Chapter 9 - The Betrayal That Began at My Father's Funeral

# Chapter 9 - The Betrayal That Began at My Father's Funeral

"She says it was someone inside the Whitmore family."

Marcus's words seemed to drain the air from the room.

For a moment, I could hear nothing except the faint hum of the archive's ventilation system.

Evelyn stood beside the table, her face almost colorless.

"Who?" she whispered.

Marcus looked at me before answering.

"Catherine Bellamy refused to give me a name over the phone."

I felt anger flare.

"Her information could help us find Lyla. Why is she withholding it?"

"Because she believes someone in your security organization has been passing information to the people responsible."

I stared at him.

"Your organization, Marcus."

He didn't look away.

"Yes."

The admission unsettled me more than another denial would have.

For fifteen years, Marcus had controlled the security surrounding my home, my businesses, and my personal life. He knew which entrances were monitored, which employees could be trusted, and which visitors never appeared on official schedules.

If someone had infiltrated his team, they could have watched us for years.

Or Marcus could have been the person feeding them information.

The thought made me sick.

"Where is Catherine?" I asked.

"She'll meet with Detective Hayes, but only at a location chosen by the police."

"Then arrange it."

Marcus hesitated.

"Charles, she specifically asked that I not attend."

Evelyn looked sharply at him.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

I studied his face.

For the first time since meeting him, I couldn't tell whether he was frightened of being exposed or frightened of what someone else might reveal.

At 4:18 p.m., Detective Hayes received a secure message from Catherine Bellamy.

It contained a photograph taken outside a church.

The photograph showed five people standing beneath a gray winter sky.

I recognized the location immediately.

St. Andrew's Episcopal Church.

The place where my father had been buried six years earlier.

In the photograph, Thomas Vale stood beside the church entrance, wearing a black overcoat.

Nathaniel Brooks was several feet away.

Arthur Bellamy stood near a parked vehicle.

Alive.

Older than in the photograph from Geneva, but unmistakably the same man.

And beside him stood a woman whose face had been partially obscured by the raised collar of her coat.

Evelyn leaned closer.

"Who is she?"

I shook my head.

Then I noticed the date printed at the bottom.

Six years ago.

The day of my father's funeral.

I remembered that morning.

Thomas had organized everything.

Marcus had handled security.

I had remained beside the coffin, accepting condolences from people whose names I barely remembered.

And somewhere outside, a supposedly dead executive had attended the funeral without my knowledge.

"Why would Bellamy come?" I asked.

Hayes examined the photograph.

"Perhaps he had a relationship with your father that continued after his reported death."

"Then why hide?"

"That's what we need to establish."

A second message arrived.

This one contained only a sentence.

The woman in the photograph is the reason Daniel Everly died.

Evelyn's hand flew to her mouth.

I stared at the partially hidden face.

The woman appeared to be in her forties or fifties.

Dark hair.

A black coat.

One hand resting on Arthur Bellamy's arm.

There was something familiar about her posture.

Something I couldn't place.

Then Evelyn whispered, "I know that coat."

I turned.

"What?"

"Daniel showed me a photograph of a woman wearing one just like it."

"When?"

"A few weeks before he died."

"Who was she?"

Evelyn shook her head.

"He said she was connected to his research."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No."

She closed her eyes.

"But he said she was someone you trusted."

At 4:47 p.m., we left the archive.

The investigators remained behind to catalog the documents and preserve the recordings.

I wanted to stay.

I wanted to examine every page my mother had hidden.

But Lyla was still missing.

And Catherine Bellamy was finally willing to speak.

Detective Hayes arranged for us to meet at a secure police facility.

Marcus was instructed to remain outside the interview area.

He accepted the restriction without argument.

That bothered me.

A guilty man might protest.

An innocent man might protest too.

Marcus simply nodded.

As we entered the building, he leaned toward me.

"Charles."

I stopped.

"What?"

"Whatever Catherine tells you, remember something."

I looked at him.

"What's that?"

"People can tell the truth and still leave out the part that changes everything."

I stared at him.

"Is that what you've been doing?"

His expression tightened.

"Yes."

The answer struck me harder than I expected.

"Then perhaps it's time you stopped."

Marcus looked away.

"Perhaps."

Catherine Bellamy was waiting in a small interview room.

