He took a slow breath.
“Your father and I worked together on a judicial review several years before his death.”
“Was that review connected to Richard Harlan?”
Whitaker turned back toward her.
“You have found the evidence.”
Victoria placed the old photograph on the table.
“I've found some of it.”
Whitaker examined the image.
Then he closed his eyes.
“I was hoping you would never have to discover this.”
“That's what everyone seems to have hoped. Unfortunately, my father is dead, my mother is dead, and the people responsible have spent eleven years hiding behind that hope.”
Whitaker sat down.
“Your father came to me shortly before his death. He believed the financial corruption was connected to an earlier judicial investigation.”
“What investigation?”
“A case involving the disappearance of classified evidence from a federal oversight proceeding.”
“Who was involved?”
Whitaker hesitated.
“Richard Harlan was one of the officials under review. But he was not the most powerful person involved.”
Victoria leaned forward.
“Who was?”
Whitaker looked at her for a long moment.
Then he spoke a name she had never expected to hear.
“Chief Justice Malcolm Reeves.”
Victoria felt a chill.
“Reeves?”
“He was the person who controlled the judicial review. He had influence over the appointments, the investigators, and the final report. When your father discovered that evidence had been deliberately removed, he brought the matter to me.”
“Why didn't you help him?”
“I tried.”
Whitaker's voice grew quieter.
“I arranged a private meeting with the inspector general. But before your father could attend, the meeting was canceled. Someone had informed Harlan.”
“Who?”
Whitaker looked down at his hands.
“I don't know. I suspected someone inside the judiciary.”
Victoria studied him.
“And you said nothing after my father died?”
“I was warned.”
“By whom?”
“Reeves.”
Whitaker stood and walked toward a bookshelf. He removed a thin leather-bound volume and opened it.
Inside was a photograph of James Bennett standing beside him.
On the back was a date and a handwritten note.
The original decision must never be destroyed.
Whitaker handed it to Victoria.
“Your father left me something. I have kept it for eleven years.”
“What?”
“A sealed judicial memorandum. It identifies the person who ordered the removal of the original evidence from the oversight proceeding.”
Victoria stared at him.
“Why didn't you give it to the authorities?”
“Because I didn't trust the authorities.”
“Do you trust me?”
Whitaker looked directly at her.
“I trust that you want the truth. Whether that is enough to keep you alive is another question.”
He walked to a cabinet and entered a combination.
From inside, he removed a flat envelope.
Victoria recognized the handwriting on the front.
It was her father's.
For Arthur. If anything happens to me, give this to Eleanor.
Whitaker placed it on the table.
“Your mother came to see me after the funeral. She asked me to keep this document until she believed you were old enough and strong enough to understand what it contained.”
Victoria's voice became unsteady.
“My mother knew about this?”
“Yes.”
“What was she protecting me from?”
Whitaker opened the envelope.
Inside was a memorandum, a copy of a court order, and a photograph of three men standing together.
Victoria recognized Harlan.
She recognized Donovan.
The third man was Chief Justice Malcolm Reeves.
But it was the handwritten note beneath the photograph that made her stop.
The person who authorized the destruction of the original evidence was not Harlan. Harlan was acting on behalf of Reeves.
Victoria looked up.
“Is Reeves still alive?”
Whitaker nodded.
“He is living in a private residence outside Washington. He rarely appears in public.”
“Does he know you kept this?”
“I believe he suspects it.”
Victoria placed the document inside an evidence folder.
“Then we need to protect you.”
Whitaker gave a faint smile.
“After eleven years, I had begun to think nobody would ever ask these questions again.”
“I'm asking them now.”
He looked at her.
“Then you should know something else. Reeves has a son.”
Victoria waited.
“His name is Daniel Reeves. He worked in federal intelligence before becoming a private security consultant. He was the person who attended your father's funeral with the walking stick.”
Victoria froze.
“That's impossible. The man in the photograph was much older.”
Whitaker shook his head.
“Daniel has a medical condition that makes him appear older than he is. He used the walking stick after an accident years ago.”
Victoria remembered the figure at the funeral.
The quiet man.
The silver handle.
Her mother's sudden change of subject.
“Why would he attend my father's funeral?”
Whitaker looked at her.