Chapter 3
I thought I had misheard her.
The room was full of movement.
Police radios.
Paramedics.
Footsteps.
Questions.
But Claire’s words cut through everything.
“Your brother is dead.”
She shook her head.
“That’s what your mother wanted you to believe.”
I stared at her.
“My brother died twelve years ago.”
Claire gave a bitter laugh.
“Did you see his body?”
My mouth opened.
Then closed.
I had not.
Daniel had disappeared after a hiking trip in Colorado.
His car had been found near a mountain trail.
His backpack was recovered beside a river.
After weeks of searching, authorities declared him presumed dead.
My mother had organized the memorial.
There had never been a body.
At the time, I was twenty-seven.
Heartbroken.
Angry.
I blamed Daniel for taking risks.
Then I blamed myself for not answering his last phone call.
Eventually I stopped asking questions because Mom begged me to let him rest.
Now Claire was watching my face.
She knew she had hit something deep.
One officer stepped between us.
“Ma’am, don’t say anything else until we’ve taken your statement.”
Claire ignored him.
“Ask her.”
“Ask who?”
“Your mother.”
I stepped closer.
“What does Daniel have to do with you?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I didn’t say he had anything to do with me.”
“You said my mother lied about him.”
“I said what I said.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the front door where the ambulance had just disappeared.
“Because Richard knew him.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“Who is Richard?”
She didn’t answer.
The officer took her arm.
“We need to talk downtown.”
Claire pulled away.
“I want a lawyer.”
“That’s your right.”
She turned back to me.
“David, if you let them take me, you’ll regret it.”
I almost laughed.
“You tried to poison my mother.”
“I did not poison her.”
“You put something in her drink.”
“She needed it.”
“What was it?”
Claire’s eyes shifted.
“Ask Richard.”
Then the officers led her away.
I followed the ambulance to the hospital.
My mother was taken straight into emergency care.
Maria sat beside me in the waiting room.
Her hands were shaking.
Mine were worse.
For twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally Maria whispered, “Do you believe her?”
“No.”
It came too fast.
Maria noticed.
She looked at me.
“You’re thinking about it.”
I stared at the floor.
“My brother disappeared.”
“You told me he died.”
“That’s what we all believed.”
“What happened?”
I told her.
The hiking trail.
The search.
The memorial.
My mother’s grief.
The unanswered questions.
Maria listened quietly.
Then she asked, “Did Claire know Daniel?”
“No.”
I stopped.
At least I didn’t think she did.
Claire and I had met six years after Daniel disappeared.
Or that was what she told me.
We met at a charity event.
She said she had moved to the city only months earlier.
She knew almost nothing about my family when we started dating.
Or again—
That was what she told me.
My phone rang.
It was my attorney, Mark Feldman.
I answered immediately.
“Tell me what happened.”
He exhaled.
“Someone attempted to file a quitclaim deed transferring your mother’s property to an LLC.”
“What LLC?”
“Stonebridge Development Holdings.”
“Who owns it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
“Was the deed accepted?”
“No. The county clerk flagged the notarization.”
“Why?”
“The notary stamp belonged to someone who died eight months ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“So it was forged.”
“It appears that way.”
“Whose name was signed?”
“Your mother’s.”
I looked toward the emergency room doors.
“She never signed anything.”
“I assumed that.”
“Mark, there’s a man named Richard involved.”
Silence.
“What did you say?”
I sat straighter.
“You know him.”
Another pause.
“I know several Richards.”
“No. You reacted.”
Maria looked at me.
I stood and walked toward the window.
“Mark.”
His voice dropped.
“David, where are you?”
“At St. Vincent.”
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“Go somewhere private.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I walked down the corridor.
“What’s going on?”
Mark spoke carefully.
“Three weeks ago, your mother called me.”
“I know. She changed her estate plan.”
“That wasn’t the only reason.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“She asked me to investigate Daniel.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
“She said someone contacted her claiming Daniel was alive.”
The hallway tilted.
“Who contacted her?”
“A man named Richard Cole.”
I leaned against the wall.
The name meant nothing.
“Who is he?”
“That’s the strange part. Richard Cole doesn’t seem to exist.”
“What?”
“The phone was prepaid. The email was encrypted. The address he gave was an empty warehouse.”
“What did he tell Mom?”
“That Daniel was alive and wanted his share of the family property.”
I shut my eyes.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She made me promise not to.”
“Why?”
“Because the caller knew details only your brother should know.”
My chest tightened.
“What details?”
“Your father’s watch.”
I froze.
“What about it?”
“He described the engraving.”
