Chapter 13 - The Locked Study
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Twenty minutes later, Dad and I were driving back down the highway toward Eleanor’s colonial house.
The afternoon sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of grey clouds, casting a gloomy light over the sprawling estate as we pulled up the long driveway.
Eleanor opened the grand front door immediately. She looked pale and exhausted, her usual pristine appearance replaced by a simple cardigan and dark circles under her eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” she said quietly, stepping back to let us enter.
Instead of leading us into the formal parlor, she walked us down a long, mahogany-paneled hallway toward a heavy oak door at the rear of the house—Richard’s private study. I had visited the house dozens of times over the years, but that door had always remained strictly locked.
Inside, the room smelled faintly of old paper, leather, and cedar wood. Dust motes danced in the dim sunlight filtering through the heavy velvet drapes. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls, packed with legal volumes and corporate ledgers.
On the large mahogany desk in the center of the room sat three battered cardboard banker’s boxes.
“I started going through these last night after Julian left,” Eleanor explained, her voice trembling slightly. “I was looking for the original Westbridge corporate charter to see if Julian had copied the legal structure. I found these stored in a hidden panel behind the filing cabinet.”
Dad walked up to the desk, his eyes fixed on the boxes. “You kept his records all these years?”
“I couldn't bring myself to throw them away,” Eleanor confessed, lowering her head. “It was all I had left of Richard. But I never actually read what was inside.”
She reached into the middle box and pulled out a faded manila folder tied with string.
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Written on the front tab in dark blue fountain pen ink was a name I recognized instantly:
Margaret Bennett — Confidential.
