Chapter 2 - The Evidence
Julian opened the folder.
Inside were six high-resolution prints developed from the tiny strip of film.
Nora stood beside him.
She looked at the images.
They were not photographs of people.
They were photographs of documents.
Financial ledgers.
Bank transfer records.
Offshore account numbers.
Julian recognized the letterhead immediately.
The Hawthorne Foundation.
His mother’s charitable organization.
He traced the numbers with his finger.
Millions of dollars had been funneled out of the foundation’s primary accounts.
They had been routed through shell companies in the Cayman Islands.
And the signature authorizing every transfer belonged to one man.
Arthur Prescott.
Camille’s father.
“He was stealing from her,” Julian whispered.
“Not just stealing,” the archivist said. “Look at the final photograph.”
Julian turned the page.
It was a photograph of a handwritten letter.
Dated two days before Helena Hawthorne died.
Addressed to Arthur Prescott.
I know what you have done. I have the proof. If the money is not returned by Friday, I am going to the authorities. Do not try to contact me.
—Helena.
Julian’s hands began to shake.
His mother had confronted him.
She had gathered the evidence, photographed it on miniature film to keep it hidden, and issued an ultimatum.
And Arthur Prescott had silenced her.
He had come to the estate during the storm.
He had pushed her from the balcony.
But he hadn’t found the film.
Because Helena had hidden it inside her locket.
And she had fastened that locket around the neck of a six-year-old girl whose mother worked in the house.
Nora stared at the letter.
“He killed her for money.”
“Yes,” Julian said.
His voice was completely hollow.
“And then he spent eighteen years pretending to mourn her, while positioning his daughter to marry me.”
The realization was sickening.
Arthur Prescott hadn’t just stolen millions.
He had planned to steal the entire Hawthorne empire.
By making Camille the future matriarch, he would have secured his access forever.
Julian stood up.
May you like
He did not look like a grieving son anymore.
He looked like a man preparing for war.
