Chapter 14 - What Thomas Really Did
Lydia's journal destroyed the version of Thomas I had slowly begun constructing.
He had told me he disappeared because William threatened him.
True.
He told me Lydia helped.
True.
He said he stayed away later because of shame.
Also true.
But incomplete.
Thomas had taken money.
$900,000.
From William Hale.
Not stolen.
Paid.
In exchange for leaving the country and delaying disclosure.
Thomas had accepted.
Six months.
That was the deal.
During those six months, Lydia fought the property scheme alone.
Thomas intended to return after gathering evidence abroad.
Then the money made life easy.
He stayed longer.
Years.
He invested it.
Built Briarwood partly from it.
My father had spent twelve years benefiting from the same corrupt system he claimed to oppose.
I confronted him.
He did not deny it.
“I thought you'd found that already.”
“No.”
He looked ashamed.
“I should have told you first.”
“Yes.”
“Are you done with me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I'm done pretending your return erases your absence.”
He nodded.
“And I'm not giving you control of any trust.”
“I don't want it.”
“Good.”
“And Briarwood money connected to William?”
“I'll return everything traceable.”
“To whom?”
He didn't know yet.
Victims.
Trust.
Restitution.
Lawyers would determine.
I wasn't interested in symbolic gestures without accounting.
Then I asked:
“Why did you come to the garage that day?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Jonathan called me.”
That surprised me.
Jonathan realized Eleanor and Mark were forcing me to sign.
He did not object because it was wrong.
He objected because Eleanor planned to cut him out after gaining control.
Still, he warned Thomas.
Self-interest accidentally saved me.
Human beings were exhausting.
Thomas reached the house minutes after they locked me in.
The strange call telling me not to open the envelope?
Jonathan.
He feared the papers would reveal Briarwood before he could negotiate.
Then the locked door opening?
Thomas.
No supernatural rescue.
No secret mastermind.
Just three greedy factions colliding at once.
The truth was almost disappointingly ordinary.
And that made it worse.
Nobody needed an elaborate reason to hurt me.
Mark wanted money.
Eleanor wanted control.
Jonathan wanted profit.
Thomas wanted redemption without initially confessing his own guilt.
Every one of them thought their motive made their behavior understandable.
Maybe it did.
Understandable did not mean acceptable.
Months passed.
My femur healed.
Slowly.
Physical therapy hurt.
I did it anyway.
The first day I walked without crutches, I returned to the garage.
Same concrete.
Same gray SUV.
Same shelves.
The camera still blinked blue.
I stood where Eleanor knocked me down.
Then walked twelve feet to the safe.
No crawling.
No dragging.
Just walking.
I opened it.
The original brown envelope remained as evidence copies.
Beside it sat Mark's wedding ring.
He had mailed it back after our divorce became final.
I had no idea why.
I tossed it into a drawer.
Then my phone rang.
Angela.
I had not spoken to her personally in months.
She was no longer my attorney.
But she was still my cousin.
I answered.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Awkward.
Then she said:
“Rebecca is being released next week.”
I went still.
“Okay.”
“She wants to meet you.”
“No.”
Angela exhaled.
“Understood.”
That was it.
No pressure.
Then:
“She gave me something for you.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
Angela hesitated.
“You, when you were a baby.”
That was not unusual.
Then:
“Eleanor is holding you.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
Eleanor Hale had supposedly met me for the first time after I began dating Mark.
The photo showed otherwise.
On the back, Lydia had written:
May you like
EMILY — SIX MONTHS.
ELEANOR PROMISED SHE WOULD NEVER COME BACK.
