“I discovered it.”
“When?”
“Shortly before Thomas did.”
Margaret’s heart tightened.
“You never told him?”
“I tried.”
“No. Thomas trusted you.”
Charles looked away.
Margaret remembered Charles as a young man visiting their house.
Thomas had liked him.
He had once called Charles “a good kid with a future.”
That memory hurt more than anger.
“You were at the bank the night Thomas confronted the executives.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Charles hesitated.
“He threatened to contact federal investigators.”
“And?”
“They told him he was confused.”
Margaret laughed bitterly.
“They told me the same thing.”
“Thomas became angry.”
“Thomas rarely became angry.”
“He was that night.”
Charles stared at the table.
“He said he had copied everything.”
Margaret’s breathing slowed.
“What happened after he left?”
“Nothing.”
“Charles.”
“Nothing happened inside this bank.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Charles looked at her.
“I went home.”
“And the executives?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was here?”
Charles remained silent.
Margaret opened Thomas’s notebook and placed a finger on several names.
“Which one?”
Charles refused to look.
That was answer enough.
Richard suddenly interrupted.
“Mrs. Ellis, you said there was another archive.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Margaret reached into her handbag.
Instead of another key, she removed a photograph.
It showed Thomas standing beside a small lakeside cabin.
On the back was an address.
Richard read it.
“Lake Briar?”
“Our family owned property there.”
Charles suddenly stood.
Margaret noticed immediately.
“You recognize it.”
“No.”
“You do.”
Charles reached for his phone.
Margaret’s voice sharpened.
“Put it down.”
Everyone froze.
“Why?”
“Because the moment I mentioned Lake Briar, you decided you needed to call someone.”
Charles slowly lowered the phone.
Margaret turned toward Richard.
“The cabin burned down in 1992.”
Richard frowned.
“So the archive is gone?”
Margaret smiled.
“Thomas expected someone to search the house.”
She flipped the photograph over.
Near the bottom was a handwritten sentence Richard hadn’t noticed.
Never hide the truth where people expect treasure to be.
“What does that mean?” Harold asked.
Margaret looked at him.
“I spent years wondering.”
“And?”
“Six months ago, I figured it out.”
Charles looked suddenly uneasy.
Margaret continued.
“Thomas took me to Lake Briar once before we married. There was an abandoned railway station three miles from the cabin.”
Richard leaned forward.
“What was there?”
“Storage lockers.”
Charles stood again.
This time his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Margaret stared at him.
“You know about the station.”
Charles didn’t answer.
Richard immediately understood.
“Someone needs to retrieve whatever is there.”
“No,” Charles said quickly.
Everyone turned.
He realized his mistake too late.
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“Why not?”
Charles looked toward the glass walls.
His face had lost its color.
“Because if Thomas put what I think he put there…”
He stopped.
Richard stepped closer.
“What?”
Charles stared at Margaret.
Then, after thirty-seven years of silence, he finally admitted the truth.
“Project Orchid wasn’t only about stealing money.”
Margaret felt a chill run through her.
“What else was it?”
Charles swallowed.
“The money was financing something.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
“Who did?”
Charles looked at Thomas’s notebook.
“There was one man above the others.”
Margaret followed his gaze.
A name had been circled three times in red ink.
EDWARD VALE.
Richard frowned.
“Who is Edward Vale?”
Charles looked at him.
“You won’t find him in the bank’s official history.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
Charles slowly sat down.
“Because officially, Edward Vale died in 1987.”
Silence filled the room.
Margaret stared at him.
Thomas had begun investigating Project Orchid in 1988.
A full year after Edward Vale’s supposed death.
Richard noticed the same contradiction.
“Then why did Thomas record payments to him in 1988?”
Charles looked toward the windows.
“Because Edward Vale wasn’t dead.”
Margaret felt her pulse quicken.
Charles continued.
“And if Thomas’s second archive still exists, there are people who would do almost anything to make sure you never open it.”
Margaret closed Thomas’s notebook.
For thirty-seven years, she had believed she was searching for proof of financial fraud.
Now she understood that the stolen millions were only the beginning.
She picked up her handbag.
Richard looked at her.
“Where are you going?”
Margaret walked toward the door.
“To Lake Briar.”
“Mrs. Ellis, wait.”
She stopped.
Richard approached.
“You shouldn't go alone.”
Margaret looked back at Charles Harrison.
Charles’s frightened expression told her everything she needed to know.
“I’m not going alone.”
She pointed at Charles.
“He’s coming with us.”
Charles stared at her.
“Absolutely not.”
Margaret opened the conference-room door.
“Then I’ll call the police, the press, and federal investigators from the lobby and hand them everything Thomas left in Box 417.”
Charles remained motionless.
Margaret waited.
Ten seconds passed.
Finally, Charles slowly reached for his coat.
And somewhere beyond the bank’s glass walls, a black sedan that had been parked across the street since Margaret arrived quietly started its engine.
Forty minutes after Margaret Ellis opened Box 417, three people walked through the front doors of First National Crown Bank.
Margaret went first.
Richard Coleman followed with Thomas’s metal case secured inside a black document bag.
Charles Harrison came last.
He looked nothing like the confident bank president who had entered the lobby earlier that morning. His tie had been loosened, his face was pale, and he checked the street twice before stepping outside.