Chapter 6 - Someone Inside
Charles locked down the estate.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Daniel's abandoned vehicle was found two miles away.
No Daniel.
Annie read the messages on his phone.
Most were coded.
One repeated phrase appeared constantly.
Keep E unstable.
Evelyn read it over Annie's shoulder.
Her face tightened.
“They were doing this to me deliberately.”
The false accusations.
The missing objects.
The whispers.
The employees who seemed guilty.
Someone had spent years feeding Evelyn's fear and anger.
And Evelyn had done the rest.
She sat alone in the library afterward.
Annie found her there.
“How many people did I hurt?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No. It's the truth.”
Evelyn stared at the floor.
“I thought everyone lied to me.”
“Some did.”
“And some didn't.”
“No.”
Evelyn looked up.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Start by admitting it.”
Evelyn laughed bitterly.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“Simple isn't the same as easy.”
The next morning, Evelyn called the household staff together.
She stood where the vase had shattered.
Nobody knew what to expect.
“I owe you an apology.”
Several employees looked genuinely alarmed.
Evelyn continued.
“I accused people without proof. I used my position to frighten people who couldn't safely argue with me. Whatever was happening to me doesn't excuse what I did to you.”
Annie watched Margaret.
The older maid's eyes filled.
Evelyn promised to contact every employee dismissed over the previous year and review each case independently.
It didn't erase anything.
But it mattered.
Afterward, Lucy approached Annie.
“I've never heard her apologize.”
“Maybe she's learning.”
Lucy glanced around.
“Or maybe whoever's doing this is winning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Evelyn wasn't the only one acting strange.”
“Who?”
Lucy hesitated.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
Annie waited.
“Three nights ago, I saw him in the west wing.”
Charles had claimed he hadn't entered Catherine's rooms in thirteen years.
“What time?”
“After midnight.”
Annie found Charles in his office.
“Were you in the west wing three nights ago?”
His expression answered before his mouth did.
“Yes.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He opened his desk drawer.
Inside was Catherine's diary.
“I received this.”
It had been placed on his desk anonymously.
Several pages were missing.
One remaining entry described Catherine's growing suspicion that Charles was hiding something from her.
“What were you hiding?”
Charles looked toward the window.
“A son.”
Evelyn was standing in the doorway.
Nobody had heard her arrive.
“A what?”
Charles closed his eyes.
“Before I married your mother, I had a relationship. I was twenty-three.”
“A son?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
Evelyn laughed once.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Charles explained.
The child's mother, Laura Mercer, left after refusing Charles's financial support.
Years later Charles located them.
His son was named Adrian.
Charles secretly paid for his education.
Catherine eventually discovered the payments.
“She thought I was stealing from the foundation?”
“At first.”
“Did she meet Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The week she died.”
The revelation shifted everything.
“How old is Adrian now?” Annie asked.
“Forty.”
“And where is he?”
Charles shook his head.
“We haven't spoken in fifteen years.”
Annie didn't believe in coincidences anymore.
She searched Daniel's messages for Adrian's name.
Nothing.
Mercer.
Nothing.
Then she searched initials.
A.M.
Seven results.
The messages were brief.
A.M. arrives Thursday.
A.M. must not see records.
A.M. knows about C.
Thursday was tomorrow.
“Charles.”
She showed him.
He stared at the screen.
Then the front intercom rang.
Margaret answered.
Her face went white.
She turned toward Charles.
“There's a man at the gate.”
“Who?”
Margaret swallowed.
“He says his name is Adrian Mercer.”
Evelyn looked at her father.
The gates opened.
A black car approached the house.
Charles whispered the name of the son he hadn't seen in fifteen years.
Then Annie noticed something on Daniel's phone.
A photograph of Adrian.
May you like
Taken yesterday.
From inside Whitmore House.
