Chapter 7 - The Missing PagesOn Sunday afternoon, Daniel returned to the room Nora had used as her study.
It remained almost exactly as she had left it.
Her reading glasses lay inside a small wooden tray.
A blue blanket hung over the back of her favorite chair.
The shelves held books on architecture, environmental policy, and American history.
Daniel had avoided the room for months.
Entering it felt like acknowledging that Nora would never come home to finish the work scattered across her desk.
He opened the bottom drawer.
Inside lay a photograph of Nora and Grace building a snowman.
On the back, Nora had written:
Our girl believes every broken thing can be repaired.
Daniel placed the picture beside his phone.
Maren had given him a list of financial reports Nora referenced in her letter.
He began searching.
Most were missing from the office filing cabinet.
But Nora had always been meticulous.
She indexed her documents in a notebook, often recording the physical location of originals and copies.
Daniel found the notebook behind a row of old architectural journals.
One entry was dated December 18, 2025.
MC reserve review — original correspondence stored with holiday archive. Copy index retained separately. D.H. must read.
Daniel stared at the initials.
D.H.
Him.
Nora had intended him to see everything.
He remembered their last serious argument.
She had accused Vivian of hiding financial records.
Daniel had told her she was becoming consumed by suspicions while she should have been conserving her strength.
Nora had replied, "Being sick doesn't make me stupid."
He had apologized for his tone.
But he had never examined the records.
Daniel turned the page.
There were three names beside a series of transactions.
Silver Quay Holdings.
Cresswell Advisory.
Harborline Partners.
The amounts appeared in Nora's narrow handwriting.
$2.4 million.
$3.1 million.
$3.9 million.
Total: $9.4 million.
Below the figures, she had drawn a line.
All charged against remediation reserves. No corresponding work verified.
Daniel felt his pulse quicken.
The company had spent years negotiating with regulators and local authorities over the cleanup of historical industrial contamination at Marsh Cove.
Environmental remediation was not optional.
It was expensive, slow, and necessary to protect the residents and the shoreline.
If the reserve had been emptied without the work being completed, the company could face substantial liability.
And if Vivian had concealed the missing money, the proposed land sale suddenly made terrible sense.
Selling quickly would close the books before anyone examined the underlying payments.
Daniel photographed the notebook.
Then he heard footsteps.
Vivian stood in the doorway.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Daniel closed the notebook.
"You shouldn't be going through Nora's things without asking Grace."
Vivian raised her eyebrows.
"It's my wife's study."
"Her belongings belong to the estate and, ultimately, to Grace."
Daniel regarded her.
"You seem very concerned about who can access Nora's records."
"Someone has to be."
Vivian glanced at the notebook.
"Still looking for evidence of a conspiracy?"
"I'm looking for the missing remediation funds."
The color drained slightly from her face.
Then it returned.
"Old accounting entries can be misleading."
"Nine-point-four million dollars is a lot to misunderstand."
Vivian said nothing.
Daniel held up the notebook.
"Why didn't you tell me Nora was investigating these transfers?"
"Because she was wrong."
"Show me."
"I will."
"When?"
"Tomorrow, at the office."
Daniel stood.
"Then tomorrow morning, bring me the complete account records."
Vivian turned to leave.
At the threshold, she stopped.
"Nora always wanted someone to blame for the things she couldn't control."
Daniel's expression changed.
"Don't."
"She was frightened. People sometimes invent patterns when they're frightened."
"My wife is dead," Daniel said. "Don't use that to dismiss what she found."
Vivian looked away.
For the first time, he saw resentment beneath her composure.
"You think I don't know what loss feels like?"
Daniel softened involuntarily.
Their mother had died when he was fourteen and Vivian sixteen.
Vivian had become his protector.
She prepared his meals, attended his school meetings, and defended him against their father's brutal expectations.
He had loved her for it.
Perhaps that love was why he had never learned to question her.
"I know what you did for me," he said.
Vivian looked back.
"Then remember it."
She left.
Daniel remained in the study until sunset.
Later, Grace appeared in the doorway, wearing pajamas decorated with moons.
"Daddy?"
He immediately closed the financial notebook.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"Can we look for Mommy's star?"
He hesitated.
"Not tonight."
"Why?"
"Because some of Mommy's boxes are still downstairs."
Grace approached the desk.
"The big box?"
Daniel went still.
"What big box?"
"The one that fell."
He looked at her.
"Why do you think the star was inside that one?"
"Aunt Vivian said so."
Daniel remembered the storage entry.
The giant package.
The damaged shelf.
Nora's handwritten instruction:
Original correspondence stored with holiday archive.
He picked up his phone.
The broken box had been moved into a locked service room for safekeeping.
He called the household manager and instructed her not to permit anyone to open or remove it.
Then he turned back to Grace.
"Sweetheart, did Aunt Vivian show you the star?"
Grace shook her head.
"She said I could find it if I stood under the box."
Daniel felt the room tilt.
His sister had not merely allowed Grace to stand beneath a dangerous package.
May you like
She had directed her there.
And the box might contain the very documents Nora had hidden from Vivian.
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