Chapter 7 - MY HUSBAND'S CONFESSIONAndrew wanted to meet me.
The message arrived the morning after police recovered the recording.
I know you hate me. You deserve to. But there's something you need to understand about Dad. Please let me explain.
I read it three times.
Then I handed the phone to Tessa.
She examined the message.
"He's trying to get back into your life."
"Maybe."
"Or he wants to know what evidence we have."
I nodded.
Both possibilities were true.
An hour later, another message arrived.
I sent the recording. Dad doesn't know.
My stomach tightened.
Then:
He found out anyway.
And finally:
I'm scared.
I looked at the last message for a long time.
A month earlier, I would have dropped everything to help Andrew.
I would have driven across Boston.
Held him.
Promised him everything would be okay.
Now I forwarded the messages to Detective Ramirez.
By afternoon, Andrew had contacted the police through an attorney.
He wanted to give a statement.
He claimed he could identify Martin Shaw and provide information about the Riverside cover-up.
But he also wanted to speak with me.
I refused.
Then he sent one more message.
I know what happened to Lily. Mom doesn't know the whole truth.
That changed things.
I showed Helen.
She was sitting upright in her hospital bed, recovering slowly.
The moment she read Lily's name, her face drained of color.
"What does he mean?"
"I don't know."
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
"Claire, please."
I sat beside her.
"We'll ask the detective."
Helen began crying.
For thirteen years, she had carried the belief that her daughter had died while escaping Victor.
Now Andrew was suggesting there was more.
I wanted to protect her from another shock.
But I couldn't decide which truths she was allowed to hear.
So I held her hand.
And told her we would find out together.
Andrew's interview took place at police headquarters.
I wasn't present.
Neither was Helen.
Ramirez later explained what Andrew had disclosed, within the limits of what she could share.
He had admitted that Victor ordered him to approach me.
He had been instructed to build a relationship, gain my trust, and eventually obtain access to the Bennett Workshop.
He claimed Victor believed my mother had hidden original Riverside documents there.
Andrew also admitted that he knew about the recording.
But he insisted he had never planned to marry me.
Not at first.
According to him, he had been supposed to date me for several months, convince me to sell the workshop, and disappear.
Instead, he developed feelings for me.
He claimed he proposed because he wanted the relationship to become real.
I listened without speaking.
Then Ramirez said something that made me feel physically ill.
"Andrew acknowledged that he provided his father with information about your home, schedule, and property."
I closed my eyes.
Every date.
Every conversation.
Every moment I had trusted him.
He had been reporting to Victor.
"Did he admit hitting me?"
"Yes."
"Did he blame his father?"
"He described feeling pressured by him. He also acknowledged that he struck you."
I took a breath.
"Good."
Ramirez continued.
"He's offered information about the garage collapse, but we need independent evidence to corroborate it."
"And Lily?"
Her expression changed.
"He says he witnessed the incident."
I leaned forward.
"What did he see?"
She hesitated.
"Andrew says Victor grabbed Lily near the balcony. She pulled away, lost her balance, and fell."
My eyes filled with tears.
"Did Andrew tell anyone?"
"He says Victor threatened to send him away and convince their mother that Andrew caused the accident."
I thought of an eleven-year-old boy.
His little sister dead.
His father controlling every word.
His mother grieving.
I could understand how that child might have been terrified.
But Andrew was thirty-four now.
And he had spent his adult life protecting the man who had destroyed his family.
"Will he testify?" I asked.
"His attorney says he's considering a cooperation agreement."
Considering.
The word made me furious.
Three workers had died.
My father had died.
Lily had died.
Helen had spent decades living in fear.
And Andrew was still considering whether to tell the truth.
That evening, Helen asked me to bring her a small leather handbag from the penthouse.
She said it contained an old photograph of Lily and a letter she had written after her daughter's death.
I didn't go myself.
Tessa arranged with Ramirez for the belongings to be collected.
When the bag arrived, Helen emptied it onto the hospital bed.
A compact mirror.
A handkerchief.
Several old receipts.
A faded photograph.
And a small blue envelope.
Helen picked up the photograph.
Lily was smiling.
Her dark hair had been tied into two crooked pigtails.
Andrew stood beside her.
His arm rested protectively around her shoulders.
I felt a strange grief.
This was the little boy who had existed before Victor finished shaping him.
Helen touched Lily's face.
"She wanted to be a veterinarian."
I smiled sadly.
"She looks happy."
"She was."
Helen opened the blue envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
She unfolded it.
Then frowned.
"This isn't mine."
"What?"
"I wrote a letter to Lily after she died. I kept it in this envelope."
She examined the paper.
Her hands began shaking.
"Claire."
I leaned closer.
The letter was written in Andrew's handwriting.
Mom,
If you ever find this, I'm sorry.
Dad told me it was my fault.
He said Lily fell because I didn't stop her.
But that's not what happened.
I tried to tell the police.
Dad made me change my story.
I heard him talking to Martin afterward.
He said the balcony railing had been loose for months and fixing it would cost too much.
Lily wasn't the first person Dad hurt to save money.
Helen covered her mouth.
I stared at the letter.
There was more.
I found the repair reports. Dad signed them.
I hid copies.
If something happens to me, look behind Lily's picture in the library.
The letter was dated twenty-three years earlier.
Helen began sobbing.
"He tried to tell me."
I held her.
"He tried, Helen."
She shook her head.
"No. He tried once."
Her voice broke.
"And then he spent twenty-three years helping his father."
The next morning, detectives searched the Whitmore penthouse under a warrant.
Behind Lily's framed photograph, they found an old envelope.
Inside were copies of maintenance requests reporting a dangerously loose balcony railing.
Three separate requests.
All marked:
REPAIR DEFERRED.
One bore Victor's signature.
Another included a note instructing staff not to discuss the issue with visitors.
The documents did not establish every detail of Lily's fall.
But they showed that Victor had been warned about the danger before she died.
Helen stared at the copies for a long time.
Then she said something I would never forget.
"My daughter died because he cared more about money than people."
She looked at me.
"And your father died because he refused to accept that."
That afternoon, Andrew asked his attorney to arrange another interview.
He wanted to provide information about Martin Shaw.
He also admitted that Victor had recently directed him to retrieve my wedding dress.
When asked why he sent the recording to the police, Andrew reportedly said:
"Because Claire was right about me."
He paused.
Then added:
"And because my father will kill us all if nobody stops him."
At 6:41 p.m., Victor Whitmore disappeared.
His car was found abandoned near the harbor.
His phone had been switched off.
And a security camera showed him leaving the parking garage with a large black suitcase.
At 7:03 p.m., I received a message from an unknown number.
A photograph.
My father's workshop.
The rear door stood open.
May you like
Beneath it were four words.
COME FINISH WHAT HE STARTED.
