Chapter 14
Life after Isabella was almost perfect.
Alexander and I took things slowly.
We dated.
We got to know each other without secrets, without lies, without danger hanging over our heads.
He was everything Marcus had never been.
Kind.
Considerate.
Supportive.
He celebrated my successes.
He comforted me when I was stressed.
He listened when I needed to talk.
And he never, ever tried to control me.
My father approved.
Grace, though still cautious, had to admit that Alexander seemed different.
Diane kept a watchful eye, but even she had to acknowledge that Alexander had proven himself.
Hartwell Group thrived.
We expanded into new markets.
We launched innovative new products.
We became a leader in corporate responsibility and ethical business practices.
The company's stock hit an all-time high.
Employees were happy.
Investors were confident.
Everything was perfect.
Until the day the detective showed up at my office.
He was from Miami.
Middle-aged, tired-looking, with eyes that had seen too much.
"Ms. Hartwell?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Detective Mendez. Miami-Dade Police. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Margaret Vale."
Margaret.
Marcus's aunt.
The woman who had given me the evidence that proved Victoria had murdered my mother.
She had died of cancer shortly after testifying at the Vales' trial.
"What about her?" I asked.
Detective Mendez sat down across from me.
"Her death was reported as natural causes. Lung cancer. But we received some new information recently that suggests otherwise. Information that leads us to believe she might have been murdered."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Murdered? But she was dying anyway. The doctors said she only had months left."
"Exactly," Mendez said. "Which makes it the perfect crime. Who would bother killing a woman who was already dying? No one would suspect. No one would investigate. Unless someone had a reason to make sure she didn't talk. To make sure certain secrets stayed buried."
He leaned forward.
"Margaret Vale testified against Marcus and Victoria Vale. She helped put them away for life. But there were things she didn't say. Things she held back. And we think those things got her killed."
"What kind of things?"
Mendez pulled a file from his briefcase.
"Before she died, Margaret contacted a journalist in Miami. She told him she had information about a murder. A murder that happened thirty years ago. A murder that Richard Vale ordered. She was going to tell the journalist everything. Name names. Provide evidence. And then... she died. Suddenly. Conveniently. And all her files disappeared."
He opened the file.
"The journalist kept their communications. Emails. Voice messages. Margaret mentioned a name. Elena Rodriguez."
I froze.
Elena Rodriguez.
Alexander's mother.
"She said Elena's death wasn't cancer," Mendez continued. "She said Richard Vale had her killed. Because she was threatening to expose him. To tell the world about his son. About his secrets. And she said someone helped him. Someone who is still alive. Someone very powerful."
I stared at the detective.
"Are you saying Alexander's mother was murdered?"
"That's what we're investigating. And we need your help, Ms. Hartwell. You're close to Alexander Rodriguez. You have access to his life, his files, his family history. We need you to help us find out what he knows. What Margaret was going to reveal. And who killed her to keep her quiet."
I thought about Alexander.
He had told me his mother died of breast cancer.
He had grieved for her.
He had loved her.
If Detective Mendez was telling the truth...
If Richard Vale had her killed...
And if Alexander knew...
"I don't know what I can tell you," I said carefully. "Alexander rarely talks about his mother. It's still too painful for him."
"I understand," Mendez said. "But I need you to think. Has he ever mentioned anything unusual about his mother's death? Any strange circumstances? Any names? Any people who might have wanted her dead?"
I thought back.
Alexander had talked about his mother many times.
But never about anything suspicious.
Never about anyone who might have wanted to hurt her.
He had always spoken of her death as a tragic loss to cancer.
"No," I said. "Never."
Mendez nodded, disappointed but not surprised.
"If you think of anything, anything at all, please call me. This is important, Ms. Hartwell. If Richard Vale had Elena Rodriguez murdered, and if someone helped him cover it up... that someone is still out there. And they killed Margaret Vale to keep their secret. They might kill again to protect it."
He handed me his card.
"Be careful, Ms. Hartwell. You're playing with very dangerous people. Even if you don't realize it."
He left.
I sat at my desk, staring at his card.
Elena Rodriguez murdered.
Margaret Vale murdered.
A secret that had been buried for thirty years.
And someone willing to kill to keep it that way.
I had to talk to Alexander.
I had to know the truth.
That evening, I went to Alexander's house.
