Chapter 6 - WHAT THE FBI WANTED
The next morning Daniel took me to a federal office instead of a courthouse.
That was my first real clue that the case around my family was larger than an attempted murder charge. Attempted murder would have sent me one direction. Daniel took me into a secure interview room with glass walls and a sealed evidence cart.
A woman in a navy suit introduced herself as Special Agent in Charge Rebecca Sloan.
She didn’t waste words.
“Ms. Whitmore, we have been investigating financial crimes involving Whitmore Horizons and several Whitmore-affiliated vendors for seven months.”
“Because of federal grants?”
“Yes. Grants and interstate transfers.”
“And Marcus?”
“Marcus Whitmore is a primary subject.”
“Eleanor?”
“Potentially.”
I looked at Daniel. “And me?”
Rebecca answered before he could. “We did not know where you fit.”
That stung even though it made sense.
She slid a spreadsheet toward me. Shell companies. Vendor codes. Grants routed from Whitmore Horizons into consulting firms with bland names and glossy invoices. I recognized one immediately.
Hawthorne Event Logistics.
“Marcus used them for every foundation gala,” I said.
Rebecca nodded. “Hawthorne Event Logistics does not meaningfully exist.”
My laugh was short and ugly. “That sounds like Marcus.”
Daniel placed another page in front of me.
The name Claire Whitmore appeared in a filing as an advisory member of a firm called Larkwell Media Strategies.
“I never formed this.”
“We know,” Rebecca said. “But your name was used as a listed director.”
My stomach dropped.
They hadn’t just been investigating my family. They had a reason, at least once, to wonder if I was tied to the scheme.
“I’m a photographer,” I said. “I shoot nonprofit campaigns and editorial work. If Marcus used my name on something, he did it without me.”
“We believe you,” Daniel said.
“Now?”
“Now.”
That mattered, though not enough.
Rebecca continued. “We suspect Marcus was moving grant money, hiding portions through vendors, and preparing to consolidate control of Arthur Whitmore’s voting shares before anyone could challenge him.”
I leaned back slowly.
“So the estate and the fraud connect.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rebecca tapped the trust-control language from the waiver copy Daniel had shown me. “If Marcus controlled the estate block of shares quickly, he would control board appointments, access to internal records, and how aggressively the company or foundation pursued missing money.”
My father’s death had not just created grief.
It had created opportunity.
I thought about Eleanor standing at the railing, saying no one must know. Not no one must know you pushed Claire.
No one must know what you’ve done.
Maybe she hadn’t only meant the shove.
Before I could ask more, Daniel’s phone buzzed. He read the message and looked up.
“We found the courtyard security backup.”
My pulse jumped.
“Video?”
“Not full video. A silent angle from the west gate.”
“Did it show the camera?”
“It showed something better.”
He turned the phone so I could see the still image.
Eleanor, bent near my fallen clutch.
Her hand lifting a small black rectangle.
May you like
A memory card.
📖 We finally had proof that Eleanor took my missing card, but recovering it meant walking back into the one house where everyone expected me to stay quiet. 👇