She was fifty-two, with dark hair threaded with silver and deep lines around her eyes.

She wore a plain navy coat and held a paper cup of coffee between both hands.

When Evelyn entered, Catherine stood immediately.

"Anna."

My sister froze.

"Catherine?"

They stared at each other.

Then Evelyn crossed the room and embraced her.

I watched in astonishment.

"You know each other?"

Evelyn stepped back.

"Catherine helped Daniel with his research."

Catherine looked at me.

"And you're Charles."

I nodded.

She studied my wheelchair.

Then her expression changed.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what they did to you."

I felt my jaw tighten.

"Everyone keeps saying that. Nobody seems willing to explain it."

Catherine lowered her eyes.

"Then I'll start with the truth."

She sat.

"Your mother discovered that the foundation was being used to fund research programs that were not properly disclosed to the people involved."

I nodded.

"We found her recordings."

Catherine looked startled.

"You found the archive?"

"Yes."

For the first time, something resembling relief crossed her face.

"Then Margaret succeeded."

"At what?"

"Preserving the evidence."

I leaned forward.

"Tell me about Daniel."

Her expression darkened.

"Daniel was helping me reconstruct the foundation's old financial records. We discovered that several research projects had continued long after their official closure."

"Under Nathaniel Brooks?"

"Yes."

"And Samuel Price?"

"Among others."

"What did Daniel find?"

Catherine hesitated.

"A payment trail."

"To whom?"

"Several shell companies. One of them was connected to the Whitmore shipping business."

My chest tightened.

"Who controlled it?"

"Arthur Bellamy."

I stared at her.

"The dead man."

Catherine looked away.

"My father."

The room fell silent.

Evelyn slowly sat beside her.

"Your father is alive?"

Catherine nodded.

"Yes."

"Did you know all along?"

"No."

Her voice hardened.

"I spent years believing he was dead."

I looked at her.

"When did you discover the truth?"

"Six years ago."

"My father's funeral."

She nodded.

"Arthur contacted me shortly before the service. He said he needed to speak with someone connected to the foundation."

"Why?"

"Because he was afraid."

"Of whom?"

Catherine hesitated.

"Thomas Vale."

I leaned back.

Another thread leading to the same man.

Catherine continued.

"My father helped establish the financial structure used to move money through the foundation. When Margaret began investigating, he realized the transactions could expose him."

"So he faked his death?"

"That's what I believe. He claims he was threatened and forced into hiding."

"Do you believe him?"

She stared at the table.

"Not entirely."

I understood that answer.

Family loyalty could make even obvious lies difficult to reject.

"Did he attend my father's funeral?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He believed your father's death meant the old arrangement was ending."

"Was it?"

Catherine shook her head.

"No. Thomas wanted it to continue."

Detective Hayes leaned forward.

"Dr. Bellamy, you told us someone inside the Whitmore family was responsible for Daniel Everly's death."

Catherine's fingers tightened around her cup.

"Yes."

"Who?"

She looked toward Evelyn.

"I'm sorry."

My sister went still.

"Don't apologize. Just tell me."

Catherine took a breath.

"Daniel discovered that someone had been approving payments to the research network long after Margaret's death."

I frowned.

"Who?"

"Someone who had access to the foundation's administrative accounts."

"That could have been dozens of people."

"Yes."

Catherine reached into her bag and removed a folder.

Inside was a copy of a bank authorization.

The document bore a familiar signature.

Charles Whitmore.

My stomach dropped.

I stared at it.

"No."

Catherine watched me.

"That payment was authorized three years ago."

I shook my head.

"I never approved anything like this."

"The signature appears to be yours."

I leaned forward.

"That doesn't mean I signed it."

She nodded.

"I know."

The words surprised me.

"You know?"

"Daniel believed someone was using your authorization credentials without your knowledge."

My heart began pounding.

"Who?"

Catherine hesitated.

"That's what he was trying to discover."

Evelyn gripped the table.

"And someone killed him for it?"

Catherine looked at her.

"I believe his death was connected to the investigation. But I don't have proof of who ordered it."

I stared at the document.

The signature looked perfect.

Every curve.

Every stroke.

Even the slight downward angle at the end of my surname.

Someone had learned to reproduce my signature.

Or someone had obtained access to documents I had signed.

Either possibility was terrifying.

