Chapter 4: The Secret My Father Took to His Grave
I read Camden's final message four times.
He left it to you because he knew what I had already done.
For eleven years, I had believed my father died knowing that his business was secure, his legacy protected, and his family at peace.
Apparently, I had been wrong about at least two of those things.
I called Camden.
He answered immediately.
“Vivian.””
“What did you do?””
A long silence followed.
“Not over the phone.””
“Then tell me where.””
“Come home. Just you and me.””
I looked at Nora.
She was already shaking her head.
“That's not happening,” I said.
“I'm not going to hurt you.””
“You've already done enough damage.””
“Vivian, please. Whatever my mother told you, she doesn't know everything.””
I glanced at the letter.
“Neither do you, apparently.””
His breathing changed.
“Your father wasn't the man you think he was.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Be very careful with your next sentence.””
“He made promises to my father. Promises he never kept.””
“Your father died eleven years ago. Mine died eleven years ago. What exactly are you suggesting?””
“I'm saying the company was supposed to belong to both families.””
I looked at the trust document.
“Then why does the ownership agreement say otherwise?””
“Because your father changed it.””
“When?””
“Three days before he died.””
I went completely still.
Three days.
My father had been in the hospital for almost two weeks. His heart condition had deteriorated rapidly, and the doctors had told us to prepare ourselves.
I had spent those final days beside his bed, reading him the newspaper, bringing him photographs of the Connecticut garden, and pretending I believed he would recover.
Camden had been there too.
He had held my hand at the funeral.
He had told me my father was proud of me.
And all that time, he had known something.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was trying to protect you.””
I laughed bitterly.
“By having an affair?””
“That's not what I mean.””
“By forging my signature?””
He exhaled sharply.
“Vivian, I need you to listen.””
“No. You need to start answering questions.””
I ended the call.
For several seconds, neither Nora nor I spoke.
Then she asked, “Do you want me to contact the trustee?””
“Yes. Immediately.””
She picked up the telephone.
I returned to my father's letter.
There was another paragraph beneath the section I had already read.
If Camden ever asks you to investigate the circumstances surrounding my final days, do not accept his version of events. Request the original hospital records and speak to Dr. Samuel Whitcomb.
I read the name aloud.
“Samuel Whitcomb.””
Nora looked up.
“Do you know him?””
“He was my father's cardiologist.””
“Is he still practicing?””
“I don't know.””
Nora searched her contacts.
A moment later, she found an old number.
“There's a clinic in Boston associated with him.””
“Call.””
She did.
The receptionist transferred us twice before a man answered.
“Dr. Whitcomb speaking.””
I stood.
“Dr. Whitcomb, my name is Vivian Alden Pierce. My father was Richard Alden.””
There was a pause.
Then his voice softened.
“Vivian. My goodness. It's been a long time.””
“I need to ask you about my father's final hospitalization.””
His tone changed.
“Is this regarding his medical records?””
“Partly.””
Another pause.
“Are you alone?””
I glanced at Nora.
“Yes.””
“Then I think you should come to Boston.””
“Why?””
“Because your father asked me to preserve something for you.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?””
“I can't discuss it over an unsecured call.””
“Dr. Whitcomb, did Camden Pierce contact you recently?””
The silence lasted too long.
“Yes,” he finally said.
“When?””
“Three weeks ago.””
“What did he want?””
“To know whether your father's condition had been deliberately worsened.””
I stopped breathing.
Nora looked up sharply.
“Did he tell you why he was asking?”” I said.
“He claimed he was investigating an old family dispute.””
“Did you give him anything?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
“Because the person who signed the authorization wasn't your father, and it wasn't you.””
I closed my eyes.
“Who was it?””
“Your husband.””
The call ended shortly afterward.
I lowered the phone.
Nora stood beside me.
“Vivian?””
I looked at her.
“Book the first available flight to Boston. And get Margaret on the phone.””
Within twenty minutes, Margaret Ellis had joined us by video conference.
She listened without interrupting as I explained the conversation.
When I finished, she removed her glasses.
“Your father was a careful man,” she said.
“If he left instructions with a physician, there may be something substantial behind them.””
“Could Camden have had access to his medical records?””
“Not without authorization.””
“He was listed as an emergency contact.””
“That doesn't automatically give him authority to access confidential records.””
Margaret paused.
