Chapter 33
The Ashford Estate commanded the shoreline of High Peaks Lake like a monument to power and privilege, its sprawling waterfront facade stretching across manicured grounds that spoke of generations of accumulated wealth.
Natalie Ashford's heels clicked against the marble floors of the grand foyer as she made her way through the familiar corridors of her childhood home, each step echoing in the cavernous space that had once felt magical and now seemed oppressive.
The double doors to Luther Ashford's study stood before her. She paused for a moment, gathering herself for the monthly ritual that had become both routine and dreaded—the reporting session that kept her father informed of everything happening in High Peaks, whether she wanted to share it or not.
The study was heavy with the odor of old books and polished wood, a masculine sanctuary that reflected Luther's taste for the finer things in life.
The cathedral ceiling soared above her, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the lake that sparkled like diamonds in the late afternoon sun.
The massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cleared except for a crystal decanter and two glasses that caught the light from the stone fireplace crackling in the far corner.
The walls showcased Luther's hunting prowess through an impressive collection of mounted animal heads—elk, deer, and even a massive bear that seemed to watch Natalie with glass eyes that held an unsettling intelligence.
Interspersed among the trophies were small statues from the Roman Empire, adding an air of antiquity that spoke to Luther's fascination with power structures that had endured across millennia.
Luther Ashford sat behind his desk in a chair that might have been a throne, his hair perfectly styled and his expensive suit tailored to perfection.
At sixty-three, he still carried the bearing of a man who expected the world to bend to his will, and his pale blue eyes held the calculating intelligence that had built the Ashford empire from timber and tourism into something that touched every aspect of life in the Adirondacks.
"Natalie," he said without looking up from the papers spread before him. "Sit."
She settled into the leather chair across from his desk, her own business attire impeccable but somehow diminished in his presence. Luther poured two fingers of bourbon into each glass, the expensive liquor catching the firelight as he slid one across the polished surface toward her.
"So, how are things going?" he asked, finally raising his eyes to study her face.
The question sounded like genuine interest, but Natalie had learned long ago to recognize the calculation behind her father's casual inquiries. She felt judged, evaluated, reduced to an equation that either balanced in his favor or required adjustment.
"The newspaper is running smoothly," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Circulation is steady, and we've received positive feedback about our coverage of the Hale case resolution."
"And your relationship with Noah Sutherland?" Luther’s tone had a slight edge that made the question feel more like an interrogation. "Is he still asking questions?"
"Some."
"And what have you told him?"
"Only what you have permitted."
"Good." Luther nodded with satisfaction, taking a sip of his bourbon. "How we conduct ourselves is critical if we want to stay ahead."
Natalie had once argued with him about the ethics of spying on Noah, about the morality of using her position at the newspaper to gather intelligence for her father's purposes.
But those arguments had ended badly, and she'd learned to hold her tongue rather than face the consequences of Luther's displeasure.
The memory of her mother's fearful compliance haunted these monthly meetings, a reminder of what happened to women who challenged Luther Ashford too directly.
Her father had always demanded regular updates, monthly reports that kept him informed of local politics, law enforcement activities, and anything else that might affect his interests.
He liked to know who was asking questions, who was getting too close to information that could prove problematic, and how to neutralize potential threats before they became actual problems.
"For the first time in a while, I want to acknowledge something," Luther said, his tone shifting slightly. "Your work hasn't gone unnoticed. Your position at the newspaper, your relationship with the Sutherland family, it's been valuable."
The praise felt more like a trap than a compliment, and Natalie waited for the other shoe to drop.
"But I would like you to get a little closer to Noah," Luther continued, his pale eyes never leaving her face. "More integrated into his world."
"I already got close to him through Mia, as you asked."
"And?"
"Not much to say," Natalie replied carefully. "Mia is cautious."
Luther smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. "Calculation is in the Sutherland blood. It's come to my attention that Noah is asking questions that could bring down more than just my company, they could affect your future as well. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
The threat was subtle but unmistakable.
Luther's definition of "family loyalty" had always included the understanding that defiance came with consequences, and those consequences could extend far beyond the person who dared to challenge him.