At 5:36 p.m., Catherine showed us a second document.

A transfer authorization from the same account.

Dated two days before Daniel's death.

The amount was substantial.

The recipient was a company called Eastbridge Consulting.

I had never heard of it.

But Detective Hayes recognized the name.

"Eastbridge was mentioned in another part of this investigation."

I looked at her.

"Where?"

"In the financial records connected to Victor Hale."

My chest tightened.

"The man who took Lyla from my townhouse?"

"Yes."

Catherine nodded.

"Daniel found that connection."

Evelyn covered her mouth.

"So the same money that funded his death—"

"We don't know that it funded a killing," Hayes interrupted gently. "But the timing and connections warrant investigation."

Catherine looked at Evelyn.

"Daniel was frightened. He told me he believed someone close to Charles was authorizing payments."

I stared at her.

"Someone close to me?"

She nodded.

"Someone who had access to your financial systems and private schedule."

I thought of Marcus.

Rebecca.

Thomas.

My executive assistants.

My senior managers.

And my family.

Then Catherine said, "Daniel believed the person was a woman."

The room went still.

"A woman?" I repeated.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he found correspondence written under a female identity. He was trying to verify whether the person was real."

Evelyn leaned forward.

"Did he find her?"

Catherine hesitated.

"I think so."

"What happened?"

"He called me the night before his accident."

Her voice began to shake.

"He said he finally knew who had been moving the money."

I felt cold.

"Did he give you the name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He said he wanted to confront her first."

Evelyn stared at Catherine.

"Daniel confronted someone?"

Catherine nodded.

"He said she deserved a chance to explain."

My sister closed her eyes.

That sounded like Daniel.

The man she had described.

Kind.

Patient.

Always willing to believe people could change.

And perhaps that kindness had cost him his life.

At 6:11 p.m., Marcus called Detective Hayes.

He had received a report from Peter Shaw.

The investigators had identified the woman in the funeral photograph.

Hayes listened carefully.

Then looked at me.

"Mr. Whitmore, I think you should hear this."

She placed the call on speaker.

Peter spoke.

"We compared the photograph with older foundation event records."

I leaned forward.

"And?"

"The woman appears in several photographs from the early 2000s."

"Who is she?"

Peter hesitated.

"Her name was listed as Eleanor Mercer."

Evelyn frowned.

"Mercer?"

My stomach tightened.

Helen Mercer.

The social worker who had helped Evelyn disappear.

The woman who had protected her for twenty years.

The woman who had arranged our reunion.

"Is Eleanor related to Helen?" I asked.

Peter continued.

"According to public records, Eleanor Mercer was Helen's younger sister."

I stared at the phone.

"Was?"

"She died in 2018."

Another dead person.

Another name connected to the foundation.

Evelyn shook her head.

"Helen never mentioned a sister."

Catherine looked troubled.

"That's because Eleanor wasn't supposed to be involved."

I turned toward her.

"What do you mean?"

Catherine took a breath.

"Eleanor worked for Arthur Bellamy."

My heart tightened.

"In what capacity?"

"Financial administration."

"And Helen?"

Catherine hesitated.

"Helen helped your sister leave the family. But Eleanor helped manage the accounts that made it possible for her to live under another identity."

Evelyn stared at her.

"That's impossible."

Catherine looked at her gently.

"Anna, how do you think your legal paperwork was arranged so quickly?"

"Helen helped me."

"Yes. But she had assistance."

My sister shook her head.

"She told me everything was handled through legal counsel."

Catherine nodded.

"That may be true."

I looked toward Hayes.

"Does this connect Helen to Daniel's death?"

"Not necessarily," Hayes said. "But we need to speak with her."

I thought of Helen standing beside Evelyn at the community center.

Calm.

Protective.

Unafraid of my anger.

I had believed she was one of the few people in this story who had nothing to gain.

Now I wasn't sure.

At 6:47 p.m., Detective Hayes arranged for officers to contact Helen Mercer.

She wasn't at her home.

She wasn't answering her phone.

And the community center where we had met her the previous night was closed.

Evelyn became increasingly anxious.

"She wouldn't disappear without telling me."

I looked at her.

"Unless she was frightened."

"Of what?"

I didn't answer.

Because the possibilities were multiplying.

Perhaps Helen had been protecting Evelyn.

