Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Third Name
Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Third Name
The drive to Blackridge Penitentiary was silent.
Oliver sat in the backseat beside Marcus, the old leather journal resting on his lap.
Victor Sloan.
The photograph.
The words:
HE WASN’T FIRST.
Those three words refused to leave his mind.
Across from him, Sophia stared out the window while Nuella held her hand.
None of them spoke.
Whatever they were about to uncover…
…would change everything.
The prison gates groaned open.
Steel.
Concrete.
Layers of security.
A correctional officer led them through several checkpoints before stopping outside a small interview room.
“He agreed to see only Oliver Haywood.”
Marcus frowned.
“Only Oliver?”
The officer nodded.
“He insisted.”
Oliver looked at the others.
“I’ll go.”
Nuella squeezed his hand.
“Be careful.”
The interview room was cold.
A thick sheet of reinforced glass divided the room.
Oliver waited.
A door buzzed open.
Footsteps echoed.
Then…
A frail old man entered.
His gray hair was thinning.
His prison uniform hung loosely from his body.
Yet his eyes…
…were still terrifyingly sharp.
He sat.
Picked up the telephone.
Oliver did the same.
For several seconds…
Neither man spoke.
Finally…
“You’ve grown.”
Oliver’s expression remained unreadable.
“You knew me?”
The old man smiled faintly.
“I held you when you were a baby.”
Oliver’s heartbeat slowed.
“Who are you?”
“My name…”
He paused.
“…is Arthur Bennett.”
Oliver searched his memory.
Nothing.
Arthur studied him carefully.
“You don’t remember.”
“You were too young.”
Oliver leaned forward.
“Why did Victor send me to you?”
Arthur laughed quietly.
“Because Victor wants the truth to hurt.”
Oliver didn’t blink.
“What truth?”
Arthur looked toward the ceiling.
“Asking that question means Richard never told you.”
“Told me what?”
Arthur’s smile disappeared.
“You think Richard Haywood built his empire.”
“He didn’t.”
Oliver frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Arthur leaned closer to the glass.
“Before Richard…”
“…there was another man.”
Oliver’s pulse quickened.
“The first founder.”
Outside…
Marcus watched through the observation window.
He couldn’t hear the conversation.
But he noticed something.
Arthur Bennett wasn’t acting like a criminal.
He was acting…
…like an old family friend.
Marcus frowned.
“Who exactly are you?”
Inside…
Oliver struggled to remain calm.
“My grandfather founded Haywood Global.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Harold expanded it.”
“Richard exploited it.”
“But neither of them started it.”
Oliver’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Then who did?”
Arthur looked directly into his eyes.
“A man named…”
He hesitated.
“…James Calloway.”
Oliver had never heard the name.
Arthur continued.
“He was Harold Haywood’s business partner.”
“The true architect.”
“The visionary.”
“The company was supposed to belong to both families.”
Oliver whispered,
“What happened?”
Arthur’s face darkened.
“Greed.”
Memories flooded Arthur’s voice.
“James trusted Harold.”
“They built everything together.”
“They shook hands.”
“No lawyers.”
“No contracts.”
“Just friendship.”
Oliver already knew how this story would end.
Arthur nodded sadly.
“When the company became valuable…”
“…someone betrayed someone.”
Oliver’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Harold?”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately.
Instead…
He asked a question.
“Do you know why Richard feared old records?”
Oliver shook his head.
Arthur smiled bitterly.
“Because history leaves paper trails.”
Marcus’s phone vibrated.
A message from the FBI.
Background search complete.
He opened the file.
Arthur Bennett.
Former accountant.
Haywood Industries.
Thirty-four years of service.
Marcus froze.
Thirty-four years.
Arthur had been there from the beginning.
Inside the interview room…
Arthur reached into his prison-issued Bible.
The guard immediately moved.
“It’s alright,” Arthur said calmly.
“It’s approved.”
From between the pages…
He removed a yellowed photograph.
He held it against the glass.
Oliver stared.
Five men.
Standing before the very first Haywood warehouse.
Harold Haywood.
Arthur Bennett.
Several unfamiliar faces.
And one man…
Standing beside Harold.
Young.
Confident.
His arm draped over Harold’s shoulder.
The back of the photograph carried faded handwriting.
“To my brother Harold. Here’s to building our future together. James.”
Oliver’s breath caught.
Brother.
Not by blood.
By trust.
Arthur lowered the photograph.
“James Calloway trusted Harold with everything.”
Oliver’s voice was barely a whisper.
“And Richard?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Richard finished what betrayal started.”
Oliver’s stomach twisted.
The forged marriage.
Victor Sloan.
Margaret Ellis.
None of it had begun with Richard.
It stretched back another generation.
Another betrayal.
Another secret.
Arthur looked at Oliver one last time.
“Your grandfather wasn’t the monster your father became.”
Oliver frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Arthur answered slowly.
“Harold spent the last years of his life trying to make things right.”
Oliver remembered Harold’s will.
The condition.
The marriage.
The strange decisions everyone had questioned.
His grandfather had always seemed…
…different from Richard.
Arthur’s next words confirmed it.
“Your grandfather knew the truth.”
“He wanted you to uncover it.”
Oliver’s heart pounded.
“How?”
Arthur smiled.
“He left you the map.”
Outside, Marcus burst into the room.
“Oliver!”
Oliver turned.
Marcus held up his tablet, his face drained of color.
“You need to see this.”
On the screen was a newly decrypted file from Richard Haywood’s private archive.
Its title was only four words.
THE CALLOWAY AGREEMENT
And beneath the title…
A scanned signature.
Not Harold Haywood.
Not Richard Haywood.
But the name Oliver had heard for the first time only moments earlier.
James Calloway.