"So I want you to integrate yourself into his world more completely," Luther said, draining his glass and setting it down with finality. "Whatever it takes."
Before Natalie could respond, Luther's phone rang with the distinctive tone he reserved for calls that took priority over everything else. He glanced at the caller ID, then at his daughter.
"I must take this," he said, already reaching for the phone. "You can go."
Natalie stood and walked toward the door, feeling dismissed like a servant rather than acknowledged as a daughter. The familiar sting of Luther's casual dismissal burned in her chest, but she'd learned long ago that showing hurt only invited more cruelty.
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. Something in her father's tone as he answered the phone made her pause, and despite every instinct telling her to leave, she found herself pressing her ear to the heavy wood of the door.
"Yes, I know," Luther's voice came through the door, muffled but audible. "It's being handled. The glove is safe with me."
Natalie's heart began to race. The latex glove from the Hale crime scene, the piece of evidence that had mysteriously disappeared from the Sheriff's Office, the missing link that could have solved the case years earlier. Her father had it. But why?
She heard movement from within the study, the sound of footsteps crossing the room and something heavy being moved. Curiosity overrode caution, and she carefully turned the door handle, opening it just enough to peer through the crack.
Luther stood before one of the Roman statues, a bronze figure of a centurion that had always seemed like mere decoration.
As she watched, he grasped the statue and rotated it, revealing that it served as a hidden mechanism.
A section of the wood-paneled wall swung outward, exposing a steel safe built into the wall behind.
"The investigation is closed," Luther continued his phone conversation while working the combination lock. "The official narrative is established. Our interests remain protected."
The safe door swung open, and Natalie caught a glimpse of its contents—stacks of money, documents, what appeared to be photographs, and sitting prominently on one of the shelves, a clear evidence bag containing a blue latex glove.
The same latex glove that should have been tested for DNA evidence ten years ago. The same glove that could have identified Jacob Hale's killer a long time ago if it hadn't disappeared from the evidence locker. The same glove that represented the difference between justice and cover-up.
Why keep it? she thought.
Luther carefully placed something else in the safe—Natalie couldn't see what—then began to close the heavy door.
"No, there won't be any further complications," he said into the phone. "I've ensured that all loose ends are tied up. The Sutherland investigation is finished."
The safe closed with a solid click, and Luther rotated the statue back into its original position. The hidden compartment disappeared seamlessly into the wall, leaving no trace of its existence except in Natalie's memory.
She carefully pulled the door shut and stepped back from the study, her mind reeling with the implications of what she'd witnessed.
Her father hadn't just known about the evidence tampering in the Hale case, he'd been the one orchestrating it.
The glove hadn't disappeared due to bureaucratic incompetence or even Anita Emerson's corruption.
It had been deliberately removed and hidden in Luther Ashford's private safe.
The questions that had plagued the investigation suddenly took on new significance. Who had been driving the black pickup truck seen near the Hale house? Why had evidence been systematically suppressed? How deep did the conspiracy go?
Natalie walked through the marble foyer toward the exit, her heels clicking against the stone in a rhythm that seemed to echo the racing of her heart. The grand estate that had been her childhood playground now felt like a prison, its luxury built on secrets and maintained through intimidation.
As she reached her car in the circular driveway, she looked back at the imposing facade of the Ashford Estate. Behind those elegant windows, her father continued his phone conversation, probably arranging the next cover-up, the next manipulation of truth to serve his interests.
Luther Ashford's shadow loomed large over High Peaks Lake like a storm cloud, and Natalie realized that the Hale murders had been just one aspect.
Whatever her father was protecting, whatever arrangement he'd referenced on the phone, it was bigger than one cold case and more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.
The investigation might be officially closed, but the real conspiracy was still very much alive. And now she was the only one who knew where the missing evidence was hidden.
The question was what she would do with that knowledge, and whether she had the courage to challenge the man who had controlled her life since birth. The weight of that decision settled on her shoulders as she drove away from the estate, Luther's words echoing in her mind: "Whatever it takes.”
THANK YOU FOR READING
If you enjoyed that, please take a second to leave a rating and review, both help, it’s really appreciated. Book nine will be out in the fall of 2025.
Thanks kindly, Jack.