Chapter 6 - RICHARD’S LAST CONFESSION
The name was not Eleanor.
It was Julian Blackwood.
Claire read the sentence three times.
I believe Julian created the documents used to frame Claire.
Ethan continued.
Richard had written four pages.
Each page exposed another layer of betrayal.
Julian had returned secretly from Europe almost four years earlier.
He had created shell companies.
He had forged vendor contracts.
He had moved foundation money through offshore accounts.
Eleanor discovered what he was doing.
But instead of reporting him, she joined him.
At first, Richard believed Eleanor was trying to recover the stolen funds.
Later he discovered she was receiving money too.
Then Claire began asking questions.
Richard had panicked.
He knew Claire was close to discovering everything.
So he told her the truth.
That decision signed his death warrant.
The final paragraph was written differently.
The handwriting became uneven.
If Claire is blamed, Ethan must understand that I failed them both.
I allowed Eleanor to convince me that protecting the family name mattered more than telling the truth.
By the time I understood what Julian intended, it was too late.
If something happens to me, find St. Agnes.
Room 214.
Ethan lowered the letter.
“St. Agnes?”
Rosa spoke from the doorway.
“I know that name.”
Everyone turned.
“It’s an old private rehabilitation hospital.”
“Outside Milwaukee.”
Eleanor immediately stood.
Her attorney grabbed her arm.
“Do not speak.”
Mara noticed.
“What’s in Room 214?”
Eleanor smiled.
“Probably dust.”
They drove to St. Agnes that afternoon.
The hospital had closed six years earlier.
Most windows were boarded.
The front lobby smelled of damp plaster.
Mara had obtained emergency access from the property owner.
Room 214 was on the second floor.
The door was locked.
Ethan forced it open.
The room looked ordinary.
A bed frame.
A cabinet.
A broken television.
Claire searched the drawers.
Nothing.
Mara examined the wall.
“Richard wouldn’t leave only a room number.”
Ethan looked at the bed.
Then the floor.
Claire noticed scratches near the radiator.
They moved it.
A metal lockbox had been bolted into the wall.
The brass key from Richard’s study did not fit.
Claire tried the black key from her necklace.
Click.
The box opened.
Inside were medical records.
Ethan picked up the first file.
Patient name.
Robert Hale.
Admitted.
October 18.
Three years earlier.
Ethan stared at the admission date.
“That was the day my father died.”
Claire took the file.
There was no photograph.
Height.
Weight.
Blood type.
Every detail matched Richard Blackwood.
Mara turned the page.
The patient had been admitted unconscious at 11:32 p.m.
Hours after Richard was supposedly lost in Blackwood Lake.
Claire stared.
“He survived.”
Ethan looked at her.
“My father was alive.”
Mara continued reading.
“Severe hypothermia.”
“Sedative detected in blood.”
“Patient regained consciousness the next morning.”
Ethan grabbed the next page.
Discharged against medical advice.
Two days later.
Signed by Eleanor Blackwood.
His hands started shaking.
“She knew.”
Claire whispered.
“She knew he survived.”
Ethan looked destroyed.
“He could have come home.”
“Why didn’t he?”
Mara flipped through the pages.
“Maybe he never left.”
The final document was not medical.
It was an invoice.
Private transport.
Destination withheld.
Authorized by Julian Blackwood.
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed.
“For three years…”
“My father might have been alive.”
Claire placed a hand on his shoulder.
He did not pull away.
Mara continued searching.
Inside the lockbox was a small cassette recorder.
Richard’s voice came through weakly.
“If this is found…”
“I survived the lake.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“I was drugged.”
“I remember Julian on the dock.”
“I remember Eleanor screaming at him.”
“She did not push me into the water.”
Claire looked at Ethan.
Richard continued.
“But she let him believe I was dead.”
“She had a choice.”
“She could have called Ethan.”
“She could have called the police.”
“Instead she moved me.”
“She says Julian will kill Ethan if I appear.”
“I don’t know if that is true.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
A long silence followed.
Then Richard whispered.
“If Ethan hears this…”
“Son…”
“I am sorry.”
The recording stopped.
Nobody moved.
Ethan’s eyes were wet.
Claire looked away to give him privacy.
Then Mara heard something in the hallway.
Footsteps.
“Police.”
No answer.
She stepped outside.
Empty corridor.
Claire felt uneasy.
“We’re not alone.”
A door slammed below.
Ethan ran toward the staircase.
An engine started outside.
By the time they reached the entrance, a black sedan was disappearing through the gate.
Mara photographed the plate.
Claire looked at Ethan.
“They knew we were coming.”
“How?”
Mara checked her phone.
Only four people knew about St. Agnes.
Her.
Ethan.
Claire.
Rosa.
Claire froze.
“Where is Rosa?”
Ethan immediately called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Mara called officers stationed at Blackwood Manor.
Her face changed.
“What?”
Ethan grabbed her arm.
“What happened?”
Mara looked at him.
“Rosa left twenty minutes ago.”
“With who?”
“Nobody saw.”
Claire’s phone vibrated.
A video message.
Unknown sender.
She opened it.
Rosa appeared on screen.
She sat in a dark room.
Her hands were tied.
Her face was bruised.
A man stood behind her.
Only his torso was visible.
Gray suit.
Silver watch.
Julian.
Rosa looked into the camera.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t tell them.”
The man placed a hand on her shoulder.
Then a distorted voice spoke.
“Bring the trust document.”
Claire stared at the screen.
“I don’t have it.”
The voice continued.
“Midnight.”
“Blackwood Lake.”
“No police.”
Then Rosa whispered something.
So quietly Claire almost missed it.
“Don’t come.”
The video ended.
Ethan looked at Mara.
“We’re going.”
Mara shook her head.
“We’re going with a team.”
“They’ll kill her.”
“They might kill all of you.”
Ethan looked at Claire.
“We need that trust.”
Claire nodded.
“Then we find it first.”
They returned to the car.
As Claire opened the passenger door, she noticed something tucked beneath the windshield wiper.
A folded piece of paper.
She opened it.
One handwritten sentence.
RICHARD BLACKWOOD IS STILL ALIVE.
Below it was an address.
And a time.
May you like
11:00 p.m.
One hour before Julian’s deadline.
