Chapter 5
I stared at Daniel.
“No.”
He didn’t argue.
That somehow made me angrier.
“No.”
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“You caused Dad’s crash. You ran. You disappeared. And now you’re blaming Mom for another death?”
Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’m not asking you to believe me.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you to look.”
“At what?”
He nodded toward the box.
“Everything I brought.”
I laughed.
“You show up dying of cancer with a box of old papers and expect me to turn against the woman who raised me?”
“No.”
“Then what do you expect?”
“I expect you to hate me.”
“At least we agree.”
“I expect you to hate your father too.”
I said nothing.
“And after that,” he continued, “maybe you’ll stop deciding who was good and who was evil long enough to understand what actually happened.”
I wanted to hit him again.
Instead, I grabbed the box.
“What’s in here?”
“Letters. Bank records. Copies of police documents. Linda’s medical report.”
“You mean your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Why call her Linda?”
“Because that’s how Dad always referred to her when he talked around Evelyn.”
I pulled out a thick folder.
Daniel watched me.
“My mother and Dad started seeing each other again about a year before they died.”
My jaw tightened.
“So Dad cheated on Mom twice with the same woman.”
“Yes.”
“You expect sympathy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He planned to leave Evelyn.”
“You already said that.”
“He also planned to tell you why.”
I stopped searching.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel looked exhausted.
“Your parents’ marriage wasn’t what you thought.”
“I figured that out today.”
“It was worse.”
I waited.
“Your mother controlled the family finances.”
“That’s ridiculous. Dad built the company.”
“He built it. She controlled it.”
“How?”
“Your grandfather.”
I frowned.
“My mother’s father?”
“Yes.”
“He was a school principal.”
Daniel shook his head.
“That’s what you were told?”
I suddenly felt cold.
“My grandfather died before I was born.”
“He did. But he wasn’t a principal.”
“What was he?”
“A bookkeeper.”
“So?”
“For several construction companies. Including one your father bought.”
I stared at him.
Daniel reached into the box.
He pulled out a ledger copy.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
I didn’t understand most of it.
“What am I looking at?”
“Money your grandfather hid for people.”
“What people?”
“Contractors. Local officials. Anyone who didn’t want money found.”
I looked at Daniel.
“This sounds like a bad movie.”
“Dad said the same thing when he discovered it.”
“When?”
“Thirteen years ago.”
One year before his death.
“Dad discovered your grandfather had accounts under fake company names. Evelyn knew about them.”
“You’re saying Mom was involved in money laundering?”
“I’m saying Dad believed she was.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
The fact that Daniel admitted uncertainty made me pause.
“He wanted a divorce because of that?”
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
“Linda.”
I shook my head.
“Of course.”
“Dad planned to turn over the financial records to investigators.”
My gaze dropped to the ledger.
“And Mom knew?”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“He confronted her.”
I thought about the woman in the hospital bed.
Fragile.
Terrified.
Manipulative.
Loving.
Possibly criminal.
My brain couldn’t combine those versions of her.
“What does any of this have to do with your mother’s death?”
“Linda had copies.”
“Of the financial records?”
“Yes.”
“And you think Mom knew.”
“She definitely knew.”
“How can you prove that?”
Daniel pulled out another sheet.
A printed phone record.
“Your mother called Linda nine times the week before she died.”
I stared at the numbers.
“Maybe they were arguing over Dad.”
“They were.”
“Then that proves nothing.”
“No.”
“Did police investigate the overdose?”
“Barely.”
“Why?”
“Because pills were found beside her.”
“What pills?”
“Diazepam and oxycodone.”
“Were they prescribed?”
“The diazepam was.”
“And the oxycodone?”
“No.”
I folded the paper.
“So your theory is Mom gave her pills?”
“My theory is that Evelyn met her that night.”
“Proof?”
“A neighbor saw her car.”
“That’s it?”
“And Linda called me at 8:17 p.m.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“She sounded afraid.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘If anything happens, don’t trust Evelyn.’”
My chest tightened.
“You recorded it?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I know how it sounds.”
“You have spent twelve years building a story where everything is someone else’s fault.”
Daniel looked up sharply.
“No.”
“Dad’s crash?”
“My fault.”
“Running?”
“My fault.”
“Leaving him?”
“My fault.”
“Drugs?”
“My fault.”
He leaned toward me.
“I have never asked anyone to excuse what I did.”
His voice cracked.
“But my mother’s death was not my fault.”
Silence.
Upstairs, I heard a floorboard creak.
Sophie was listening.
I lowered my voice.
“Why did you disappear after the crash?”
“Evelyn told me to.”
I laughed.
“You expect me to believe she controlled you too?”
“No. She offered me a choice.”
“What choice?”
“Run or go to prison.”
“That’s usually how consequences work.”
“She told me if I stayed, she would make sure Sophie was taken away from me forever.”
I frowned.
“Sophie was five?”
“Yes.”
“Where was she?”
“With a friend.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I was using. I was unstable. Evelyn knew exactly what to say.”
“So she bought you a ticket.”
“And gave me twenty thousand dollars.”
“Where did you go?”
“Florida first. Then Arizona. Then nowhere for long.”
“And Sophie?”
“I left her with a family friend.”
I stared at him.
“You abandoned your daughter too.”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
I looked away.
There was so much damage in this man’s life that standing near him felt dangerous.
“You said you want to confess.”
“I do.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“I wanted to see Sophie first.”
“You saw her.”
“I wanted to tell you first too.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad was going to.”
That silenced me.
Daniel looked toward the box.
“There’s one more thing.”
I almost laughed.
“There’s always one more thing.”
