Chapter 4: The Warning in Harriet’s Envelope
I barely slept that night.
Every time a car passed our apartment, I found myself standing beside the window, trying to see through the darkness.
Desmond eventually fell asleep on the couch with his homework spread across his chest. I'd told him the messages were probably some kind of stupid prank, but neither of us believed me.
At 2:17 a.m., I took a screenshot of both messages and sent them to Daniel Mercer.
He replied three minutes later.
Do not respond to the sender. Save everything. I'll call you in the morning.
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed a question I'd been afraid to ask.
Does Harriet know you came to see me?
The message showed as delivered.
Daniel didn't answer.
By sunrise, I'd made up my mind.
I was going to find Harriet, and I was going to ask her what had happened at the Halbrook Hotel.
Not because I thought I could fix anything.
Not because I imagined myself as some kind of hero.
I simply couldn't accept that a woman who had been threatened in front of three hundred people might be sitting somewhere alone, waiting for the next attack.
I left Desmond a note, made sure he had breakfast, and borrowed the last twenty dollars from the envelope I'd been saving for groceries.
A taxi would have cost too much, so I took the bus across Carrow Falls.
Harriet's address was the one piece of information I'd managed to remember from a conversation I'd overheard at the hotel. One of the guests had mentioned Ashford Manor, the sprawling property north of the city where the Ashford family had lived for generations.
I didn't know whether Harriet lived there.
But it was the only lead I had.
The bus dropped me near a stone wall lined with tall trees.
Beyond it stood a wrought-iron gate, guarded by a small security booth.
A bronze plaque beside the entrance read:
*ASHFORD MANOR*
I approached the booth.
The guard looked up from his desk.
"Can I help you?""
"I'm looking for Harriet.""
His expression changed immediately.
"Mrs. Ashford isn't receiving visitors.""
"Which Mrs. Ashford?""
He stared at me.
"The one you're looking for.""
I felt a chill move through me.
"Is Harriet inside?""
"I said she isn't receiving visitors.""
"Can you tell her Claire Morgan is here? I was at the Halbrook Hotel last night.""
The guard reached for a telephone.
I waited.
He spoke quietly to someone, glanced at me twice, and then put the receiver down.
"Wait here.""
He disappeared through a side door.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
I was beginning to think he'd forgotten about me when the gate opened.
A woman in her sixties approached from the other side. She wore a charcoal skirt and a pale blue blouse, with her gray hair twisted into a neat bun.
She looked like someone who had spent her life keeping a large household running without ever expecting anyone to thank her.
"You're Claire Morgan?""
"Yes.""
"I'm Margaret Ellis. I manage the household.""
She studied me from head to toe.
Her gaze lingered on the bandage around my palm.
"Harriet asked me to bring you inside.""
I followed her through the gates.
The driveway curved through immaculate gardens before reaching a mansion with white columns, dark shutters, and windows that reflected the pale morning sky.
It was beautiful in the way expensive things often were.
Perfect from a distance.
Somehow colder up close.
Margaret led me through a side entrance and into a sitting room filled with antique furniture.
Harriet sat beside a window in her wheelchair.
She wore a cream cardigan over a simple dress, and the papers I'd seen at the hotel rested on a small table beside her.
When she noticed me, her face softened.
"You came.""
"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me.""
"I wasn't sure you'd come.""
She gestured toward a chair.
"Please, sit down.""
I did.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Harriet looked at my hand.
"How bad is it?""
"Just a cut.""
"And your job?""
I lowered my eyes.
"I lost it.""
Harriet closed her eyes briefly.
"I'm sorry.""
"Did you know that would happen?""
"No.""
"But you expected something.""
She looked toward the papers.
"I expected Vivienne to retaliate. I didn't know how quickly she'd move.""
"Why does she care so much about those documents?""
Harriet's fingers tightened on the armrest.
"Because they contain something she cannot afford to let anyone examine.""
"What?""
She looked at me.
"Evidence.""
The word seemed to settle into the room.
"What kind of evidence?""
"Financial records. Property transfers. Correspondence. Documents that could expose years of deception.""
I stared at her.
"Are you saying Vivienne stole money?""
"I'm saying that money has disappeared from accounts that were never supposed to be hers to touch.""
"Whose accounts?""
Harriet took a slow breath.
"The Ashgrove Children's Foundation. And a family trust connected to it.""
I thought about the benefit at the Halbrook Hotel.
The white roses.
The champagne.
The speeches about generosity.
"You're telling me she was raising money for children while stealing from them?""
"I'm telling you that I have reason to believe charitable funds were diverted through a network of companies controlled by people close to Vivienne.""
"Do you have proof?""
She touched the stack of papers.
"Some.""
"Then why didn't you take them to the police?""
A sad smile crossed her face.
"Because the first person I approached warned Vivienne before the investigation could begin.""
My stomach tightened.
"You think someone inside the police department is helping her?""
"I think Vivienne has spent years making sure that people who could hurt her have reasons to remain silent.""
