The private airfield was twenty-three miles from Westside, but by the time Marcus and I reached it, Michael Bennett was gone.
His car remained near the eastern hangar.
The leather document case sat exactly where police had photographed it, untouched until investigators finished processing the vehicle.
The handwritten note was inside an evidence sleeve.
BETTY BENNETT.
MARGARET NEVER TOLD YOU THE LAST PART.
I read those six words again while freezing wind moved across the runway.
Eric stood beside me with his coat collar raised.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?”
“No.”
“I do.”
I turned.
“You’ve seen Michael’s handwriting?”
“Years ago.”
“And?”
Eric studied the note.
“It looks like his.”
That should have made the message simpler.
It did not.
“Where did he go?”
Marcus spoke with the airfield manager while officers checked flight logs.
Ten minutes later he returned.
“No registered departure matches Michael.”
“So he didn’t fly.”
“Probably not.”
“Then why abandon his car at an airport?”
“To make us think he did.”
Steven had stayed with Noah.
Amanda remained with Dana, preparing another statement.
For once, I was grateful neither of them stood beside me.
Whatever Michael was about to reveal belonged first to Margaret and me.
An officer approached carrying an inventory sheet.
“The document case is empty.”
I stared at him.
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
“Then why leave it?”
Marcus answered.
“To tell us he still has the documents.”
A performance.
Michael wanted us to know he could reach us.
He wanted me thinking about him.
I refused to give him more power than that.
“Can we go?”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t want to wait?”
“For what? A man who arranged an empty briefcase?”
I looked toward the gray runway.
“If Michael wants to talk to me, eventually he’ll stop leaving riddles and use a telephone.”
He called before we reached Westside.
Unknown number.
Marcus looked at the screen.
“Answer.”
I put it on speaker.
“Betty Bennett.”
A man laughed softly.
“Still impatient.”
The voice meant nothing to me.
“Michael?”
“So Eric finally told you.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“From whom?”
“That depends which year you’re asking about.”
I glanced at Eric.
His jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
“To meet my brother’s wife.”
“You had thirty-seven years.”
“Margaret made sure that didn’t happen.”
“Margaret is dead.”
“I’m aware.”
His calmness irritated me.
“Then stop speaking as though he’s preventing you from picking up a telephone.”
Silence.
Then Michael laughed again.
“I understand why he married you.”
“I’m not interested in your approval.”
“No. You never were, apparently.”
“We have never met.”
“But I heard about you.”
“From Margaret?”
“Once.”
That hurt more than it should have.
“What did he say?”
“That you were the one part of his life he wouldn’t let me touch.”
The words silenced me.
Michael continued.
“He meant it as an insult.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t know him when he was young.”
“And you didn’t know him for the last thirty-seven years.”
For the first time, his tone sharpened.
“You think marriage erased everything before you?”
“No. I think loving someone means accepting that parts of them existed before you.”
“Very philosophical.”
“No. Very tired.”
I looked at the oak tree through the windows.
“Tell me what you have.”
“The original corporate book.”
“Anything else?”
“The agreement.”
Eric stepped closer.
“What agreement?”
Michael heard him.
“Hello, Eric.”
“Michael.”
“You’ve aged.”
“So have you.”
“Still cleaning up Bennett family mistakes?”
Eric’s expression hardened.
“What agreement?”
Michael ignored him.
“Betty, Margaret signed something twelve years ago that you need to see.”
“An ownership transfer?”
“Meet me and find out.”
“Where?”
“I’ll send instructions.”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“What?”
“You’ve had eleven years to decide whether to behave like an adult. I’m not driving around following clues.”
“Then you’ll never see the document.”
“If it affects ownership of Westside, file it in court.”
Silence.
Eric looked at me.
I continued.
“If it’s legitimate, you don’t need secrecy. If it’s fraudulent, I’m not interested.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I’m learning.”
“You might want to learn faster.”
The line disconnected.
Marcus exhaled.
“You realize he wanted you frightened.”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
“I just don’t intend to obey fear anymore.”
Eric looked toward the phone.
“Margaret would have liked that.”
“Margaret could have saved me trouble by telling me he had a brother.”
Eric accepted the rebuke.
“Yes.”
Three hours passed before Michael contacted us again.
This time he sent an email.
Attached was one photograph.
A single page lying beside a ruler and that morning’s newspaper.
Eric enlarged it.
I recognized Margaret’s signature.
Michael’s signature appeared below it.
The heading read:
MEMBERSHIP INTEREST OPTION AND CONTINGENT ASSIGNMENT.
My stomach tightened.
“What is it?”
Eric read silently.
Then again.
“Eric.”
“It’s not what Victoria claimed.”
