Chapter 8 - WHITMAN HOUSE
Rain began falling as Claire reached Brooklyn Heights.
She wore plain black pants, a cream sweater, and her mother’s veil folded inside her coat.
A small police transmitter was hidden beneath the collar.
Whitman House looked smaller than she remembered.
The stone steps were cracked.
The brass knocker had turned green.
One light glowed on the second floor.
Claire entered through the front door.
The smell of dust and old wood carried her backward through time.
Her mother’s piano remained beneath a white sheet.
Family photographs had been removed from the walls.
Vivian waited near the fireplace.
She had changed into a dark blue dress.
The leather folder rested on the table beside her.
“You came without Ethan,” she said.
“This is between you and me.”
Vivian smiled.
“It has always been between your family and mine.”
Claire looked toward the staircase.
“Where is my father?”
A man stepped out of the library.
The gun in his hand pointed toward the floor.
He was the man from the hotel footage.
Older than Claire remembered from photographs.
Alive in a way that felt more painful than death.
“Claire,” he said.
She did not move.
“My mother told me you were dead.”
Jonathan Whitman closed his eyes.
“She had to.”
“For twenty-nine years?”
Vivian interrupted.
“Your father is not the victim he wants you to believe he is.”
Jonathan raised the gun toward her.
“Stop talking.”
Claire’s heart pounded.
The police transmitter remained silent.
The thick stone walls might be blocking the signal.
Vivian touched the leather folder.
“Your mother discovered the Mercer thefts.”
“Your thefts,” Claire corrected.
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“She also discovered your father had helped move the money.”
Claire looked at Jonathan.
He did not deny it.
Jonathan had created several of the shell companies.
When Laura found out, she threatened to expose both families.
Jonathan agreed to testify against Vivian.
Before he could, Vivian arranged evidence that made him appear responsible for every stolen dollar.
He fled under a false identity.
Laura told Claire he was dead to keep Vivian from using her as leverage.
“You abandoned us,” Claire said.
“I was trying to survive.”
“My mother survived alone.”
Jonathan’s hand shook around the gun.
“I wrote to her.”
Vivian laughed.
“She never received the letters.”
Claire looked at the folder.
“You kept them.”
“I kept everything.”
Vivian opened the leather cover.
Dozens of sealed envelopes were tied together with blue ribbon.
Claire recognized her father’s handwriting from childhood birthday cards.
Vivian lifted a silver lighter.
“One spark ends this entire history.”
Claire took one step forward.
Jonathan raised the gun.
“Do not burn those letters.”
Vivian’s thumb pressed the lighter.
A flame appeared.
Then the front windows shattered.
Smoke flooded the room.
Someone had triggered the house’s ancient fire-suppression system from outside.
Vivian dropped the lighter.
The letters scattered across the floor.
May you like
Through the white mist, Claire heard Ethan’s voice.
“Get away from her.”