The one he had given me the key to.
It was a beautiful home, warm and inviting, filled with books and art and the things Alexander loved.
He was in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when I arrived.
"Hey," he said, smiling when he saw me. "I didn't expect you tonight. This is a nice surprise."
I didn't smile back.
"We need to talk, Alexander."
His smile faded when he saw my expression.
"What's wrong?"
"A detective came to see me today. From Miami. He's investigating Margaret Vale's death. He says she was murdered."
Alexander's face went white.
"What?"
"He says she was going to expose a murder. A murder that happened thirty years ago. A murder that your father ordered. The murder of your mother."
The knife slipped from Alexander's hand.
It clattered against the cutting board.
"What are you talking about?"
"Detective Mendez says Margaret told a journalist that your mother didn't die of cancer. That Richard Vale had her killed. Because she was threatening to expose him. And then Margaret was killed too, before she could tell the whole story."
I stepped closer.
"Is it true, Alexander? Did you know? Did you suspect?"
He stared at me, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
"No," he whispered. "No, I didn't know. I... I always thought it was cancer. The doctors said... the reports said..."
He sat down heavily on a kitchen chair.
"But there were things," he said slowly. "Things that never made sense. My mother was healthy. She went to the doctor every six months. And then suddenly... stage four breast cancer. It happened so fast. And the doctors... they wouldn't answer my questions. And my father... he was strangely calm about it all. Almost relieved."
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with tears.
"You think he really had her killed?"
"I don't know what to think," I said honestly. "But Detective Mendez seems to believe it. And he thinks Margaret was killed because she was going to tell the truth."
I sat down beside him.
"Alexander, if there's even a chance that this is true... we need to find out what Margaret knew. We need to find out who killed her. And who killed your mother. Because if this person is still out there... they're dangerous. And they might come after us next."
Alexander took my hand.
His was shaking.
"Margaret had files," he said suddenly. "She told me once, before she died. She said she had proof of everything. Proof of what Victoria did to your mother. Proof of what my father did. She said she kept them somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would find them."
"Where?" I asked.
Alexander stood, pacing the kitchen.
"She never told me exactly. But she said something about her mother's old house. In Indiana. Where she grew up. She said it was the only place she ever felt safe."
"Indiana," I repeated. "Do you know where exactly?"
He nodded.
"A small town called Maplewood. About an hour outside Chicago. The house has been abandoned since her mother died. Twenty years ago."
He turned to me.
"We have to go there, Emma. Tonight. If Margaret's files are there... if they have the answers we need... we have to find them before whoever killed Margaret does."
I didn't hesitate.
"Let's go."
We drove to Maplewood that night.
It was a small, quiet town, the kind where everyone knew everyone else's business.
Margaret's childhood home was on the edge of town, a weathered Victorian that had seen better days.
The porch sagged.
The windows were boarded up.
Weeds grew tall in the front yard.
Alexander broke the lock on the back door.
We entered with flashlights.
The house smelled of dust and decay and time.
"Where would she keep them?" I whispered.
Alexander thought for a moment.
"She told me stories about this place. About hiding from her mother when she was a little girl. She said there was a secret compartment in the floor of the attic. Behind an old trunk."
We climbed the creaky stairs to the attic.
It was filled with old furniture, boxes, and forgotten memories.
In the corner, beneath a layer of dust, was an old wooden trunk.
Alexander moved it aside.
And there, in the floorboards, was a small, hidden compartment.
He pried it open.
Inside were files.
Dozens of them.
Letters.
Photographs.
Bank records.
And a handwritten journal.
Margaret's journal.
Alexander picked it up, his hands trembling.
He opened to the last entry.
It was dated three days before she died.
"If you're reading this, I'm dead. And I was murdered. Victoria and Marcus are in prison, but the real monster is still out there. The one who helped Richard kill Elena. The one who helped him build his empire of blood and lies. His name is William Chen. He's Richard's former business partner. And he's more dangerous than all the Vales combined. He killed Elena to keep her quiet. He killed me to keep his secret. And he won't stop there. He'll go after Alexander. He'll go after the Hartwells. Because we're the only ones who know the truth. If you find this, be careful. William Chen doesn't leave witnesses."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
William Chen.
The name was familiar.
Very familiar.
Because William Chen was Sarah Chen's father.
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