Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE PASSENGER SEAT
The silence that followed Vanessa’s confession was suffocating.
Alexander took a step back, as if the physical force of her words had punched him in the chest.
“Your father?” Alexander repeated, his voice barely a hollow whisper. “Your father was Thomas? The driver who supposedly quit the week before my father died?”
Vanessa nodded, her chin trembling violently. She didn't look like a billionaire’s bride anymore; she looked like a terrified, trapped animal.
“He didn't quit,” Vanessa sobbed, clutching the ruined tulle of her dress. “He needed money, Alexander. We were drowning in debt. The loan sharks in Queens were threatening to break his legs. He was desperate.”
“So he cut the brakes of my father’s car?” Alexander demanded, his voice rising to a roar that rattled the crystal chandeliers. “He murdered the man who employed him for ten years?!”
“He didn't want to kill him!” Vanessa screamed back, tears flying from her face. “He was just supposed to scare him! Cause a fender bender! That’s what he was told to do!”
“Told by whom?” Margaret interjected, her voice sharp and authoritative.
Vanessa looked at Richard.
Richard didn't flinch. He leaned casually on his silver cane, a look of mild amusement on his face.
“Oh, don't look at me, you pathetic girl,” Richard sneered. “I didn't pay your drunken father to tamper with the car. I didn't even know Thomas was in debt until after the crash.”
Vanessa shook her head wildly. “My father said it was someone in the family! Someone who promised him fifty thousand dollars if Edward didn't make it to his destination that night!”
I stood frozen, clutching Mia’s hand.
“Where was he going?” I asked.
The question hung in the air.
Alexander turned to his uncle. “Where was my father driving that night in the snowstorm, Richard? The police said he was heading to the airport for a business trip.”
Richard chuckled, a dry, dusty sound. “Business? Hardly. Edward had finally grown a spine. After your mother, Eleanor, passed away, Edward decided he was done playing the dutiful widower. He packed his briefcase, took his checkbook, and got in the car.”
Richard turned his cold, dead eyes to me.
“He was driving to Queens, Olivia. To get you and Elizabeth. He was bringing you home to the estate.”
The breath rushed out of my lungs.
My mother’s face flashed in my mind. All those nights she sat by the window, staring out into the rain, clutching that silver charm bracelet.
“He promised he would come back for us, Livvy,” she used to whisper. “He’s a good man. He just needs time.”
I had spent my entire life thinking my father was a deadbeat who abandoned us. I had watched my mother work three jobs, coughing through the winters, breaking her back to afford my cheap winter coats.
He wasn't abandoning us. He was coming for us.
And someone murdered him to stop it.
Tears hot and fast spilled over my cheeks. “He was coming for us,” I choked out.
Margaret let out a soft sob and covered her face. “Oh, Edward. My poor brother.”
Alexander’s fists were shaking. He stepped toward Vanessa.
“Your father survived the crash,” Alexander said, his voice dangerously quiet. “He pulled himself out. And he left my father to bleed to death in the snow.”
“He panicked!” Vanessa cried, crawling toward Alexander on her knees. “He was hurt! He knew he’d go to prison for tampering with the car! He grabbed Edward’s briefcase to make it look like a robbery and he ran!”
“And what was in the briefcase?” Richard asked smoothly, stepping closer. “Tell them, Valerie. Tell them what your father found inside, and why you used the money to buy a new life instead of paying off his debts.”
Vanessa froze. She looked at Richard, pure hatred radiating from her tear-stained eyes.
“It was cash,” Vanessa whispered. “A hundred thousand dollars in banded bills.”
“And?” Richard prompted, his smile widening.
Vanessa swallowed hard. “And a silver pocket watch. Edward’s pocket watch.”
Alexander gasped. The silver pocket watch was a Whitmore family heirloom. Passed down for four generations. It had gone missing the night of the crash.
“My father died two years later from liver failure,” Vanessa confessed, staring at the floor. “I took the money. I took the watch. I changed my name. I knew if I ever came near the Whitmore family, Richard would expose me. But I wanted the life I deserved. So I seduced you, Alexander.”
Alexander looked at her as if she were a rotting corpse.
“You married me,” Alexander whispered, “wearing the dresses paid for by my father’s stolen money.”
“I loved you!” Vanessa screamed, desperate. “I really did! I can be a good wife, Alexander! Please! Don't let him do this to us!”
Alexander turned his back on her. “You are nothing to me.”
Vanessa let out a wail of despair and collapsed on the floor.
Alexander looked at his uncle. “You knew all of this, Richard. You knew Thomas cut the brakes. You knew Vanessa stole the money. Why didn't you go to the police?”
Richard sighed, adjusting his silk cuffs.
“Because, my dear nephew, the briefcase didn't just have money and a watch inside,” Richard said. “It had a new will. A will Edward had secretly drawn up with a private lawyer. A will that left fifty percent of the Whitmore empire to you…”
Richard pointed his cane at me.
“…and fifty percent to Olivia.”
My heart stopped.
“If that will had been found,” Richard continued, his voice dripping with venom, “my shares would have been diluted to nothing. The board would have ousted me. I couldn't let a bastard child from Queens steal my legacy.”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “So you paid Thomas to cut the brakes.”
“I already told you, I didn't pay Thomas!” Richard snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. “I didn't know Thomas cut the brakes until I found him bleeding in an alley a week later and beat the truth out of him!”
Richard took a step toward me.
“I didn't orchestrate the crash, Olivia. But I certainly took advantage of it. Just like I took advantage of your mother’s weak heart six years ago.”
“What did you do to her?” I screamed, stepping forward, letting go of Mia’s hand.
Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate, worn object.
He held it up by a silver chain.
It was a wooden rosary. The beads were carved from olive wood.
My mother’s rosary. The one she was holding the night she died.
“I went to her apartment,” Richard whispered. “And I told her that if she ever tried to contact Alexander, I would make sure you and your little baby had a very tragic, very fatal accident.”
I let out a gasp of horror.
May you like
Richard smiled. “The stress was simply… too much for her heart to take.”
Before I could react, Alexander lunged.
