Chapter 7 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
Grant claimed the photograph was fake.
Claire placed it between them on Rebecca’s conference table.
Grant did not touch it.
“I wasn’t there.”
“The timestamp says you were.”
“Then the timestamp is wrong.”
Rebecca watched him carefully.
“Mr. Caldwell, can you establish your location at 10:49 p.m.?”
Grant looked at Claire.
“At the Regency.”
“With your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did your phone connect to a tower near the crash?”
Grant’s face changed.
Claire had lied.
She had no tower record.
But his reaction told her enough.
Rebecca noticed too.
Grant stood.
“This is ridiculous.”
Claire remained seated.
“Sit down.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You think you can order me now?”
“No. I think you’re scared.”
Grant leaned over the table.
“You want the truth? Fine. I left the hotel.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“Why?”
“My mother called me.”
“What did she say?”
“That your father was going to destroy everything.”
Claire looked at Rebecca.
Grant continued.
“He had documents. He was threatening to go to federal investigators.”
“What happened on the road?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“I arrived after the crash.”
“Why didn’t you call police?”
“They were already coming.”
“Who called them?”
Grant hesitated.
Then he sat.
“My mother.”
Claire felt cold.
“So she was there.”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“She knew because someone else called her.”
“Who?”
Grant’s hands shook.
For the first time, his mask cracked.
“I don’t know.”
Claire almost believed him.
Almost.
“Did you enter Dad’s storage unit?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find what he had.”
“For your mother?”
“For me.”
That surprised her.
Grant looked exhausted.
“You think I’m some obedient son. I’m not. I knew there was missing money. I thought if I found the files first, I could fix it before it became public.”
“Fix theft?”
“Keep the company alive.”
Claire stared.
He truly believed that distinction mattered.
Grant continued.
“If the company collapsed, thousands of employees lost pensions and jobs. Your father wanted disclosure regardless of consequences.”
“He believed in the law.”
“He believed being right absolved him of what happened next.”
There it was.
Grant’s resentment.
Inherited from Marjorie but shaped into something more practical.
“You helped cover it up.”
“I moved money to replace part of what was taken.”
“Whose money?”
Grant looked away.
Claire understood.
“Mine.”
Silence.
Grant had used marital assets and Whitmore trust funds to patch holes in Caldwell Holdings.
He had stolen from her to conceal theft from the company.
“You should leave,” Claire said.
Grant stood.
At the door, he paused.
“You’re looking at the wrong person.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
Grant’s eyes met hers.
“The person who called her from the crash site.”
Claire waited.
May you like
Grant opened the door.
“It was Camille.”
