Chapter 5 - THE ACCIDENT THAT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT
My father had died on a rainy Thursday.
I remembered the phone call.
The hospital.
The smell of antiseptic.
The doctor telling me there had been no hope.
I remembered Delaney lying unconscious beneath white sheets.
I remembered signing documents because somebody had to.
What I did not remember was asking enough questions.
Amelia Hart, my attorney, arrived with copies of the original accident investigation.
She had obtained them through lawful channels and was coordinating with independent investigators.
We sat in my library.
"The official report says your father's car lost control on a wet road," she began.
"I know."
"But the photographs show damage that deserves another review."
She placed several images on the table.
The car had struck a concrete barrier.
The rear passenger compartment was heavily damaged.
Then she showed me a photograph of the brake assembly.
"I'm not a mechanical expert," she said. "Neither are you. But the investigators we've consulted believe this warrants forensic examination."
I stared.
"Sabotage?"
"Possibly. We need evidence before reaching conclusions."
Then she opened another folder.
"There's something else."
A security camera near the accident site had recorded a dark sedan traveling behind my father's vehicle.
The license plate was partially obscured.
But the car matched one registered to a company controlled by Victor Harlan.
I felt cold.
"Victor was there?"
"We can't establish who was driving from this image alone."
I leaned back.
My father had been preparing to restructure the family businesses before his death.
He wanted to move away from illegal operations.
Victor had opposed the plan.
So had Graves, who served on the board of our family's medical foundation.
At the time, I assumed they were worried about financial losses.
Now I wondered whether they had been protecting something far more dangerous.
Amelia placed a final document before me.
A trust agreement.
My father had created it three months before the crash.
Under its terms, Delaney would receive controlling ownership of several legitimate Moretti holdings when she turned twenty-one.
Until then, the assets would be administered by trustees.
If she were found permanently unable to manage her affairs, control could pass to a separate committee.
I read the names.
Victor Harlan.
Nathaniel Graves.
And one more.
A man I had not spoken to in years.
My uncle, Dominic Moretti.
I looked at Amelia.
"They needed Delaney declared incapable."
She nodded cautiously.
"The agreement creates a financial incentive. That doesn't prove a crime, but it's significant."
I stared at the signatures.
My father had intended to protect his daughter.
Instead, the structure he created might have given others a reason to keep her dependent.
Then Rafael entered.
"We found June's suitcase."
I stood.
"Where?"
"Near the old gatehouse."
"And June?"
He shook his head.
"But there's something in the lining."
He handed me a small memory card.
I looked at it.
Then at Amelia.
For the first time, I felt hope.
May you like
June had not merely written down what she saw.
She had preserved it.
