Chapter 8
Nobody moved.
Rachel stared at her mother.
I stared at both of them.
Outside, a car passed on the road.
Normal life.
Inside that bedroom, everything collapsed again.
Rachel spoke first.
"You knew?"
Linda shook her head frantically.
"Not before."
"Then when?"
"The week after Michael was arrested."
My hands curled into fists.
Linda looked at me.
"I swear."
"Tell me exactly."
She wiped her face.
"Daniel gave me twelve thousand dollars months earlier. He said he'd gotten a bonus and wanted to help Rachel."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"He asked me not to. He knew you'd refuse."
He wasn't wrong.
I would have.
"What happened after my arrest?"
"He came here."
"When?"
"Six days later."
Rachel sat on the edge of the bed.
"And?"
"He was drinking."
My heartbeat slowed.
The confession.
Not the one Rachel heard recently.
An earlier one.
"He said Michael shouldn't have forced him."
I frowned.
"Forced him to what?"
"I asked the same thing."
Linda looked down.
"He said, 'He had everything I should've had.'"
Rachel's face went pale.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
I did.
Or thought I did.
Daniel and I had worked together at Palmer.
Years earlier, we had both applied for an operations manager position.
I got it.
Daniel left the company four months later.
He always pretended it didn't bother him.
Maybe it did.
Linda continued.
"Then he said the money he'd given me wasn't his."
My mouth went dry.
"What did you ask?"
"I asked if it came from Palmer."
She nodded.
"He didn't answer."
"But you knew."
"I suspected."
"Did you go to police?"
Her silence answered.
I stood.
"You knew your son might have stolen the money I was convicted of stealing."
"I'm sorry."
"You knew."
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"My son going to prison!"
I laughed.
The sound scared even me.
"So you let me."
Linda flinched.
"I didn't know for certain."
"You knew enough to return the money."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that."
Rachel stepped between us.
"Michael."
"No."
I pointed at Linda.
"She visited me."
Linda cried.
"You came to that prison and looked me in the eye."
"I know."
"You watched Emma press her hand against glass."
"I know."
"And every time, you knew Daniel might be responsible."
"I was trying to protect my children!"
Rachel recoiled.
"Your children?"
Linda looked at her.
"I mean—"
"No."
Rachel stood.
"You protected Daniel."
"Rachel."
"You protected Daniel."
Linda began sobbing.
I walked out.
Not because I forgave her.
Because if I stayed, I would say something I couldn't take back.
Downstairs, I called Shaw.
Twenty minutes later he arrived with another detective.
Linda gave a statement.
Everything.
The money.
Daniel's drunken visit.
His comment about me having what he deserved.
The returned cash.
"What happened to the twelve thousand after you returned it?" Shaw asked.
"I don't know."
"Cash?"
"Yes."
"Where did you give it to him?"
"Here."
"Any witnesses?"
"No."
Shaw rubbed his jaw.
"Why didn't you report this?"
Linda broke down again.
I walked to the kitchen.
Emma appeared on the stairs rubbing her eyes.
"Daddy?"
I immediately changed my face.
Or tried.
"What are police doing here?"
"Talking to Grandma."
"Is she in trouble?"
I crouched.
"Adults are figuring some things out."
"Is Uncle Daniel bad?"
There it was.
No easy answer.
"He did some bad things."
"Is he going to jail?"
"Maybe."
"Like you?"
The question stabbed.
"Maybe."
She looked worried.
"But jail is scary."
"Sometimes."
"I don't want him to be scared."
I stared at my daughter.
Daniel had stolen years from her.
He had watched her cry.
He had photographed her.
And she didn't want him scared.
Children don't understand revenge.
Maybe they're wiser for it.
I hugged her.
"That's because you have a good heart."
"Do you want him scared?"
I couldn't lie.
"Part of me does."
She thought about that.
"That's not good."
"No."
I kissed her forehead.
"No, it isn't."
By noon, Shaw left.
He called an hour later.
Linda's statement had changed the investigation.
Daniel was now wanted for questioning in connection with theft, perjury, evidence tampering, and obstruction.
Not yet convicted.
But the walls were closing.
My phone—Rachel had bought me a cheap replacement that morning—rang at 2:07.
Unknown number.
Every instinct screamed.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Breathing.
Then Daniel's voice.
"Enjoying freedom?"
My blood turned cold.
I motioned to Rachel.
She saw my face and immediately grabbed her phone.
"Where are you?"
He laughed softly.