He pulled out a small digital recorder.
Old.
Scratched.
My stomach tightened.
“What is that?”
“Dad’s.”
I stared.
“He kept it in the car for business notes.”
I remembered.
Dad hated smartphones.
He used little recorders to dictate reminders.
“Police never found it,” Daniel said.
“Because you took it.”
“Yes.”
I grabbed it.
“You stole evidence?”
“I panicked.”
“You’ve used that word a lot.”
“Because I spent half my life panicking.”
I turned the recorder over in my hand.
“Does it still work?”
“I transferred the files years ago.”
“What’s on it?”
“The argument.”
My eyes lifted.
“The crash?”
“Part of it.”
My heart pounded.
Daniel pulled a laptop from the box.
He opened a folder.
One audio file.
October 17.
11:41 p.m.
The night Dad died.
Daniel looked at me.
“You should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Play it.”
He clicked.
Static.
The hum of a car.
Rain.
Then Dad’s voice.
Older.
Tired.
“I’m done lying to him.”
Daniel’s younger voice came next.
“You should’ve been done forty years ago.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t know.”
“I’m trying to fix it.”
“You can’t fix this.”
“Daniel—”
“Michael got your name. Your house. Christmas mornings. Baseball games. Everything.”
My throat tightened.
Dad answered.
“And you deserved those things too.”
“But I didn’t get them.”
“I know.”
“You chose him.”
“No. I failed you.”
A long silence.
Then Daniel’s voice.
“What about Evelyn?”
Dad exhaled.
“She knows I’m leaving.”
“She’ll destroy you.”
“She already tried.”
My skin prickled.
Daniel paused the recording.
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Keep listening.”
He pressed play.
Dad’s voice returned.
“If anything happens to me, the files go to Michael.”
Daniel said, “You put him in danger?”
“He needs to know.”
“What about Linda?”
Another silence.
Then Dad said something that made my entire body go cold.
“Linda is dead because I waited too long.”
Daniel’s voice changed.
“You think Evelyn did it.”
“I don’t think anymore.”
“What proof do you have?”
“The bottle.”
“What bottle?”
“I found it in Evelyn’s desk.”
A horn suddenly sounded in the recording.
Daniel shouted, “Turn around!”
Dad said, “What?”
“You can’t bring Michael into this.”
“I’m telling him tonight.”
“No!”
Tires hissed against wet pavement.
Dad shouted.
“Get your hand off the wheel!”
Then a violent scraping sound.
A crash.
The recording became static.
Someone groaned.
I couldn’t breathe.
Then Dad’s voice.
Weak.
“Daniel…”
Daniel began crying in the recording.
“Oh God. Oh God.”
“Call…”
More coughing.
“Call 911.”
Then younger Daniel said the words that would probably follow me forever.
“I can’t go to prison.”
Dad whispered, “Please.”
Footsteps.
A door slammed.
Then nothing but rain.
Daniel stopped the file.
I stood frozen.
He was crying now.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
Like someone who had replayed his worst moment so many times there was nothing left inside him.
“You heard him ask for help,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you ran.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to hate him completely.
I did hate him.
But the recording had also given me something I didn’t want.
Dad’s voice.
Dad believed Mom had something to do with Linda’s death.
That didn’t make it true.
But Dad believed it enough to sound afraid.
I looked at the recorder.
“Where’s the bottle?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Dad said he found it.”
“I never saw it.”
“Did Mom know he had the recorder?”
“I don’t think so.”
I looked toward the main house.
Rachel’s car had arrived.
Her headlights reflected through the guesthouse window.
Then my phone rang.
The hospital.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A nurse spoke quickly.
“Mr. Hale, your mother is asking for you.”
“What happened?”
“She’s physically stable, but she’s very distressed.”
“I’ll come back.”
The nurse hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“A man came to the floor about ten minutes ago asking for Evelyn Hale.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What man?”
“We don’t know. Security stopped him because visiting hours were restricted.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did he look like?”
“Middle-aged. Dark coat. He left before security could get identification.”
I frowned.
“Did my mother see him?”
“No.”
“Then why is she distressed?”
“She received a phone call immediately afterward.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did the caller say?”
“We don’t know. But after the call, your mother kept repeating the same sentence.”
“What sentence?”
The nurse lowered her voice.
“She said, ‘He knows Daniel came back.’”
I looked at my brother.
Daniel’s face drained of color.
“What?” he whispered.
I covered the phone.
“Someone went to the hospital looking for Mom.”
Daniel stood.
“Who?”
“She said he knows you came back.”
Daniel stared at me.
Then toward Sophie’s room.
He moved faster than I thought a sick man could.
He grabbed the duffel bag.
“What are you doing?”
“We have to leave.”
“Who is ‘he’?”
Daniel zipped the bag.
“The man your father was actually afraid of.”
I stepped in front of him.
“Name.”
Daniel stopped.
For the first time since I met him, he looked truly terrified.
“Richard Vale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Daniel saw that.
“Your mother’s cousin.”
“I don’t know any Richard Vale.”
“That’s because your mother spent your entire life making sure you didn’t.”
My phone was still against my ear.
The nurse called my name.
“Mr. Hale?”
I lifted it again.
“I’m here.”
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your mother wants you to check your house.”
“Why?”
“She says there’s a safe behind the bookshelves in your father’s old study.”
I looked toward the main house.
“She says if Richard knows Daniel is back, he will come for whatever is inside it.”
A loud crash came from outside.
The guesthouse lights went dark.
Sophie screamed upstairs.
Daniel grabbed my arm.
May you like
“Get down!”
A second later, the window exploded inward.