Almost nobody knew about that.
My father had given Daniel a silver watch before he died.
Inside the case was engraved:
TO MY SECOND SON, WHO ALWAYS RUNS TOWARD THE STORM.
I had teased Daniel about it for years.
After he disappeared, the watch disappeared too.
I whispered, “What else?”
“He knew about the money hidden beneath your grandmother’s piano after your father died.”
I stopped breathing.
That was impossible.
Only four people knew that story.
My mother.
Me.
Daniel.
And my father.
Mark continued.
“Your mother became convinced Daniel might really be alive.”
“Did she meet Richard?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My skin went cold.
At the house.
The man Mom had heard Claire talking to.
“Mark, Richard was at the house yesterday.”
“What?”
“And Claire knew him.”
Mark swore under his breath.
“David, listen carefully. Do not confront anyone else.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s more.”
Of course there was.
There was always more.
“What?”
“When your mother changed her will, she added a clause.”
“What clause?”
“If she dies under suspicious circumstances, no property can be distributed until an independent criminal investigation is completed.”
I almost smiled.
Even sick, Mom had been thinking ahead.
“Smart.”
“Yes. But that’s not all.”
I waited.
“She also gave me a sealed letter.”
“For who?”
“You.”
My heart pounded.
“What does it say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Open it.”
“I can’t.”
“Mark.”
“She instructed me to give it to you only if someone tried to harm her or force a property transfer.”
I looked toward the emergency room.
“That just happened.”
“I know.”
“When can I get it?”
“I’m bringing it to you now.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Mark arrived.
He looked exhausted.
He carried a brown envelope.
Before he gave it to me, he made me sign a receipt.
Then he said, “Whatever is in there, remember your mother may have been frightened when she wrote it.”
I ripped it open.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
David,
If you are reading this, then something has happened that I was afraid might happen.
First, I need you to know I am sorry.
I have carried a secret for twelve years.
Daniel did not die in Colorado.
My hands began shaking.
Maria had joined us.
She covered her mouth.
I kept reading.
I helped him disappear.
He came to me three days after everyone believed he had fallen into the river.
He was injured, frightened, and convinced someone was trying to kill him.
He begged me not to tell you.
He said telling you would put you in danger too.
I looked at Mark.
“You knew this?”
“No.”
I read faster.
Daniel had discovered that your father’s death may not have been an accident.
The words blurred.
My father had died in a car crash when Daniel and I were teenagers.
Police said he fell asleep behind the wheel.
Mom had never questioned it.
At least not in front of us.
The letter continued.
Your brother believed your father had uncovered financial crimes involving a property development company.
Daniel found documents years later.
He began investigating.
Then he disappeared.
I helped him leave the country.
For years, I received one message every Christmas telling me he was alive.
Then the messages stopped.
Until three weeks ago.
A man calling himself Richard said Daniel wanted to come home.
But I knew something was wrong.
Daniel would never ask me to transfer the house.
He knew why the property mattered.
I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
Mark shook his head.
“Keep reading.”
There was only one paragraph left.
David, if Richard is in our home, do not trust him.
If Claire knows him, trust her even less.
And if anyone tells you Daniel has returned, ask him one question:
What did you bury beneath the old oak tree the night before your father died?
Only you and Daniel know the answer.
I lowered the letter.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Mark frowned.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
Then something flashed through my mind.
A summer night.
Daniel and me.
Two teenage boys.
A shovel.
The old oak tree behind our house.
Rain beginning to fall.
Daniel crying.
I stared at the letter.
“No.”
Maria touched my arm.
“What?”
The memory came back piece by piece.
Daniel had woken me after midnight.
He was fourteen.
I was sixteen.
He carried a metal box.
He made me promise never to open it.
We buried it beneath the oak tree.
The next morning, Dad died.
I had forgotten.
Or forced myself to forget.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then I heard breathing.
“Who is this?”
A man said my name.
“David.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I knew that voice.
Older.
Rougher.
But I knew it.
“Daniel?”
Maria’s eyes widened.
The man whispered, “Do not go home.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Listen to me. Claire isn’t working alone.”
“Who is Richard?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
Then he said, “Richard is the man who killed Dad.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Mark stared at me.
“What did he say?”
Before I could answer, a nurse ran into the waiting room.
“Mr. Bennett?”
I turned.
Her expression made my stomach drop.
“Your mother’s condition has suddenly worsened.”
I ran toward her.
Behind me, my phone buzzed.
A text from the unknown number.
May you like
THEY KNOW SHE’S STILL ALIVE.
GET HER OUT OF THAT HOSPITAL.