“Vivian, I need you to consider something. If Camden was involved in obtaining medical documents about your father, and if those documents were later used to challenge your authority, this may be more than a corporate dispute.””
I looked at the forged incapacity authorization.
“I know.””
“Then we proceed carefully. No confrontation. No private meetings.
No deleting messages. Everything goes through counsel.””
I nodded.
Before the call ended, Margaret added something.
“There's one more thing. I checked the company registry for Meridian Lifestyle Consulting. The registered address is an office building in Stamford.””
“Who owns it?””
“That's the interesting part. The managing member is a woman named Caroline Voss.””
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is she?””
Margaret glanced at her notes.
“Former corporate counsel for your father's company.””
My stomach tightened.
“Caroline worked for my father?””
“For almost fifteen years.””
“And now she's working with Camden?””
“Apparently.””
I leaned back.
The pieces were beginning to form a picture I didn't like.
That afternoon, I arrived home under the escort of two security officers.
I had not intended to return to the Connecticut house so soon, but I needed personal documents, medication, and several original estate papers kept in my father's old study.
The front door opened with my key.
Everything looked normal.
The polished oak floors.
The crystal bowl on the console table.
The framed photograph of Camden and me at our wedding.
But when I walked into the study, I noticed the desk drawer was open.
I knew I had locked it.
Inside, the leather folder containing my father's original correspondence was missing.
I checked the cabinet.
Empty.
Then I noticed a small white envelope on the desk.
My name was written across it.
Not in Camden's handwriting.
In Eleanor's.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
My father stood outside a hospital entrance.
Beside him was a younger Camden.
And behind them was Caroline Voss.
On the back, Eleanor had written:
Ask your husband why he was at the hospital the night Richard died.
I stared at the photograph.
The date printed in the lower corner was November 14.
My father died on November 15.
I remembered that night.
Camden had told me he was going to the hospital cafeteria to get coffee.
He had returned forty minutes later carrying two paper cups.
He had kissed my forehead and told me to sleep.
I had trusted him.
I had fallen asleep in the chair beside my father's bed.
And I had never questioned where he had been.
My phone rang.
It was Dr. Whitcomb.
“Vivian, I reviewed the old records,” he said.
“I think you should know that your father requested a private consultation with me on the evening of November 14.””
“What did he want?””
“To change his estate instructions.””
“Did he?””
“Yes.””
I gripped the desk.
“Why?””
“Because he had discovered that someone had attempted to move company funds into an account he didn't recognize.””
I looked at the photograph.
“Was Camden involved?””
Dr. Whitcomb sighed.
“Your father believed he was.””
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“What happened that night?””
“Your father asked me to witness a sealed statement. He said it concerned an unauthorized transfer and a threat made against his family.””
“What threat?””
“I don't know. He refused to tell me.””
I closed my eyes.
Then Dr. Whitcomb said something that made the photograph slip from my fingers.
“Vivian, your father wasn't supposed to die that night.””
I slowly picked up the picture.
“What do you mean?””
“He had been responding well to treatment. His condition was serious, but stable.””
“Then what happened?””
“I was called away shortly before midnight. When I returned, the medication record had been altered.””
My heart hammered.
“Altered how?””
“An additional dose had been administered under a physician's authorization that I never gave.””
I couldn't speak.
“Vivian, I reported the discrepancy at the time. But the hospital's internal investigation was closed after the medication record was corrected.””
“Who signed the authorization?””
There was a long silence.
Then he answered.
“Caroline Voss.””
I looked at the photograph again.
Three people.
My father.
My husband.
And the woman who had once been his lawyer.
I felt something inside me go cold.
“Dr. Whitcomb,” I whispered, “did my father know?””
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
The doctor took a breath.
“He said, 'If anything happens to me, make sure my daughter knows that Camden was never supposed to inherit my business.''”
I closed my eyes.
Then I heard a sound behind me.
A key turning in the front door.
I looked toward the hallway.
Camden's voice floated through the house.
“Vivian?””
I ended the call.
He appeared in the study doorway.
His eyes moved from the photograph to my face.
Then he saw the phone in my hand.
“Who were you talking to?””
I didn't answer.
He took one step forward.
“Vivian, listen to me. There's something about that night you need to understand.””
I lifted the photograph.
“November fourteenth.””
His face lost its color.
“Where were you when my father died, Camden?””
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
May you like
And after nine years of marriage, my husband finally told me the truth.
“I was there when your father changed the will.””
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