Chapter 12 - The Man Who Wanted Ten Million Dollars
Victor Hale had spent twenty-two years surviving on a secret.
Now he wanted to become rich because of it.
That was the conclusion investigators began exploring after examining the new recordings and financial communications Vanessa had preserved.
The evidence suggested that Charles had paid Victor for services connected to the foundation project.
But Victor apparently believed those payments were no longer sufficient.
He had begun demanding more money.
Much more.
Ten million dollars.
Margaret explained the situation during our meeting on Monday morning.
“Charles's financial records show several transfers to companies associated with Victor over the years.”
“How much?”
“Investigators are still tracing the total. It's substantial.”
“And now Victor wants ten million?”
“That's the demand referenced in the messages.”
I shook my head.
“Charles is trying to steal my resort while being blackmailed by his own associate.”
Margaret nodded.
“That's one possible interpretation. But we need to distinguish between claims in messages and facts established by evidence.”
I looked toward the ocean.
“I want this finished.”
“I know.”
“No more threats. No more forged letters. No more wondering what happened beneath my own building.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Then we continue doing this carefully.”
She had become the voice of reason in a week filled with betrayal.
I trusted her judgment.
Later that afternoon, Detective Lawson called.
“Mr. Bennett, we've completed an initial review of materials recovered from the warehouse.”
I stood.
“Did you find the original engineering records?”
“We found records that appear to include an earlier version of the soil assessment.”
My pulse quickened.
“What does it say?”
“The preliminary engineering observations describe conditions requiring additional stabilization before work continued.”
I closed my eyes.
Eleanor had been right.
“What else?”
“Financial documents indicate that money was transferred from accounts associated with the construction settlement into entities connected to Charles.”
“How much?”
“Amounts are still being verified. We're also investigating whether transactions were improperly attributed to you.”
I gripped the phone.
“Can you clear my name?”
“Mr. Bennett, our job is to establish the facts. The evidence obtained so far raises significant questions about who authorized those transfers.”
I took a breath.
“Understood.”
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“We located correspondence between Charles and Victor from shortly after the collapse.”
I waited.
“One message refers to recovering a document before Richard or Eleanor sees it.”
I felt sick.
“Do you know what document?”
“Not yet.”
After the call, I walked through the resort's northern garden.
Samuel was standing near the old seawall.
He looked out at the water.
“Any news?” he asked.
I told him what Lawson had said.
He listened quietly.
Then he reached into his wallet.
He removed a small photograph.
It showed him as a boy standing beside Thomas Reed.
His father wore work boots and a faded baseball cap.
Samuel held a fishing rod.
“This was taken a week before the accident,” he said.
I studied it.
Thomas was smiling.
“He was proud of you.”
Samuel nodded.
“He used to tell me that building something was a responsibility. Not just a way to make money.”
I looked at him.
“He was right.”
Samuel placed the photograph back in his wallet.
“For years, I wanted somebody to pay for what happened. I thought if Charles went to prison, maybe I'd finally feel better.”
“And now?”
He stared at the ocean.
“I still want justice. But I also want people to know who my father was.”
I nodded.
“He wasn't just a name in an accident report.”
“No.”
“He was a father,” Samuel continued. “A husband. A man who brought extra sandwiches because he knew the younger workers couldn't always afford lunch.”
My throat tightened.
I remembered those sandwiches.
Thomas used to carry them in a red cooler.
Eleanor once asked why he brought so much food.
He smiled and said, “Nobody works safely when they're hungry.”
I looked toward the resort buildings.
“Samuel, I want to create something permanent in their memory.”
He turned.
“What do you mean?”
“A safety education fund. Training grants. Scholarships for young people entering construction trades.”
Samuel studied me.
“That won't erase what happened.”
“I know.”
“It can't replace the truth.”
“I know that too.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then maybe it could do some good.”
That evening, Marcus brought me the resort's latest financial report.
Despite the scandal, bookings were holding steady.
The wedding had gone beautifully.
Guests were leaving positive reviews.
Employees were working tirelessly to restore what Derek had attempted to take.
I looked at the numbers.
Then at the staff photographs hanging outside my office.
Something occurred to me.
For thirty-two years, I had described Seabrook Haven as Eleanor's and my resort.
Legally, it was mine.
Emotionally, it belonged to every person who had helped sustain it.
Charles wanted it because he believed ownership meant power.
But perhaps I had spent too long treating ownership as something one person had to hold forever.
I began considering a different future.
Not a sale.
Not a transfer to Vanessa.
Something that would protect the resort from becoming another weapon in a family dispute.
I called Margaret.
“I want to discuss a long-term trust structure.”
“What kind?”
“One that protects the resort's mission, preserves the property, and gives employees a meaningful voice in its future.”
She sounded interested.
“We can explore options.”
“And I want the scholarship fund to be part of it.”
“That could be possible.”
I looked toward Eleanor's photograph.
“I think she'd like that.”
There was a pause.
Then Margaret said, “Richard, before we finalize anything, there's a development you need to know about.”
“What?”
“Charles has contacted federal investigators through his attorney.”
My pulse quickened.
“Is he cooperating?”
“We don't know. But he apparently wants to provide information about Victor Hale.”
I frowned.
“Why would he do that?”
“Possibly because Victor is threatening him.”
I considered that.
“Can we trust Charles?”
“No. But investigators can assess what he provides.”
Then Margaret's voice tightened.
“Richard, Detective Lawson has also been informed that Victor made a new demand.”
“What demand?”
“He no longer wants only money.”
I stood.
“What does he want?”
May you like
Margaret hesitated.
“He wants Charles to deliver the original evidence—and he wants you personally present when they exchange it.”