"That's your first question?"
"What do you want?"
"I wanted to hear your voice."
"Then listen."
I kept him talking while Rachel texted Shaw.
"You lost."
Silence.
Then another laugh.
"You still don't understand."
"Understand what?"
"You think this was about money?"
I walked toward the kitchen away from Emma.
"What was it about?"
"You."
There it was.
I leaned against the counter.
"Why?"
"You walked into Palmer like you owned the place."
"I worked there."
"You got promoted because everyone liked your little family-man act."
"You left before I got promoted."
"Exactly."
His voice sharpened.
"I built half the systems you took credit for."
"I never took credit for your work."
"You took everything."
"What did I take, Daniel?"
"Rachel."
My breath stopped.
The room disappeared.
"What?"
He said nothing.
"Daniel."
Rachel looked at me.
I turned away.
"What did you say?"
"She was supposed to leave you."
My stomach twisted.
"You're sick."
"She complained about you."
"Every married person complains."
"She cried to me."
"You're her brother."
Silence.
Too much silence.
Then he said, "Not by blood."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Daniel was Linda's son from her first marriage.
Rachel was born ten years later after Linda remarried.
They grew up as siblings.
But not biologically related.
Still siblings.
Still wrong.
Still sick.
"You thought Rachel would be with you?"
"She deserved better."
"And framing me was your plan?"
"You were already drowning in debt."
"You planted money in my garage."
"You were supposed to take a plea."
My anger exploded.
"What?"
"You were offered eighteen months."
I remembered.
Before trial.
Plead guilty.
Eighteen months.
I refused because I was innocent.
Daniel had expected me to surrender.
"You thought I'd confess?"
"I thought you'd protect Rachel from a trial."
"So when I didn't?"
"You made things harder."
"You testified."
"You gave me no choice."
I laughed.
A broken, furious laugh.
"You always have a choice."
"No."
His voice became cold.
"People like you always had choices. That's what you never understood."
Rachel gestured.
Keep him talking.
Police were tracing.
"Where are you?"
"Close."
I looked at the windows.
"How close?"
"Close enough."
My skin crawled.
"What do you want?"
"I want the laptop."
I froze.
"It's with police."
"I know."
"Then why call me?"
"Because there's a copy."
"What copy?"
Silence.
"Daniel?"
"Ask Rachel."
I turned.
She stared at me.
"Ask her about the blue drive."
Rachel's face lost all color.
"You have ten seconds," Daniel said.
Then the line went dead.
I looked at my wife.
"What blue drive?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Daniel says you do."
Then her eyes widened.
"Oh God."
"What?"
She ran upstairs.
I followed.
She entered the guest room, went to a box of old belongings, and pulled out a jewelry case.
Inside was a small blue USB drive.
I stared.
"What is that?"
"I thought it had family photos."
"Where did it come from?"
"Daniel gave it to me before your trial."
My pulse hammered.
"Why?"
"He said Mom wanted copies of old pictures."
"Did you open it?"
"Once."
"And?"
"It asked for a password."
She handed it to me.
A tiny blue piece of plastic.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
My phone rang.
Shaw.
"We couldn't trace Daniel's call. Too short."
"I have something."
"What?"
I looked at the drive.
"Maybe a copy of his files."
Shaw arrived in eleven minutes.
He took the drive using an evidence bag.
Before leaving he looked at us.
"Don't tell anyone about this."
"Daniel already knows."
"That's what worries me."
At 7:30 that evening, Shaw called.
His voice was different.
Excited.
"We opened it."
I put him on speaker.
"What is it?"
"Backup files."
"Of the laptop?"
"More than that."
Rachel grabbed my hand.
"What?"
"Audio recordings."
My skin prickled.
"Of who?"
"Daniel."
"Talking to who?"
Shaw hesitated.
"Several people."
"About the robbery?"
"Yes."
My heart slammed against my chest.
"Do you have a confession?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"We have him discussing payments."
"With who?"
"One recording is with someone from Palmer."
I froze.
"The company?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
Shaw took a breath.
"Your former boss."
I stared at Rachel.
"Mr. Palmer?"
"No."
My mind raced.
Palmer Construction had been founded by Raymond Palmer, but my direct boss was the CFO.
Jonathan Price.
J.P.
The initials on the spreadsheet.
"Jonathan."
"Yes."
"What does the recording say?"
May you like
Shaw's next words turned the case inside out.
"It sounds like Daniel wasn't working alone."
