Chapter 6 - the trust
Jonathan did not sleep.
By dawn, he was sitting in his private office at the Prescott estate surrounded by printed copies of trust documents.
Police investigators had arrived during the night.
State authorities had taken control of the Hawthorne fire scene.
Florence had been formally questioned but not yet arrested because investigators wanted her cooperation.
Samuel Creed had disappeared.
Nolan Pierce had not answered his phone.
And Christina was still missing.
Jonathan read the revised trust for the fifth time.
At first glance, nothing looked unusual.
Minor administrative amendments.
Updated successor trustees.
New language concerning incapacitation.
Charitable distributions.
Tax provisions.
Then a forensic attorney hired by Daniel found the trap.
Page seventy-two.
A paragraph buried inside a succession clause.
If Jonathan became deceased or medically incapacitated while Christina was unavailable or unable to assume control, interim voting authority over Prescott Industries would transfer to a designated fiduciary committee.
Three people sat on that committee.
Samuel Creed.
Nolan Pierce.
Florence Fairmont, after marriage.
Jonathan stared at the sentence.
If the wedding had happened and he had signed the amendment the next morning, Samuel would have had a legal path toward temporary control of the company.
Temporary could become permanent.
Especially if Christina never returned.
Especially if something happened to Jonathan.
Daniel entered.
“We found Evan Mercer.”
Jonathan stood.
“Where?”
“Bus station outside Albany.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him.”
“He’s scared.”
“He should be.”
“Not of us.”
Jonathan understood.
“Samuel.”
Daniel nodded.
Evan Mercer arrived two hours later.
He was twenty-seven.
Thin.
Exhausted.
He kept checking the windows.
Jonathan did not waste time.
“You drove my daughter from Hawthorne.”
Evan looked down.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I was told not to ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
Evan rubbed both hands together.
“A private house near Lake Mercer.”
Daniel placed a map on the table.
“Show us.”
Evan pointed to a rural area.
“Old stone house. No road sign.”
“Who was there?”
“Samuel. Dr. Vale. Two private nurses.”
“Nolan?”
“I saw him once.”
Jonathan leaned forward.
“Florence?”
“No.”
“Was Christina conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Did she speak to you?”
Evan nodded.
“What did she say?”
“She asked if I had kids.”
Jonathan waited.
“I said no.”
Evan’s eyes filled with shame.
“She told me she had a little boy who would think she abandoned him.”
Jonathan looked down.
Evan continued.
“She begged me to tell someone.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Samuel knew where my mother lived.”
Jonathan’s anger cooled slightly.
Fear was not innocence.
But it was understandable.
“What happened when you moved Christina again?”
Evan looked confused.
“I only moved her once.”
Jonathan stared at him.
“You drove her from Hawthorne to the lake house.”
“Yes.”
“Then who moved her afterward?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel unfolded another photograph.
“Did you ever see this man?”
Nolan Pierce.
Evan nodded.
“He arrived the night before Samuel fired me.”
Jonathan looked at Daniel.
Nolan.
Another layer.
“Did you hear anything?”
Evan hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“They were arguing.”
“About?”
“Christina.”
Jonathan’s hands tightened.
“Nolan said Samuel had lost control.”
“And Samuel?”
“He said they only needed forty-eight more hours.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Evan swallowed.
“Then Nolan said something about an accident needing to happen before the wedding.”
The room went silent.
Jonathan felt Daniel’s attention shift toward him.
“An accident to whom?” Jonathan asked.
Evan shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Jonathan remembered his schedule.
Two days before the wedding, his private aircraft had developed a hydraulic issue before takeoff.
The pilot called it mechanical failure.
Yesterday, a delivery truck had almost struck Jonathan’s car near the estate.
Coincidence suddenly seemed impossible.
Daniel was thinking the same thing.
“You’re not leaving the property without protection.”
Jonathan ignored him.
“Take us to the lake house.”
They arrived just after noon.
The house sat beyond a narrow forest road.
No vehicles outside.
Windows closed.
Front door unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled of bleach.
Someone had cleaned quickly.
Daniel found medical equipment in an upstairs room.
An IV stand.
Disposable gloves.
Empty medication packaging.
Jonathan found something beneath the bed.
A child’s drawing.
Crayon.
A woman holding hands with a little boy.
Above them, a badly drawn sun.
Jonathan recognized Leo’s style immediately.
Christina had brought one of his drawings with her.
Jonathan turned it over.
Three words were written on the back.
NOT THE HOUSE.
Daniel entered.
“What does that mean?”
Jonathan looked around.
“She knew someone might find this.”
Daniel crouched beside a floor vent.
There were scratches around the screws.
He removed the cover.
Inside was a second note.
This one contained an address.
Jonathan read it.
His face changed.
It was not a hospital.
Not a safe house.
Not a warehouse.
It was an apartment in downtown Manhattan.
An apartment owned by Jonathan Prescott.
May you like
One he had not visited in eleven years.
The apartment where his wife had died.
