Chapter 49
Any news on Grace?
Message from Rose to Ethan
Ethan
I raced back into the city. It annoyed me that I’d wasted so much precious time driving out to the Asterdam villa only to return empty-handed.
Fortunately, Claude had agreed to talk to the police, who had already been alerted by Mr. Jensen, to clear up the misunderstanding.
He wouldn’t do anything about my little tussle with him, either, probably out of fear that I might expose his illegal transfers.
But if I was honest, I couldn’t care less about those.
All that mattered was Grace. I wanted to hold her in my arms again, unharmed. The rest was unimportant.
I called Henry on the hands-free to let him know what had happened.
In the meantime, Mr. and Mrs. Claymore had arrived at the hotel, but I didn’t head back to The Darlington.
Instead, I drove out to a small villa in the heart of Mayfair.
It was the house where my dad had been living with my mum since Henry had thrown him out.
I didn’t want to see or talk to him, but unfortunately, he was my last hope.
He knew who had run Amy over, and that very likely meant he also knew who had abducted Grace.
We hadn’t asked him about the accident back then, because we’d known he wouldn’t give us any answers.
Worst-case scenario, he might have actively sabotaged our investigation.
But that was no longer my biggest concern.
And now that this had become personal, maybe he would be willing to play ball.
Despite our differences, I was still his son.
I parked outside the villa and took a deep breath. Laying into my dad the way I had into Claude would achieve the exact opposite of what I wanted, especially after our last confrontation. But I wouldn’t leave until he gave me a name, even if I had to get on my knees and beg.
Once I’d composed myself, I rang the doorbell.
I waited.
I rang it again.
A light came on, and a few seconds later, the intercom crackled into life.
“Do you have any idea how late it is?” came my dad’s tinny voice.
I looked straight up into the surveillance camera above the door. “Yes, but I really need to talk to you. It’s important. Please.” The last word cost me everything I had.
My dad didn’t respond, and for a moment, I was afraid he might just leave me standing at the door—but then the buzzer sounded.
I stepped into the villa. It was elegant but minimalist, with a lot of white, beige, and gold.
A chandelier adorned with crystal drops hung in the foyer, and vases with lavish bouquets were everywhere, much like at The Darlington.
It looked like my dad had hastily rented—or bought, it was hard to say—a furnished villa.
I’d barely had time to glance around before he came down the stairs in his dressing gown.
His expression was stern, his lips pursed in disapproval, but I could also see a flicker of curiosity.
It must have been months, if not years, since I’d been to see him of my own accord. His broken arm was still in a sling.
I swallowed my pride. “How’s your arm?”
“It’s getting there,” he replied curtly, running his good hand over his sleep-tousled dark-grey hair to tame it. “What’s so urgent it can’t wait until tomorrow?”
As if on cue, the large wall clock beside me chimed the hour. Two o’clock. Even though I’d had the entire drive to think about how to handle this, I suddenly wasn’t sure where to start.
“Shall we sit down?” I asked, with more patience than I actually felt. Every second felt precious, but I knew I wouldn’t get the information I needed by rushing or pressuring him. I forced myself to stay calm—at least on the outside. Inside, the storm of emotions had become a tsunami.
My dad nodded and led me into the living room, where we sat down on two sofas, positioned as far apart as they could possibly be. He didn’t speak, leaving me to break the silence.
“I’m sorry I broke your arm,” I started, and I meant it, even if not for the reasons my dad might assume. “I shouldn’t have got violent. It’s not me. I promise it won’t happen again.”
He studied me closely. I could only imagine what a wreck I must look after the last few hours.
“Apology accepted,” he said at last, but he didn’t apologise back.
He clearly wasn’t sorry he’d slapped me, which came as no big surprise.
He’d never been sorry. “Still, I can’t imagine you got me out of bed at two in the morning because you’ve suddenly been overcome by remorse. So, what is this really about?”
I wrung my fingers nervously and decided to be direct. “I know you deleted the CCTV footage from the night of the Pearl Gala—the footage that showed Amy Claymore’s accident—to cover up who was responsible.”
My dad didn’t so much as flinch. “It’s fascinating to hear what you think you know.”
“Please. This is important. I need to find out who was behind the accident.”
He got up and walked over to the drinks trolley beside the fireplace to pour himself a glass of water.
“I can’t tell you that,” he said, “because I didn’t delete that footage.
Do you really think I’d paint another target on my back when I already have those lying bitches and their lawyers on my case? ”
I wanted to tell him that those “bitches” weren’t lying.
There was a video that proved it beyond a doubt.
But this wasn’t the moment to get into his other crimes.
“Please, Dad. I won’t tell anyone you deleted the footage, but I need to know who caused the accident.
My girlfriend’s life could be at stake. Please. ”
He took a sip of his water. “Are you talking about Miss Claymore?”
Of course my mum had told him about Grace. “Yes. She’s missing. I don’t have time to explain how it’s all connected, but I know that whoever is behind her disappearance is the same person who’s responsible for her sister’s death. So I need to know who it was. Please.”
My dad set his glass down serenely and studied me with his steel-blue eyes.
“I’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into, Ethan.
This family has enough problems of its own.
We don’t need to add someone else’s to the list. Regardless, I can’t help you.
I didn’t delete those recordings, whether you believe me or not. ”
No, I really didn’t believe him. He was a habitual liar who dodged blame and responsibility whenever it suited him.
