Chapter 6 - THE DEAD LAWYER CALLSVictoria did not answer the phone.
No one told her to.
No one had to.
The ringtone filled the study like a confession.
Henry Graves.
A dead man.
A living threat.
Detective Morales reached out.
“Miss Whitmore, give me the phone.”
Victoria held her purse tighter.
“This is private.”
Andrew stared at her.
“Private ended when two men threatened Clara in your ballroom.”
Victoria’s face sharpened.
“You don’t get to speak to me like that.”
“I’m not your fiancé anymore.”
That landed deeper than she wanted anyone to see.
Detective Morales stepped closer.
“The phone.”
Victoria looked at Eleanor.
Her mother’s face was not angry. That was worse. It was devastated.
“Victoria,” Eleanor whispered, “what have you done?”
Victoria’s eyes flashed with tears she refused to let fall.
“What have I done?” she repeated. “I protected us.”
Clara’s heart sank.
“From me?”
Victoria turned.
“Yes.”
The room went still.
Andrew swore under his breath.
Eleanor staggered as if the answer had struck her physically.
Victoria’s voice rose.
“You all think I’m cruel because I didn’t collapse at the feet of a stranger. But three months ago, Henry Graves called me and told me someone was digging into our family records. A woman named Clara Rose. He said she was dangerous. He said she had been paid by people trying to take down the Whitmore name.”
Clara whispered, “That’s a lie.”
Victoria laughed bitterly.
“Of course you’d say that.”
Detective Morales asked, “Why would a dead attorney call you?”
Victoria swallowed.
“Because he isn’t dead.”
“And you knew.”
“I found out then.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Victoria looked at her mother as if the answer were obvious.
“Because you would have done exactly this.”
She gestured at Clara.
“You would have believed her. You would have opened the doors. You would have handed her everything.”
Eleanor’s voice cracked.
“She is my child.”
“I am your child!” Victoria screamed.
The words echoed against the shelves.
For the first time that night, the perfect socialite vanished completely. What remained was a wounded woman dressed in emerald silk, terrified of being replaced.
Clara’s anger softened despite herself.
Victoria pointed at her.
“You don’t know what it was like growing up in this house. You were the dead angel. The perfect tragedy. The baby Mother loved more than the daughter sitting across from her at breakfast.”
Eleanor’s face broke.
“Victoria—”
“No. You mourned her every birthday. Every holiday. Every time you looked at me, you were looking for someone else.”
Clara lowered her eyes.
The phone stopped ringing.
Then a message appeared.
Victoria looked down before she could stop herself.
Andrew read it over her shoulder.
Answer now, or Nora pays.
Clara gasped.
“Nora.”
Detective Morales took the phone from Victoria’s weakened grip.
“Who is Nora?”
Clara’s voice shook.
“The woman who raised me. The only mother I had.”
Eleanor flinched but said nothing.
Morales called for units to locate Nora Rose immediately.
Victoria sat heavily in her father’s chair.
“I didn’t know he would hurt anyone.”
Andrew’s eyes were cold.
“But you knew he wanted Clara gone.”
Victoria’s silence answered.
Clara stared at her sister.
“You knew I was alive.”
Victoria whispered, “I knew someone claimed to be you.”
“And instead of meeting me, you helped them find me.”
Victoria looked away.
Eleanor reached for the cassette tape.
“Then we listen.”
Detective Morales stopped her.
“This is evidence.”
Eleanor’s voice turned steel.
“That tape may explain why my daughter was stolen from me.”
Morales held her gaze, then nodded once.
Andrew found an old tape player in the desk drawer.
No one spoke as the cassette clicked into place.
Static filled the room.
Then Charles Whitmore’s voice emerged from the past.
Cold. Calm. Unforgivable.
“The child must disappear before Eleanor sees the blood report.”
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Then Henry Graves answered.
May you like
“And Victoria?”
Charles replied, “Victoria stays. She is mine.”
Related Stories
