Chapter 6: Diane Makes Her Move
The solicitor's name was Frances Okafor.
Emily found her through a recommendation from a colleague — someone entirely outside the world of Harwell money and Harwell connections.
Frances had a small office above a bookshop in the next town over, and she listened to everything without interrupting, which Emily had learned was rarer than it should be.
"The letters alone are significant," Frances said, when Emily had finished.
"Deliberate written communication designed to damage your reputation and sever your family relationship.
If the content is what you've described, that's actionable."
"There's also the investigator," Emily said.
"That's harder to prove directly, but if there's a paper trail — payment records, correspondence — it strengthens the picture considerably." Frances made a note.
"And the witness?"
"My son is trying to locate her.
Her name was Margaret Tilsley.
She lived in the village near the lake house.
She'd be in her late sixties now."
"If she's willing to make a statement, that changes the weight of everything." Frances set her pen down.
"Mrs.
Carter — I want to be straightforward with you.
A case like this, against a family with the Harwells' resources, will not be quick.
They will hire people whose only job is to slow this down."
"I know," Emily said.
"And they will look for anything they can use against you."
"I know that too."
Frances looked at her steadily.
"Are you prepared for that?"
Emily thought about the letter on the hotel room table.
Her father's handwriting.
The words he had written and never sent.
"I've been prepared for thirty years," she said.
"I just didn't have anything to prepare with."
---
She was back at the hotel by early afternoon.
Daniel looked up from his laptop the moment she walked in.
His expression told her something had happened.
"I found Margaret Tilsley," he said.
"She's alive.
She's seventy-one.
She lives in a care home about forty miles from here."
Emily sat down.
"Did you contact her?"
"Not yet.
But I found something else." He turned the laptop to face her.
It was a news article from three years ago.
A local business journal.
The headline read: *Harwell Property Group Expands Regional Portfolio — Richard Harwell Comments on Growth Strategy.*
"Read the third paragraph," Daniel said.
Emily leaned forward.
The third paragraph quoted Richard Harwell discussing the company's founding philosophy.
He spoke about integrity.
About the importance of protecting the people who trusted you.
About how his late father had built the business on the principle that reputation was everything.
Emily sat back.
"He gives speeches," Daniel said.
"Charity dinners, business forums.
He's been the face of the company for eight years.
He's well-liked.
He's on two hospital boards."
"Of course he is."
"Mum." Daniel's voice shifted.
"There's something else.
I found a forum — one of those local history groups online.
Someone posted about the lake house three years ago.
Asking if anyone remembered a party there in the summer of 1993."
Emily went very still.
"There were four responses," Daniel said.
"Three were just people saying they remembered the house.
But the fourth one—" He pointed at the screen.
"The fourth one said: *I remember that summer.
I've always wondered if anyone else knew what happened near the boathouse.*"
The username was M.
Tilsley.
Emily stared at the screen.
"She's been waiting," Daniel said quietly.
"She's been waiting for someone to ask."
Emily's phone rang before she could respond.
She didn't recognize the number.
She answered anyway.
The voice on the other end was smooth and unhurried, and it took her a moment to place it — because she hadn't heard it in thirty years.
"Emily," said Richard Harwell.
May you like
"I think it's time we spoke directly.
Don't you?"
