Chapter 10 - The Woman Behind the Curtain
Margaret Whitmore had spent decades being introduced as Arthur's graceful wife. She arranged the seating charts, sent sympathy cards, and remembered which donors hated lilies. People mistook her silence for harmlessness. Evelyn had once made the same mistake.
Dana obtained records showing Margaret authorized wire transfers whenever Arthur traveled. Her handwritten approval appeared beside every large withdrawal from the housing account. More troubling, a private investigator billed Margaret for surveillance of Hannah during the week of the crash.
At the estate, Margaret met Evelyn in the greenhouse. The air smelled of damp soil and roses. A gardener worked outside in plain sight, and Dana waited near the door. Evelyn would not meet her mother alone.
“You're letting strangers destroy us,” Margaret said.
“I'm letting investigators see the books.”
“Your father built this family.”
“He built a stage. Other people paid for it.”
Margaret's chin trembled. “You sound like Hannah.”
“Good.”
She asked about the private investigator. Margaret looked down at her gloves. “I wanted to know whether Hannah was talking to reporters.”
“Did you order anyone to follow her car?”
“I ordered a report.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Before she answered, Arthur entered carrying a glass of water. He seemed smaller without his donors, without the ballroom, without the protection of applause.
“Evelyn,” he said, “your mother has a heart condition. Leave her alone.”
Margaret turned on him so quickly that water sloshed from the glass. “Don't use my heart to shut me up again.”
Silence swallowed the room.
She faced Dana. “I want counsel of my own.”
“Of course,” Dana said.
“And I want you to know the person who signed Hannah's surveillance contract was Walter Pryce.”
Arthur dropped the glass. Margaret barely noticed.
“Walter arranged the accident,” she said. “I saw the messages after it happened.”
Evelyn felt the greenhouse tilt. The floor remained steady. Her world did not.
Margaret reached into her pocket and unfolded a paper, edges worn soft by years of handling.
It was a note from Hannah, dated the morning she died.
May you like
At the bottom, in her unmistakable handwriting, were four words:
MARGARET KNOWS ABOUT BEN.
