CHAPTER 5 — THE LETTER FROM A DEAD WOMAN
CHAPTER 5 — THE LETTER FROM A DEAD WOMAN
Nobody moved.
The doorbell echoed through the house for the fourth time.
Ethan instinctively stepped toward the front door.
I caught his wrist.
"Don't."
Victor Hale wasn't the type of man who showed up hoping for a friendly conversation.
He came because he expected control.
And I had spent ten years studying people who believed money made them untouchable.
Daniel checked the security cameras again.
"He's smiling."
Walter Simmons quietly muttered,
"He always smiles."
Another knock.
This time, Victor spoke clearly enough for the doorbell camera to capture every word.
"Mrs. Mercer."
"I have something that belongs to you."
"I'd rather not leave it outside."
I pressed the intercom.
"You can leave."
"I can't."
"What I have is... personal."
"I don't care."
Victor tilted his head slightly.
"I think you will."
Then he held the envelope closer to the camera.
Across the seal was old, faded handwriting.
Not mine.
Not Ethan's.
Not Vivian's.
Walter suddenly inhaled sharply.
"Oh, God..."
I looked at him.
"You recognize it?"
He nodded.
"Henry's secretary."
"What?"
"That's Eleanor Brooks' handwriting."
The room fell silent.
Eleanor Brooks had served as Henry Mercer's executive secretary for twenty-eight years.
According to family history...
She had died in a car accident six years earlier.
Victor calmly placed the envelope on the front step.
"I'll give you one piece of advice."
His voice remained polite.
"Read it before the FBI does."
Then he turned around.
A black sedan pulled away from the curb without ever stopping completely.
Victor climbed in.
Within seconds, both cars disappeared.
Daniel waited another full minute before retrieving the envelope.
He carefully checked it.
"No explosives."
"No powder."
"No tracking device that I can see."
I slowly broke the seal.
Inside was a single handwritten letter.
Along with a flash drive.
The letter began—
If this reaches you...
...then I was right to fear Vivian Mercer.
Signed:
Eleanor Brooks.
Dead for six years.
Or so everyone believed.
The flash drive contained only one file.
A video.
Recorded on an old webcam.
The timestamp read:
March 14... six years ago.
Eleanor appeared tired.
Nervous.
She kept looking over her shoulder before speaking.
"My name is Eleanor Brooks."
"If you're watching this..."
"...either Henry trusted you..."
"...or I'm already dead."
She swallowed.
"I discovered that foundation money wasn't just being stolen."
"It was being laundered."
"For whom..."
"I never learned."
"But Vivian wasn't making the decisions."
My entire body stiffened.
She continued.
"She was taking orders."
The video suddenly paused.
Corrupted.
Daniel frowned.
"The rest is damaged."
"No..."
I whispered.
"There has to be more."
He connected the drive to his laptop.
After several minutes of recovery software...
Thirty-two more seconds appeared.
Eleanor leaned close to the camera.
"If anything happens to me..."
"...look inside the original Mercer Chapel."
"The answer isn't in the foundation."
"It's beneath—"
Static.
Black screen.
End of file.
Mercer Chapel.
Walter slowly stood.
"It can't be."
"What?"
"The original chapel."
"I thought it burned down."
Walter nodded.
"It did."
"Thirty years ago."
"But..."
He looked at Ethan.
"The crypt underneath survived."
That afternoon, Ethan and I drove two hours into the countryside.
The original Mercer Chapel sat abandoned behind rusted iron gates.
Most of the roof had collapsed decades earlier.
Wild vines covered broken stained-glass windows.
Nature had reclaimed nearly everything.
Except the stone staircase descending beneath the sanctuary.
The crypt.
Daniel swept the entrance with a flashlight.
"No recent footprints."
Walter looked uneasy.
"Henry never allowed anyone down here."
Dust floated through narrow beams of sunlight.
Old family vaults lined both walls.
Names stretching back over two centuries.
Mercer.
Mercer.
Mercer.
Near the far corner stood a stone angel.
Its wings had broken long ago.
Beneath its pedestal...
I noticed fresh scrape marks.
Much newer than everything else.
"Ethan."
He knelt beside me.
"What is it?"
I pointed.
"This stone has been moved recently."
Together, we pushed.
The pedestal shifted.
May you like
Hidden beneath it...
...was a steel lockbox.
