Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
By nightfall, the estate was silent again. The caterers had packed away the untouched food, the white chairs had been folded into trucks, and the rose-covered arch looked like a tragic monument in the dark backyard.
I sat in my study, a glass of untouched scotch sitting on the mahogany desk. Ellie was fast asleep upstairs, guarded by my sister Claire and two newly hired private security personnel stationed outside her bedroom door.
Marcus walked in, tossing a thick digital tablet onto my desk.
“It’s worse than we thought,” Marcus said, pulling up a chair and rubbing his temples. “Vanessa wasn't exaggerating about the money. Her father, Richard Hart, was the majority silent investor in BioGenesis Laboratories—the trial clinic Hannah was admitted to during her final months.”
I felt a sudden, sickening knot form in my stomach. “BioGenesis? That was the clinic that claimed they had an experimental therapy for Hannah’s aggressive neurological condition. They told us she wasn't eligible for the second round of treatment.”
“She was eligible, Everett,” Marcus said quietly, staring at the floor. “I just pulled the internal emails from BioGenesis’s server using our tech team. Richard Hart personally ordered the head physician to disqualify Hannah from the trial.”
I stood up so fast my heavy leather chair crashed backward onto the floor. “Why?”
“Because five years ago, you were competing against Hart Development for the municipal waterfront project,” Marcus explained. “If Hannah had survived, your attention would have been split, but more importantly, your family money wouldn't have been liquified into trusts. Hart wanted you broken, Everett. He knew that if Hannah died, you’d step back from business operations for a year—which you did. And that’s when he swooped in and bought up sixty percent of the Greenwich waterfront.”
My breath came in ragged gasps. The man whose daughter I had almost married today was the man who deliberately cut off my wife’s last hope for survival.
“And Vanessa?” I asked, my fists clenching until my nails bit into my palms. “Was she part of it from the beginning?”
“Vanessa was sent to target you two years ago at the charity gala in Manhattan,” Marcus said. “It was a long-game strategy. Marry you, slowly isolate Ellie, declare her mentally unstable due to her mother's death, take control of Hannah's estate trust, and secure Hart Development’s financial future using Callahan money.”
A soft knock came at the door.
Claire stepped in, looking exhausted. “Everett, Ellie’s awake. She’s asking for you. She says... she remembers something else about the day her mother died.”
I pushed past Marcus and ran up the grand staircase.
Ellie was sitting up in her bed, hugging a worn teddy bear that had belonged to Hannah. The nightlight cast a soft warm glow over her small face.
“Daddy?” she whispered as I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her close.
“I’m right here, sweet girl. You’re safe.”
“Vanessa said something to her dad on the phone yesterday,” Ellie murmured, pressing her cheek against my chest. “She thought I was asleep in the sunroom.”
“What did she say, Ellie?”
“She said, ‘The nurse from the hospice is asking for more money. She has the original chart.’” Ellie looked up at me with innocent, serious eyes. “Daddy, what’s an original chart?”
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My heart stopped beating for a full second.
The nurse. Hannah’s primary caregiver during her final days at home was a woman named Nurse Clara Vance. A woman who had abruptly resigned and moved abroad two weeks after Hannah passed away.
