Page 92 of Fatal Fame
"And?"
"Not much to say," Natalie replied carefully. "Mia is cautious."
Luther smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. "Calculation is in the Sutherland blood. It's come to my attention that Noah is asking questions that could bring down more than just my company, they could affect your future as well. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
The threat was subtle but unmistakable.
Luther's definition of "family loyalty" had always included the understanding that defiance came with consequences, and those consequences could extend far beyond the person who dared to challenge him.
"So I want you to integrate yourself into his world more completely," Luther said, draining his glass and setting it down with finality. "Whatever it takes."
Before Natalie could respond, Luther's phone rang with the distinctive tone he reserved for calls that took priority over everything else. He glanced at the caller ID, then at his daughter.
"I must take this," he said, already reaching for the phone. "You can go."
Natalie stood and walked toward the door, feeling dismissed like a servant rather than acknowledged as a daughter. The familiar sting of Luther's casual dismissal burned in her chest, but she'd learned long ago that showing hurt only invited more cruelty.
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. Something in her father's tone as he answered the phone made her pause,and despite every instinct telling her to leave, she found herself pressing her ear to the heavy wood of the door.
"Yes, I know," Luther's voice came through the door, muffled but audible. "It's being handled. The glove is safe with me."
Natalie's heart began to race. The latex glove from the Hale crime scene, the piece of evidence that had mysteriously disappeared from the Sheriff's Office, the missing link that could have solved the case years earlier. Her father had it. But why?
She heard movement from within the study, the sound of footsteps crossing the room and something heavy being moved. Curiosity overrode caution, and she carefully turned the door handle, opening it just enough to peer through the crack.
Luther stood before one of the Roman statues, a bronze figure of a centurion that had always seemed like mere decoration. As she watched, he grasped the statue and rotated it, revealing that it served as a hidden mechanism. A section of the wood-paneled wall swung outward, exposing a steel safe built into the wall behind.
"The investigation is closed," Luther continued his phone conversation while working the combination lock. "The official narrative is established. Our interests remain protected."
The safe door swung open, and Natalie caught a glimpse of its contents—stacks of money, documents, what appeared to be photographs, and sitting prominently on one of the shelves, a clear evidence bag containing a blue latex glove.
The same latex glove that should have been tested for DNA evidence ten years ago. The same glove that could have identified Jacob Hale's killer a long time ago if it hadn't disappeared from the evidence locker. The same glove that represented the difference between justice and cover-up.
Why keep it?she thought.
Luther carefully placed something else in the safe—Natalie couldn't see what—then began to close the heavy door.
"No, there won't be any further complications," he said into the phone. "I've ensured that all loose ends are tied up. The Sutherland investigation is finished."
The safe closed with a solid click, and Luther rotated the statue back into its original position. The hidden compartment disappeared seamlessly into the wall, leaving no trace of its existence except in Natalie's memory.
She carefully pulled the door shut and stepped back from the study, her mind reeling with the implications of what she'd witnessed. Her father hadn't just known about the evidence tampering in the Hale case, he'd been the one orchestrating it. The glove hadn't disappeared due to bureaucratic incompetence or even Anita Emerson's corruption. It had been deliberately removed and hidden in Luther Ashford's private safe.
The questions that had plagued the investigation suddenly took on new significance. Who had been driving the black pickup truck seen near the Hale house? Why had evidence been systematically suppressed? How deep did the conspiracy go?
Natalie walked through the marble foyer toward the exit, her heels clicking against the stone in a rhythm that seemed to echo the racing of her heart. The grand estate that had been her childhood playground now felt like a prison, its luxury built on secrets and maintained through intimidation.
As she reached her car in the circular driveway, she looked back at the imposing facade of the Ashford Estate. Behind those elegant windows, her father continued his phone conversation, probably arranging the next cover-up, the next manipulation of truth to serve his interests.
Luther Ashford's shadow loomed large over High Peaks Lake like a storm cloud, and Natalie realized that the Hale murders had been just one aspect. Whatever her father was protecting, whatever arrangement he'd referenced on the phone, it wasbigger than one cold case and more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.
The investigation might be officially closed, but the real conspiracy was still very much alive. And now she was the only one who knew where the missing evidence was hidden.
The question was what she would do with that knowledge, and whether she had the courage to challenge the man who had controlled her life since birth. The weight of that decision settled on her shoulders as she drove away from the estate, Luther's words echoing in her mind: "Whatever it takes.”