Chapter 3 - BENEATH THE OLD CHAPEL
Claire played the recording four times before dawn.
Every time, her father's voice seemed more real.
He had been frightened.
He had been injured.
And he had known something that Armand Beaumont desperately wanted hidden.
But one sentence troubled Claire more than anything else.
What Armand buried beneath the old chapel.
The Beaumont estate had a private chapel near its northern boundary.
Built in the early twentieth century, it had once hosted weddings and memorial services for estate employees.
For the past fifteen years, however, it had remained locked.
Armand claimed the structure was unsafe.
Claire had walked past it hundreds of times without giving it much thought.
Now she wondered what lay beneath its stone foundation.
At eight the next morning, someone knocked on her door.
Claire looked through the window.
Eleanor stood on the porch.
She carried two cups of coffee and a thick folder.
Claire opened the door cautiously.
“How did you find my house?”
“Your address is in the employee directory.”
“That directory is confidential.”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“My family owns the company. Privacy isn't one of its strengths.”
Claire let her inside.
They sat at the kitchen table.
Claire told Eleanor about the cassette.
Then she played it.
By the time the recording ended, Eleanor had gone pale.
“That was Grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“And my grandmother knew your father was alive.”
“Yes.”
Eleanor stared at the recorder.
“Why didn't she call an ambulance?”
Claire shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Eleanor opened her folder.
“I found something.”
Inside were copies of Beaumont Transportation financial records from twenty-three years earlier.
They showed transfers between three companies.
Two were legitimate.
The third was unfamiliar.
Northbridge Holdings LLC.
Claire examined the figures.
“What's Northbridge?”
“A shell company. It received millions of dollars before the crash. But its registered address was an abandoned warehouse.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“Employee retirement accounts. Insurance reserves. Compensation funds.”
Claire felt anger rising.
“My father found this?”
“I think he did.”
Eleanor pointed to a handwritten note at the bottom of one page.
JM requested explanation — 11/16.
Claire stared at her father's initials.
“He confronted them the day before he died.”
“Yes.”
“But why would Armand bury something beneath a chapel?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“There's an old service tunnel.”
Claire looked up.
“What?”
“My grandfather used the chapel as a private archive decades ago. The basement connects to a storage room beneath the north wing.”
“Why would anyone build that?”
“The estate used to belong to a manufacturing family. During Prohibition, they supposedly moved shipments through the tunnel.”
Claire stood.
“We need to get inside.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Security is everywhere.”
“I worked there for six years. I know the schedules.”
“And Grandfather knows you're investigating him.”
Claire looked at the recorder.
“Then we have to move quickly.”
That afternoon, Eleanor contacted an old friend.
His name was Daniel Reyes.
He had worked as a forensic accountant for the state before leaving government service to investigate corporate fraud.
Daniel was forty-one, quiet, and careful with his words.
He listened to the recording without interrupting.
When it ended, he folded his hands.
“This is evidence of a potentially serious crime.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Can we take it to the police?”
“Yes. But first, we should preserve the original and make verified copies. Whoever sent you that message may be right about the original investigation.”
Eleanor asked, “Can you find out who handled the case?”
Daniel opened his laptop.
“Already started.”
He pulled up a digitized newspaper archive.
The accident had been investigated by Deputy Sheriff Thomas Harlan.
Harlan later became sheriff.
He retired six years earlier.
Claire recognized the name.
Her mother had written him seventeen letters.
He had never answered a single one.
Daniel studied the article.
“There's something else.”
He enlarged a photograph showing the wrecked car being pulled from a wooded embankment.
A police officer stood beside the vehicle.
Another man stood in the background wearing a dark overcoat.
Claire leaned closer.
“That man...”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes.
“That's my grandfather.”
Daniel nodded.
“According to the official report, Armand Beaumont didn't arrive until after the investigation was completed.”
Claire stared at the photograph.
“He was there before the car was removed.”
They agreed to visit the chapel that evening.
At 9:15 p.m., Claire entered the estate through a service gate she had used for years.
Eleanor waited beside the north garden.
Daniel remained near the gate, watching security cameras through a laptop connected to a lawful copy of estate system diagrams Eleanor had obtained. They avoided active camera paths rather than attempting to interfere with them.
The chapel stood beneath towering oak trees.
Its stone walls were covered in ivy.
Claire used an old maintenance key to open the side door.
Inside, dust coated the pews.
Moonlight passed through stained-glass windows.
Eleanor switched on a flashlight.
“The basement entrance is behind the altar.”
They moved carefully through the silence.
A wooden panel concealed a narrow staircase.
The air grew colder as they descended.
At the bottom stood a heavy metal door.
Its lock had recently been replaced.
Claire touched the clean screws.
“Someone's been here.”
Eleanor examined the door.
“My grandmother has a key cabinet in her sitting room. I saw a label marked chapel basement.”
Claire called Victoria.
No answer.
She tried again.
On the third call, Victoria answered.
“Claire?”
“I'm beneath the chapel.”
Silence.
Then Victoria whispered, “Get out.”
“What did Armand hide here?”
“Claire, listen to me. You cannot open that door.”
“Why?”
“Because he promised he'd kill anyone who found it.”
Claire felt her stomach tighten.
“What's behind it?”
Victoria began crying.
“Your father thought it was financial evidence.”
“Wasn't it?”
“No.”
Claire looked at Eleanor.
“Then what is it?”
Victoria's voice became barely audible.
“Twenty-three years ago, a woman disappeared from this estate. Your father found out what happened to her.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“Who was she?”
Victoria answered.
“Her name was Rebecca Hale.”
Eleanor suddenly grabbed Claire's arm.
“That was my mother's sister.”
Before Claire could respond, they heard footsteps above them.
A man's voice called from the chapel entrance.
“Claire Martin. I know you're down there.”
May you like
Armand Beaumont.
Then came the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