“I know it was you, Dad. There are only three people who have access to that data. Hank has an alibi, and we both know Henry would never do something like that. So you’re the only one left. ”
His expression remained stony. “You’re still wrong.”
I clenched my hands into fists, desperately clinging to my calm facade.
My dad was lying, but the talk was still going well.
We were calm. Reasonable. I might still get what I needed.
But if I started shouting now, it would all be over.
He’d shut me out. “Dad, please. I’ll do whatever you want.
I’ll show up at every court hearing and sing your praises to the press, if you’ll just tell me who asked you to delete that footage,” I promised.
“You probably don’t understand this any more than Mum does, but Grace is important to me.
I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.
Please.” My voice cracked with desperation on my last words.
He shook his head. “I can’t help you.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I can’t, because I didn’t delete the footage,” my dad insisted. His impassive expression finally began to show signs of impatience. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
I gritted my teeth. “You’re lying!”
“Your father isn’t lying,” my mum’s voice came from behind me. She had entered the living room without my noticing.
I looked up at her. She was also wearing a dressing gown, and her blond hair was tucked under a silk bonnet.
Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, as if to hold herself together.
Her face was etched with worry and shame.
I wondered how much of our conversation she’d heard. “It was me. I deleted the footage.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “How? You don’t have access to the server.”
“No, I don’t. But your dad does. He keeps a little black notebook in his study with all the important information in it, including his passwords,” my mum explained with a faint smile on her lips—but it was desperate rather than happy, like a shield she was clinging to in order to stop herself from breaking down in tears.
I stood up and walked over to her. She avoided my gaze. I found it hard to believe that she was behind all this, but the guilt reflected in her eyes told the truth. “Who did you delete it for?”
“Alistair.”
“Eddington?”
She nodded. But that didn’t make any sense.
He’d cancelled his attendance at the Pearl Gala so the allegations against my dad wouldn’t make him look bad.
Which was why Grace and I had never suspected him.
And why would he have been anywhere near The Darlington that evening if he wasn’t going to the gala?
My mum seemed to notice my confusion. “It wasn’t Alistair who hit Grace’s sister. It was Charles.”
My mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Charles had killed Amy? How was that possible? I knew he was a thoughtless bastard, but a hit-and-run? Manslaughter? I wouldn’t have thought even he was capable of it.
“He was drunk and wasn’t paying attention,” my mum explained.
I nodded, dazed, trying to process the information.
Charles must have left the gala after Jessie and I had slipped away.
I hadn’t realised he’d driven to the gala in the first place.
Especially considering he’d drunk just as much as I had that evening.
No one would have been fit to drive under those circumstances.
But it also explained why he’d behaved so strangely towards Grace on Saturday evening.
I’d assumed he’d simply deemed her beneath him, but in reality, he’d seen in her the reflection of the woman he’d killed. It was so fucked up!
“He was driving his dad’s Rolls-Royce, and when it happened, he was completely out of his depth.
He didn’t know what else to do, so he rang his father,” my mum went on, still not meeting my eyes.
“Alistair knew that headlines about his son drunkenly killing a young woman with his car would ruin his election campaign. So he asked me to make the footage disappear.”
I couldn’t believe it. This kind of behaviour would have been in character for my dad, but my mum? Even with her occasional bitterness and cynicism, I wouldn’t have thought her capable of it.
“I don’t get it. Why did you help him?”
She let out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul.
“The negative headlines about us, and about The Darlington, were piling up. Henry was getting bad press because of Kate, and things with your dad’s trial weren’t looking good.
When Alistair asked me to delete the footage, I saw it as an opportunity for our family.
People look up to Alistair. They admire him.
His poll ratings are excellent, and his words carry weight. ”
“You wanted Alistair to speak up for Dad,” I concluded, thinking back to the statement Charles’s father had made some time ago, in which he’d said my dad had a heart of gold.
I should have been sceptical even then. Anyone who knew my dad was well aware that he had a lump of stone in the place his heart should have been.
“Yes,” my mum confirmed, finally meeting my gaze.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Charles didn’t hit the girl on purpose.
It was an accident. Alistair took away his driving licence.
And I just wanted to help our family, to make the best of a situation that couldn’t be changed. You have to understand that.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t understand it. I never really understood my mum. Not about this, and not about my dad. Just because something couldn’t be undone didn’t mean that it should be forgiven and forgotten. Especially when other people had to deal with the consequences.
“You have to come to the police with me,” I said.
She bit her lower lip, hesitating.
“Mum, please.” She had to tell the police everything. There was no way around it.
I was already bracing myself for an argument, but then, to my relief, she nodded, seemingly ready to take responsibility for her actions. “Fine. I’ll just quickly change and get the USB stick.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What USB stick?”
“The one with the footage of the accident.”
“You kept it?”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Of course. How naive do you think I am? I’m not going to break the law for Alistair without keeping something up my sleeve.” With that, she turned and walked up the stairs to her bedroom.
I stared after her in disbelief. I couldn’t believe that she, Charles, and Alistair were behind all of this.
Grace and I had suspected the wrong people all along.
But how could we have guessed that it was Charles who had caused the accident and that his father had covered it up?
Alistair had done a thorough job of erasing any trace of Charles’s involvement.
My dad cleared his throat behind me. I ignored him. I didn’t care what he thought about the situation. Instead, I pulled out my phone and wrote Mr. Claymore a message, telling him and Mrs. Claymore to meet us at the police station so we could finally rescue Grace.