Perhaps she had been protecting Eleanor's secrets.

Perhaps she had been helping the foundation's enemies without realizing it.

Or perhaps she knew exactly what had happened to Daniel.

Catherine stood.

"I need to leave."

Hayes looked at her.

"Dr. Bellamy, we'd like you to remain available."

"I will."

"There's still the matter of the person you believe ordered Daniel's death."

Catherine's expression changed.

"I told you what I know."

"No," Evelyn whispered.

Everyone turned.

My sister was staring at Catherine.

"You told us what Daniel discovered."

Catherine looked away.

Evelyn stepped closer.

"But you didn't tell us who he confronted."

Silence.

Then Catherine whispered, "Anna..."

"Who was she?"

Catherine's eyes filled.

"I don't know for certain."

"Then tell me who you suspect."

Catherine looked toward me.

For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.

Finally, she said, "Someone Charles would never suspect."

My stomach tightened.

"Who?"

Catherine swallowed.

"Someone who was present at your father's funeral."

I thought of the photograph.

Thomas.

Brooks.

Arthur.

Eleanor.

And the woman beside Bellamy.

But Eleanor Mercer had died years before Daniel.

Something didn't fit.

Then Catherine reached into her folder and removed another photograph.

This one was clearer.

It showed the same woman at the funeral.

But her face was visible.

I stared at it.

The room seemed to tilt.

Because the woman wasn't Eleanor Mercer.

It was Ava Whitmore.

My cousin.

The woman who had cared for Lyla at the townhouse.

The woman who had been injured trying to stop the intruder.

The woman I had apologized to only hours earlier.

Evelyn whispered, "Ava?"

Catherine nodded slowly.

"Daniel believed she was involved."

I couldn't speak.

Ava had been part of my life since childhood.

She had never cared about the Whitmore fortune.

She had become a pediatric nurse instead of joining the family business.

She had always criticized my father's arrogance.

And she had been one of the few people who treated me the same after my accident.

I stared at the photograph.

"No."

Catherine looked at me sadly.

"That's what Daniel said when he first discovered her name."

At 7:23 p.m., I called Ava.

She answered on the second ring.

"Charles?"

Her voice sounded tired.

"Are you all right?"

I closed my eyes.

The concern sounded genuine.

That made it worse.

"Ava, where are you?"

"At the townhouse."

"Alone?"

"Mostly. The police have been coming and going."

I looked at Detective Hayes.

She signaled for me to continue.

"Ava, I need to ask you something."

"Of course."

"Did you know Daniel Everly?"

Silence.

A long silence.

Then she said, "Why?"

My heart sank.

"Answer me."

She exhaled.

"Yes."

Evelyn covered her mouth.

I stared at the phone.

"How?"

Ava hesitated.

"He contacted me three years ago."

"About what?"

"The foundation."

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"At a café near the hospital."

"What did he want?"

Ava's voice trembled.

"He wanted to know why certain medical research payments were being approved under your name."

I felt cold.

"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know."

"Was that true?"

Another silence.

Then Ava whispered, "Not entirely."

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

"Ava."

"Charles, please listen."

"Did you know he was going to die?"

Her voice broke.

"No."

"Did you have anything to do with his accident?"

"No!"

The answer came with such force that I almost believed her.

Then she began crying.

"I tried to warn him."

I stared at the phone.

"Warn him about what?"

"About the woman he was meeting."

My heart stopped.

"What woman?"

Ava hesitated.

Then whispered, "Eleanor Mercer."

I looked toward Catherine.

She had gone pale.

"Ava," I said slowly, "Eleanor Mercer died in 2018."

"I know."

"Daniel died three years ago."

"I know."

I felt the room grow cold.

"Then how could he have been meeting her?"

Ava began crying harder.

"Because the woman using Eleanor's identity wasn't Eleanor."

Nobody moved.

I gripped the phone.

"Who was she?"

Ava whispered, "I found out too late."

"Tell me."

Her breathing became uneven.

"Charles, there's something you need to understand about Helen."

I stared at the wall.

"What about her?"

Ava lowered her voice.

"Helen Mercer wasn't the woman who helped Evelyn escape twenty years ago."

Evelyn made a small sound.

I turned toward her.

She looked horrified.

Ava continued.

"The real Helen Mercer died nine years ago."

The room went completely silent