Chapter 3 - The Blue Crescent
By evening, Bennett House no longer felt like a home.
It felt like evidence.
Preston photographed the disputed will, locked the original in a fire-rated document case, and called an outside forensic document examiner he trusted.
He did not call the police yet.
There was still a possibility that the will was legally invalid without being criminally forged.
But Preston no longer believed that possibility.
The signatures of the two witnesses troubled him most.
Dr. Aaron Pike and Lillian Mercer.
Both appeared to have witnessed Isaiah’s signature twelve days before his death.
Preston called Pike first.
The doctor answered from Boston.
“I wasn’t in Virginia that week,” he said.
Preston closed his eyes.
“Are you certain?”
“My daughter had surgery at Massachusetts General. I was there nine days.”
“Did you authorize anyone to sign your name?”
“Absolutely not.”
That was enough.
The second witness, Lillian Mercer, had died eight months earlier.
Preston stared at the document for a long time after learning that.
Forgery was no longer a theory.
Someone had manufactured an entire execution ceremony that never happened.
He found Ella in the conservatory just after sunset.
She sat in Grandpa’s favorite chair holding a wooden chess knight.
Danielle sat nearby but rose when Preston entered.
“She keeps asking whether she did something bad.”
Preston’s expression softened.
“I’ll talk to her.”
Danielle left.
Preston sat opposite Ella.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Ella looked down at the chess piece.
“Aunt Monica is mad.”
“She’s frightened.”
“Because Grandpa told me?”
“Maybe.”
Ella studied him.
“Adults lie more when they’re scared.”
Preston almost smiled.
“Did your grandfather tell you that?”
“No. I figured it out.”
He leaned back.
“Can you tell me exactly what happened the night you spoke with him?”
Ella nodded.
“He couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep either because of the thunder.”
“You went to his room?”
“He was in here.”
She pointed toward the window.
“He was looking outside.”
“What did he say?”
Ella frowned, reconstructing the memory.
“He asked if I remembered how he taught me chess.”
Preston waited.
“He said sometimes you protect the king by making people look at the wrong piece.”
That sentence chilled him.
“What else?”
“He said tomorrow people might be angry with him.”
“Tomorrow?”
Ella nodded.
“But he died the next morning.”
Preston knew.
Isaiah had been found unconscious in his bedroom at 6:40 a.m. His physician determined the cause was sudden cardiac arrest associated with severe coronary disease.
There had been no suspicion of foul play.
“And then?”
“He said there were two papers. One was a lie.”
“Did he show them to you?”
“No.”
“Did he say who made the fake one?”
“No.”
Ella squeezed the chess knight.
“He said the person who hid the truth thought grown-ups never listen to kids.”
Preston glanced toward the study doors.
That sentence sounded exactly like Isaiah.
“What about the real will?”
Ella lowered her voice.
“He said it was where Grandma taught him to keep promises.”
Preston froze.
“Grandma Evelyn?”
Ella nodded.
Evelyn Bennett had died six years earlier.
White, sharp-witted, and fearless, she had spent thirty-four years married to Isaiah. Their interracial marriage had scandalized both families when they wed in 1986.
Evelyn had been an architect.
She had designed the east wing of Bennett House.
Preston knew the mansion reasonably well.
But “where Grandma taught him to keep promises” meant nothing to him.
Ella suddenly looked toward the doorway.
Monica stood there.
She had heard everything.
“Aunt Monica?”
Monica entered slowly.
“Sweetheart, would you give Preston and me a minute?”
Ella hesitated.
Preston nodded.
She left carrying the chess knight.
Monica closed the door.
“What did my father tell you about me?”
“Nothing.”
“You think I forged it.”
“I think somebody did.”
“And because I delivered it—”
“I think whoever forged it expected your delivery to make it legitimate.”
Monica turned away.
Preston watched her.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
She remained silent.
“Your father argued with you that night.”
“Yes.”
“About money?”
Her shoulders tightened.
Preston now knew the answer.
“How much?”
Monica turned around.
“Don’t.”
“How much, Monica?”
Her eyes filled—not with grief, but shame.
“One point eight million.”
Preston stared.
She laughed bitterly.
“There. Now you have your villain.”
“What happened to it?”
“I borrowed from a company reserve account.”
“You stole from Bennett Meridian.”
“I intended to replace it.”
“For what?”
Monica looked toward the windows.
“Grant made an investment.”
Preston’s gaze sharpened.
“What investment?”
“A private development fund. He said it would triple within six months.”
“And?”
“It collapsed.”
“Did Isaiah know?”
“He found out three weeks ago.”
Preston understood her fear now.
A forged will giving Monica control of the company could conceal financial misconduct.
And her husband had persuaded her to make the investment.
“Did Grant know Isaiah discovered it?”
Monica whispered, “Yes.”
Before Preston could respond, a loud crack came from the hallway.
They rushed out.
At the far end of the corridor, Isaiah’s private office door stood open.
The lock had been forced.
Inside, drawers had been emptied across the floor.
May you like
Someone had searched the room.
And whoever had done it was still somewhere inside the mansion.
