Chapter 2 - THE FROZEN INHERITANCE AND THE MIDNIGHT AUDITThe police sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the heavy midnight fog rolling off the coast of Maine and enveloping the Hawthorne estate. Inside the study, the atmosphere was even colder.
Nathaniel sat behind the massive mahogany desk, the very desk where his mother had spent her final hours drafting her new will. A single brass desk lamp cast harsh, amber shadows across his sharp features. He hadn't changed out of his blood-stained suit.
Across from him sat Detective Miller, a seasoned, weary investigator with sharp gray eyes and a reputation for smelling blood in the water.
"Your wife’s story doesn't hold up for five seconds, Mr. Hawthorne," Miller said, sliding a thick manila folder across the desk. "The medical examiner confirmed the blunt force trauma to the back of the skull is consistent with a deliberate, forceful shove, not an accidental slip. Furthermore, we found independent digital footprints."
Nathaniel didn't look up from his glass of amber scotch. "What kind of digital footprints?"
"Financial records," Miller replied, leaning forward. "Mrs. Vivian Hawthorne has accumulated over four million dollars in clandestine gambling debts over the past eighteen months. She was systematically liquidating her personal assets. Two days ago, she attempted to wire a massive sum using your mother’s corporate accounts, but Eleanor blocked it. Your mother scheduled an emergency meeting with her estate attorney for tomorrow morning to rewrite her will and disinherit Vivian entirely."
The silence in the study grew heavy. Nathaniel’s hand tightened around the crystal glass until his knuckles turned white.
"She didn't just want money," Nathaniel said, his voice dangerously calm. "She wanted control of the entire Hawthorne Trust."
"And she was running out of time," Miller added. "If Eleanor had changed that will, Vivian would have walked away with absolutely nothing—no alimony, no property, no escape from her creditors. Speaking of creditors, we ran a background check on your beloved wife before she married into your family. Vivian isn't who she says she is. Her real name is Vivian Vance. She spent five years under federal surveillance for insurance fraud and manipulation of elderly estates in Chicago."
Nathaniel slowly set his glass down. The sound of crystal hitting wood echoed sharply in the quiet room.
"Where is she now?" Nathaniel asked.
"Locked in the master suite under guard," Miller said. "We’re waiting for the search warrant to rip the safe open. But Mr. Hawthorne... I think you should know something else. We found a security camera hard drive hidden behind the grandfather clock in the main hallway. The lens has a direct angle of the staircase."
Nathaniel’s head snapped up. "It captured the entire incident?"
"Every single second of it," Miller nodded grimly. "Audio and video. I suggest you prepare yourself, because what your wife did wasn't just a crime of passion. It was calculated cold-blooded murder."
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Before Nathaniel could respond, a frantic knock echoed at the study door. The door flew open, revealing one of the estate guards, pale and breathless.
"Sir! Detective! You need to come upstairs right now!" the guard stammered. "Mrs. Hawthorne... she’s gone. She picked the master bedroom lock and vanished into the secret corridor!"