“Then what?”
“It appears Margaret granted Michael an option to acquire twenty-five percent of Elizabeth Bennett Holdings.”
My heart sank.
Steven, who had returned, stood behind us.
“Does that mean Uncle Michael owns part of Mom’s company?”
“No.”
Eric pointed to a clause.
“The option required payment of one million dollars by a specified date.”
“Did he pay?”
“We don’t know.”
“When was the deadline?”
“Twelve years ago.”
I looked at Michael’s signature.
“If he paid, what happens?”
“Then Margaret may have been obligated to issue the interest.”
“May?”
“There are conditions.”
“Which conditions?”
“The photograph cuts off the second page.”
Of course it did.
Steven rubbed his face.
“This family really loves incomplete documents.”
I almost told him not to joke.
Then I realized he was right.
“Could the seventy-five-thousand-dollar payment matter?”
“Not as exercise of a one-million-dollar option.”
“So why create it?”
“To suggest later recognition of some financial relationship.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Or to support a settlement narrative.”
“What does that mean?”
“If Michael claims the option was exercised improperly and Betty later paid him, he can argue she was acknowledging an unresolved obligation.”
Eric nodded.
“Exactly.”
My phone rang again.
Michael.
I answered.
“You’ve seen it.”
“One page.”
“The important page.”
“No. The convenient page.”
He chuckled.
“Margaret said you were difficult.”
“You keep telling me things my husband supposedly said when I can no longer ask him.”
“That’s the advantage of surviving.”
I disliked him more with every sentence.
“Did you pay the million dollars?”
“Yes.”
Eric spoke.
“Prove it.”
“I can.”
“Then why didn’t you claim your interest twelve years ago?”
Michael’s voice changed.
“Because Margaret gave the money back.”
Eric frowned.
“What?”
“He changed his mind.”
“That is not how executed options work.”
“I know.”
“So what happened?”
Michael was silent.
Then he said, “Victoria happened.”
The room went still.
I gripped the phone.
“Explain.”
“She learned I was helping Margaret.”
“With Westside?”
“Yes.”
“She offered you more money.”
“She threatened me.”
That surprised me.
“With what?”
“My past.”
Marcus began taking notes.
“What past?”
Michael ignored him.
“I had financial problems. Some legal exposure. Margaret knew.”
“Did you steal from your father?”
Silence.
“So Eric told you that too.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
The answer reminded me unexpectedly of Steven.
Michael continued.
“I was young. Stupid. Angry. Our father forgave Margaret for things he punished me for.”
“What things?”
“Being the favorite.”
“That isn’t something Margaret did.”
“You sound like him.”
“Good.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
“Victoria knew about an old transaction that could have put me in prison. She told me to walk away from Westside.”
“And you did.”
“Yes.”
“You abandoned your brother.”
“Yes.”
Again, no excuse.
“Then eleven years later you helped Victoria.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed money.”
The honesty was almost more offensive than denial.
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand over several years.”
“For Margaret’s files?”
“For information.”
“You gave her the corporate book?”
“No.”
“Then why do you have it?”
“Because Margaret gave it to me.”
Eric shook his head.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
“Second page,” I said.
“What?”
“Send it.”
“No.”
“Then we’re finished.”
“Betty.”
“Send the second page or stop calling.”
I disconnected.
Steven stared at me.
“You really do that now.”
“Do what?”
“Hang up on people who manipulate you.”
“I’m developing the habit.”
Twenty minutes later, the second page arrived.
Eric read it.
Then sat down.
“What?”
“The option was conditional.”
“On what?”
“Michael’s interest could only vest if Margaret completed the Westside purchase.”
I understood immediately.
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
“So Michael never acquired anything.”
“Correct.”
Steven exhaled.
“Then why are we still worried?”
Eric pointed lower.
“Because there’s a handwritten amendment.”
My stomach tightened again.
“What does it say?”
“Upon Margaret’s death, if Elizabeth Bennett Holdings later acquires Westside, Michael may renew the option within ninety days after receiving written notice of the acquisition.”
I stared at him.
“Did we notify Michael when I bought Westside?”
“No.”
“Did I know I was supposed to?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“How is that possible?”
“The amendment wasn’t in my copy.”
Michael had the original.
“Is it valid?”
Eric examined the photograph.
“It looks signed.”
“By Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“And Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Witnessed?”
“Apparently.”
“By whom?”
He zoomed in.
Then his face changed.
“Rachel Dunn.”
I stared at him.
“She worked for you then?”
“She had just started.”
Everything circled back to Rachel.
“What does this mean?”
“If valid, Michael could argue the ninety-day exercise period never began because he never received notice.”
“So he could exercise it now?”
“Possibly.”
