Chapter 4 - Behind My Wall
We ended the campout immediately.
Karen and Michelle barely spoke while packing.
Nobody joked about me being the maid anymore.
Angela's humiliation had become irrelevant.
Something much larger was happening.
Dad drove me home.
Angela rode separately.
Claire followed.
Our house sat in a quiet neighborhood north of Seattle.
I had slept in the same upstairs bedroom since Dad married Angela.
Angela walked directly to my closet.
She removed shoes, boxes and a storage shelf.
Then she pressed along the baseboard.
A narrow section detached.
Behind it was a cavity.
Inside sat a blue ledger wrapped in plastic.
Dad stared at his wife.
“You remodeled this room.”
“Yes.”
“You hid it while contractors were working?”
“Yes.”
“Why Lily's room?”
Angela swallowed.
“Because nobody searched her things.”
That sentence landed badly.
“You used my daughter as camouflage.”
“I never put her in danger.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“You didn't know that.”
Angela ignored her.
Dad opened the ledger.
Pages of transactions.
Names.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Initials.
E.M.
Evelyn Mercer.
T.H.
Thomas Harcourt.
C.M.
Claire Mercer.
And one I didn't recognize.
R.S.
Dad did.
His face changed.
“Richard Sloan.”
“Who?” I asked.
“My father.”
My grandfather Richard died before I was born.
I had always been told he was a commercial real-estate investor.
Apparently he had also served on the Harcourt Foundation board.
Claire looked stunned.
“Richard wasn't in my copy.”
Angela nodded.
“Because someone removed those pages before you found it.”
“How do you know?”
“My father told me.”
Angela finally explained.
Thomas contacted her seven years after Claire disappeared.
He was sick.
Scared.
He confessed that he helped move money.
But not for himself.
Richard Sloan—Dad's father—had created the shell companies.
Evelyn authorized payments.
Thomas signed compliance documents.
Why?
According to Thomas, the money wasn't stolen.
It was being moved into secret accounts for families escaping abusive situations.
That sounded noble.
Too noble.
Claire didn't believe it.
Neither did Dad.
“Millions of dollars?”
Angela nodded.
“The foundation funded private relocation.”
“Why hide it?”
“Some families were being hidden from wealthy or politically connected people.”
Then Claire asked the obvious question.
“Why frame me?”
Angela looked down.
“Because someone started using the relocation system to steal.”
A legitimate secret program became cover for fraud.
Claire stumbled onto both.
If exposed publicly, vulnerable families could be located.
So somebody made Claire look responsible.
“Who?”
Angela didn't know.
Thomas believed Richard had discovered the thief shortly before his death.
But Richard died in 2004.
Officially, an aneurysm.
No evidence suggested otherwise.
Then Dad found a folded page tucked into the ledger.
Different handwriting.
His father's.
IF CLAIRE FINDS THIS, TELL HER SHE WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE MONEY BUT WRONG ABOUT WHO TO FEAR.
Below it:
ANGELA KNOWS WHERE SARAH IS.
Claire grabbed Angela.
“Who is Sarah?”
Angela went completely still.
Dad separated them.
“Angela?”
She whispered:
“My sister.”
I frowned.
“You don't have a sister.”
Angela looked at me.
“That's what I told everyone.”
Claire suddenly backed away.
“No.”
“What?”
Claire stared at Angela.
“The woman in the photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one Daniel put in your bag.”
There were three people in it.
Dad.
Claire.
And a woman I thought was Claire because of the angle.
But Claire shook her head.
“That isn't me.”
I took the photograph again.
The woman beside Dad looked remarkably like Claire.
Same auburn hair.
Same build.
But now I noticed something.
No crescent necklace.
Dad stared.
“If that's not Claire…”
Angela whispered:
“That's Sarah.”
Her hidden sister.
Then Dad asked:
“Why am I standing beside her?”
May you like
Angela's eyes filled with fear.
“Because you were engaged to her.”
