Chapter 9 - Eleanor’s Confession
Eleanor did not deny it.
When Grace returned to the palace, the old woman was waiting in the library.
No lawyers.
No security.
No Adrian.
Just Eleanor.
“You sent Martin after my father?”
Grace asked.
“No.”
“Did you know he was being followed?”
“Not until afterward.”
“Did you protect Martin?”
Eleanor looked down.
“Yes.”
Grace stared at her.
The answer hurt more than expected.
“Why?”
“Because Martin told me Charles had evidence that Richard used Adrian’s signature.”
“You protected the man who chased my father to his death.”
“I protected my son.”
Grace laughed once.
Coldly.
“Of course you did.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
“I was a coward.”
Grace turned away.
“Thomas deserved better.”
“My mother deserved better.”
“So did you.”
Grace faced her.
“Don’t say that like it fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
Eleanor opened a drawer.
Inside sat a small red journal.
“I kept records.”
Grace stared.
“Of what?”
“Everything I was too afraid to expose.”
Eleanor had documented payments.
Threats.
Names.
Meetings.
Judges.
Councilmen.
Executives.
Charles Sinclair.
Richard Blackwood.
Martin Vale.
And one person Grace did not expect.
Vanessa Sinclair.
Her name appeared repeatedly after Charles died.
But beside several entries Eleanor had written the same question.
VANESSA KNOWS?
Grace frowned.
“You weren’t sure she was involved.”
“No.”
“Then why was she trying to remove you?”
“Because I summoned her.”
Grace stopped.
“What?”
Eleanor looked ashamed.
“I asked Vanessa to meet me privately tonight.”
“Why?”
“Three days ago, she contacted me.”
Grace stared.
“She said someone was using Sinclair accounts again.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
Grace remembered Vanessa’s warning.
You have no idea who you protected.
Maybe Vanessa had not arrived merely to celebrate herself.
Maybe she had been terrified Eleanor would expose something publicly.
“Why did she try to hit you?”
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“Because I accused her of continuing her father’s crimes.”
“And was she?”
“I don’t know.”
Grace looked at the journal.
“Martin said she inherited Charles’s enemy.”
Eleanor slowly nodded.
“I think I know what he meant.”
She turned to the final page.
One name was underlined.
VICTOR SINCLAIR.
Grace frowned.
“Vanessa’s uncle?”
“Charles’s younger brother.”
“I thought he died.”
“So did everyone.”
Eleanor looked directly at Grace.
“But six months ago, I received this.”
She handed over a photograph.
Victor Sinclair stood outside a café in Prague.
Alive.
Older.
Watching the camera.
On the back was a handwritten message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET THOMAS TALK.
Grace felt the room grow cold.
Then someone knocked.
Adrian entered.
His face was pale.
“The police found a fingerprint on Martin’s syringe.”
Grace stood.
“Whose?”
May you like
Adrian looked at his mother.
“Vanessa’s.”
