Chapter 7 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE BLUE RABBITDetective Elena Ruiz arrived at the Prescott mansion shortly after midnight.
She was a composed woman in her forties with observant brown eyes and a manner that made unnecessary conversation feel pointless.
She examined the threatening photograph, questioned Marcus about the disabled camera, and requested the security recordings.
Chadworth watched her carefully.
“Do you believe the threat is serious?”
“Yes.”
She didn't hesitate.
“Someone photographed your daughters without permission, entered your property, interfered with security equipment, and threatened them to influence your behavior. We should treat that seriously.”
“What should I do?”
“First, stop trying to investigate this on your own. Second, follow the protective arrangements we're putting in place. Third, tell me everything you know about Sabina Voss and Elliott Crane.”
Chadworth complied.
By three in the morning, additional officers had searched the greenhouse and surrounding grounds.
They found disturbed soil near the rear wall and signs that someone had attempted to open an old storage cabinet.
The intruder was gone.
Nothing obvious appeared missing.
The camera's cable had been deliberately cut.
Detective Ruiz arranged for evidence to be collected and informed Chadworth that investigators would review the connection to his wife's death.
Before leaving, she looked directly at him.
“Mr. Prescott, if someone is searching for your wife's records, those records may be important. But your daughters' safety comes first.”
He nodded.
For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Chadworth understood that being the richest person in a room didn't mean he was the person best equipped to solve a crisis.
The following morning, Rosamund brought Gemma into the breakfast nook.
The girl looked exhausted.
Bramble hung from her arm.
“Daddy?”
Chadworth set aside his coffee.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is somebody going to take Bramble?”
“No.”
“Sabina said she was going to make him disappear.”
Chadworth opened his arms.
Gemma climbed into his lap.
“Bramble stays with you,” he promised. “Nobody gets to punish you by taking away something you love.”
She pressed the rabbit against his chest.
“Mommy made his ear better.”
Chadworth glanced at the blue stitching.
“I remember.”
“No, Daddy. She made it special.”
He looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
Gemma touched the repaired ear.
“Mommy said there's a little secret in there.”
Across the table, Lorelai stopped eating.
Rosamund leaned forward.
“A secret?”
Gemma nodded.
“Mommy told me only a brave person could find it.”
Chadworth suddenly remembered the drawing.
When you need the truth, follow Bramble.
“Would you mind if we looked inside his ear?” he asked.
Gemma's face tightened.
“Will it hurt him?”
Rosamund smiled gently.
“We can open the stitching carefully and sew it back afterward.”
Gemma considered the proposal.
Then she handed over the rabbit.
“All right. But be gentle.”
Rosamund fetched a small sewing kit.
She used a seam ripper to loosen the blue stitches one by one.
Inside the stuffed ear was a tiny fabric pouch.
Chadworth carefully unfolded it.
A brass key rested inside.
Attached to the key was a narrow strip of paper.
On it, Evelyn had written:
South glass. Third bench.
Lorelai stared.
“The greenhouse.”
Chadworth felt his heartbeat quicken.
He called Detective Ruiz before moving anything else.
This time, he refused to act alone.
By early afternoon, Ruiz and a crime-scene technician accompanied Chadworth and Cora to the old greenhouse.
Rosamund stayed inside with the girls.
The greenhouse smelled of damp earth and forgotten summers.
Broken planting pots lay beneath dusty windows. Ivy had climbed across the western wall, and weeds pushed through cracks in the stone floor.
Chadworth remembered Evelyn spending hours there.
She had loved growing things.
When he once suggested hiring a professional gardening team, she had laughed.
“If someone else does all the work, Chad, how will I know what it feels like to help something grow?”
He pushed the memory aside.
They counted the benches along the south wall.
One.
Two.
Three.
The third bench was built from old oak and reinforced with rusted iron brackets.
Detective Ruiz examined it before allowing Chadworth closer.
Beneath the lower shelf was a small brass lock.
The key fit.
The drawer opened with a stubborn scrape.
Inside sat a weatherproof metal container wrapped in waxed canvas.
Ruiz photographed it and carefully removed it with gloved hands.
She inspected its exterior before opening it.
Inside lay a thick blue leather ledger.
Chadworth recognized it immediately.
Evelyn used to carry that book to charity meetings.
He had assumed it contained donation records and household budgets.
He had never asked.
Ruiz documented the discovery, then allowed Chadworth and Cora to examine the pages with her.
The handwriting was Evelyn's.
Every line.
Every number.
Every meticulous note.
At first, the entries resembled ordinary accounting records.
Then the pattern emerged.
Millions of dollars had been allocated for the remediation of contaminated industrial land at Redwater.
Some payments went to legitimate contractors.
Others went to unfamiliar companies.
Bluebridge Restoration.
Northline Environmental Services.
Harbor Civic Solutions.
The amounts were enormous.
Yet several transactions appeared to have no corresponding work orders, laboratory results, or completed repairs.
Cora slowly turned a page.
“These entities may be shell companies.”
Chadworth stared at the figures.
“Someone diverted cleanup money.”
“That's what Evelyn suspected.”
The next section contained addresses.
Families living near Redwater Creek.
Copies of complaints about contaminated wells.
Records of residents asking why promised repairs had never begun.
Evelyn had included names, dates, and references to independent laboratory samples.
Chadworth felt ashamed.
He had celebrated the Redwater redevelopment as one of Prescott Meridian's most profitable projects.
Meanwhile, his wife had apparently been documenting the people left behind.
He remembered dismissing the complaints as the work of opportunistic activists.
Now he was staring at evidence that the complaints might have been justified.
Cora stopped at a page marked Emergency Transfer Authorization.
Her expression tightened.
“Chadworth.”
He looked.
An $18.4 million payment had been diverted from the Redwater environmental reserve to a holding company.
Attached to the entry was a photocopy of an executive authorization.
Prescott Meridian letterhead.
A transaction reference number.
A date.
And a signature.
His signature.
Chadworth leaned closer.
“I don't recognize this transfer.”
Cora examined the notation.
“It's connected to a transaction approved while you were traveling.”
“I signed hundreds of approvals that month.”
“Did Elliott prepare them?”
“Yes.”
Ruiz watched him.
“Mr. Prescott, we'll need the original corporate records.”
Chadworth didn't object.
He felt as if someone had reached backward through time and placed a mirror before him.
He had always considered himself an ethical businessman.
But what did that belief mean if he had been too careless to notice what happened under his authority?
He turned another page.
There, beneath the financial entries, Evelyn had written a single sentence.
Chad signed it. I pray he didn't understand what they were asking him to approve.
His throat tightened.
The last page contained something even worse.
A handwritten list of names.
Elliott Crane.
Sabina Voss.
Two company executives.
And beside each name, Evelyn had recorded dates of meetings she had tried to investigate.
At the bottom was one final entry:
November 3. Meeting at Redwater. Take copies. Do not go alone.
November 3.
The night she died.
Ruiz looked at Cora.
“We need to preserve every page.”
Chadworth barely heard her.
He was staring at a small notation in the margin.
May you like
It had been underlined three times.
The meeting was scheduled for 8:30 p.m. at Old Briar Bridge—and the person Evelyn expected to meet was Elliott Crane.
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