at the charity ball in Newport. You turned my own family into a weapon."
"Thomas was always ambitious," Eleanor replied smoothly. "A little reckless, perhaps. But ambitious."
"Why did you try to kill my mother?" Arthur shouted, losing his composure. "She welcomed you! She treated you like a daughter!"
"Because she found the trunk, Arthur."
The line fell deadly silent.
Outside, a branch snapped under the weight of the ice, crashing onto the stone patio.
"What trunk?" Arthur asked, his pulse hammering in his ears.
"You spent two million dollars renovating the conservatory three years ago," Eleanor whispered, every word measured and deliberate. "Do you remember how insistent I was about pouring extra reinforced concrete beneath the eastern foundation?"
Arthur stood up from his desk, staring toward the dark corridor leading to the sunroom.
"What did you do, Eleanor?"
"Go check the foundation, Arthur," she whispered. "Before Thomas comes to collect what's left of you."
May you like
The call disconnected with a sharp, hollow click.
***