I remembered the guests who had turned away when she'd raised her hand.
Perhaps some had been frightened.
Perhaps others simply didn't care.
Either way, nobody had stopped her.
"Why were you at the benefit?"" I asked.
"Why would you sit in a room full of people who know her if you were trying to expose her?""
"Because the documents were supposed to be transferred that evening.""
"To whom?""
Harriet hesitated.
"Daniel Mercer.""
I leaned forward.
"The lawyer who came to my apartment?""
Her eyes sharpened.
"He went to your apartment?""
"Last night. He warned me not to sign anything and told me you might be the only person who could stop Vivienne.""
Harriet looked troubled.
"Daniel shouldn't have involved you.""
"He didn't involve me. I got involved when I saw her about to hit you.""
"I know.""
"Then tell me why he looked so frightened when he saw you at the hotel.""
Harriet was silent for several seconds.
Finally, she said, "Because Daniel knows what happened to my son.""
The room seemed to grow colder.
"Your son?""
"His name was Andrew.""
She looked toward the garden.
"Andrew was supposed to inherit control of the family trust. He believed that money should be used to help the foundation, not to enrich the people who managed it.""
"What happened to him?""
"He died four years ago.""
I didn't know what to say.
Harriet continued in a voice so quiet I had to lean forward to hear her.
"The official report said it was an accident. His car left the road on a rainy night. There were no witnesses, and the investigation was closed.""
"And you don't believe it was an accident?""
"I believe my son discovered something that frightened the wrong people.""
She looked directly at me.
"Daniel was his closest friend. He helped Andrew examine the trust's finances. He was also the last person Andrew spoke to before he died.""
I felt a knot form in my stomach.
"Does Daniel know who was responsible?""
"I don't know what Daniel knows. That's part of the problem.""
She turned toward the papers.
"After Andrew died, Vivienne began pushing me to sign documents transferring my remaining authority over the trust. She claimed it was necessary to protect the family's interests.""
"But you refused.""
"Because the documents would have given her control over everything.""
Her voice hardened.
"Every account. Every property. Every remaining record of what Andrew had discovered.""
I thought about Vivienne standing over Harriet's wheelchair.
The raised hand.
The whispered threat.
The expression of panic she'd tried to hide.
"Why didn't you tell the guests what she was doing?""
"Because I needed them to see her behavior without giving her time to prepare an explanation.""
Harriet looked down at her lap.
"I thought if she believed she still had control, she'd make a mistake.""
"And she did.""
"Yes.""
She studied my face.
"She assaulted you in front of hundreds of witnesses. She threatened you. And she did it because she was angry.""
"That doesn't mean anyone will believe me.""
"No," Harriet agreed.
"It doesn't.""
She reached toward a drawer in the side table and removed a sealed envelope.
"There's something I want you to have.""
I didn't take it.
"What is it?""
"A copy of a letter Andrew wrote shortly before he died.""
"Why are you giving it to me?""
"Because you stood up for me when everyone else looked away.""
"That's not a reason to hand a stranger something that could get you hurt.""
Harriet's eyes filled with something between gratitude and grief.
"Perhaps not. But I have spent four years trusting people because they had impressive titles, expensive suits, or important connections.""
She pushed the envelope closer.
"And last night, the only person who acted with courage was a woman carrying a tray of champagne.""
I stared at the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not Harriet's handwriting.
Not Daniel's.
The letters were neat and precise, with a distinctive slant.
I recognized the handwriting from somewhere, though I couldn't remember where.
"Who wrote this?""
"Andrew.""
My fingers went cold.
"Why would your son write my name?""
Harriet's expression changed.
For the first time since I'd arrived, she looked genuinely frightened.
"He didn't.""
She leaned forward.
"That envelope was addressed to someone else when I found it.""
I stared at her.
"Who?""
Harriet swallowed.
"Your father.""
I felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath me.
"My father is dead.""
"I know.""
"Then how could he have written to him?""
"He didn't write to your father, Claire. Andrew did.""
She turned the envelope over.
A second line had been written beneath my name.
*To be delivered to Claire Morgan only if Vivienne Ashford attempts to take control of the trust.*
My mouth went dry.
I looked at Harriet.
"What does my father have to do with any of this?""
Before she could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the sitting room door.
Margaret entered without waiting.
Her face was pale.
"Harriet, I'm sorry. There's a man at the gate asking for Miss Morgan.""
"Who?""
Margaret looked at me.
"He says he's from Bellweather Catering.""
Then she lowered her voice.
"And he says he has documents for you to sign.""
I stared at the envelope in my hands.
Harriet's warning echoed in my mind.
Don't sign anything.
Outside, a car engine started.
Margaret moved to the window.
"Oh, dear God.""
"What is it?"" I asked.
She turned toward us.
"There's another car behind him.""
May you like
Harriet's fingers closed around my wrist.
"Claire, whatever you do, don't let them take that envelope.""