“How much?”
“The original one million.”
Steven stared.
“For twenty-five percent of a company that owns a ten-million-dollar estate?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Margaret had created the very vulnerability he later warned me against.
Perhaps unknowingly.
Perhaps trusting his brother.
Perhaps intending to repair something before illness changed everything.
“Would Michael win?”
Eric answered carefully.
“I don’t know.”
That was the worst answer lawyers give.
The doorbell rang.
Marcus looked at his phone.
“No one was scheduled.”
Police still maintained periodic presence at Westside, so an officer checked first.
Minutes later he entered the library.
“There’s a man outside asking for Mrs. Bennett.”
“Name?”
“Michael Bennett.”
Every person in the room stood.
I walked into the foyer.
Through the glass, I saw him.
Seventy-eight.
Tall despite a slight stoop.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
Leather document case in one hand.
For one impossible second, I saw Margaret.
Not his face exactly.
Something around the eyes.
A familiar way of standing.
It hurt.
Michael saw me through the door.
Neither of us moved.
Then I opened it.
“Betty.”
“Michael.”
He looked past me toward the house.
“So you bought it after all.”
“I did.”
He swallowed.
“Margaret would have liked that.”
“You don’t get to use him to make me trust you.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Fair.”
He lifted the case.
“I brought the originals.”
“Why?”
“Because Victoria lied to me too.”
“That doesn’t make you innocent.”
“I know.”
“Why come now?”
He looked toward the oak tree.
Then back at me.
“Because I’m dying.”
The anger inside me did not disappear.
But it changed shape.
“How long?”
“Months.”
“Does Victoria know?”
“No.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because there’s no point winning twenty-five percent of a house I helped poison.”
He held out the document case.
I did not take it.
“What do you want?”
“To correct one thing before I go.”
“Which thing?”
“The amendment.”
Eric stepped into the foyer.
Michael looked at him.
“It was never meant to survive Margaret.”
Eric frowned.
“It says otherwise.”
“Read the third page.”
“You sent two.”
“I know.”
He opened the case.
There was a third page.
Eric took it.
His eyes moved rapidly.
Then stopped.
“What?”
He looked at Michael.
“You had this the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?” I demanded.
Eric handed it to me.
The language was dense.
He pointed to one paragraph.
If Margaret Bennett dies before acquisition of Westside, all contingent rights granted herein terminate unless Michael Bennett personally contributes no less than one million dollars toward acquisition by Betty Bennett or Steven Bennett.
I looked up.
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
Michael nodded.
“My option died with Margaret.”
I stared at him.
“Then Victoria knew this.”
“No.”
“You gave her the other pages.”
“Copies of the first two.”
“You deliberately withheld the third?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first, leverage.”
“And later?”
“Insurance.”
“Against whom?”
“Victoria.”
He looked at the house.
“She thought she owned me because she knew what I’d done.”
I felt no sympathy.
“You still helped her.”
“Yes.”
“You helped her watch me.”
“Yes.”
“You helped her target Steven.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Amanda was being manipulated.”
His silence answered.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to slap him.
Instead I asked, “Why should I believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn’t.”
That stopped me.
Michael put the case on the foyer table.
“Believe documents. Believe bank records. Believe whatever investigators verify.”
He stepped backward.
“I’m done asking anyone in this family to trust me.”
He turned toward the door.
“Michael.”
He stopped.
“There is one thing I want from you.”
He looked back.
“What?”
“The last part.”
His face changed.
The words from his note hung between us.
Margaret never told you the last part.
“What did you mean?”
Michael looked suddenly older.
“Ask Eric about the night Margaret withdrew from Westside.”
I turned toward Eric.
His face had gone pale again.
Michael opened the door.
“No.”
I stepped after him.
“You came here to tell me.”
“I came here to give you the documents.”
“And the last part?”
He looked at me.
“That belongs to Eric.”
Then he walked away.
I closed the door slowly.
When I turned, Eric was still standing beside the staircase.
Steven looked between us.
“What happened the night Dad withdrew?”
Eric did not answer.
I walked toward him.
“No more secrets.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
He looked at Margaret’s old corporate book.
Then at me.
“Your husband didn’t withdraw from Westside because of Victoria’s threat.”
“What?”
“He withdrew because of what he did after she threatened Michael.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did Margaret do?”
Eric’s voice dropped.
“He went to confront her.”
“And?”
“He came home covered in blood.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Eric’s Account of Margaret’s Bloodstained Night Revealed the Secret My Husband Carried to His Grave and Victoria Had Exploited Ever Since
The Night My Son Told Me I Was No Longer Welcome at the Birthday Party I Had Helped Make Possible
Part 13 of 20
