Chapter 5
For six years, I'd believed my mother died because a drunk driver crossed the center line.
That was what Dad told me.
That was what the newspaper said.
That was what the police report said.
Now Marcus Vale was telling me there was something else.
I turned toward Dad.
“What did he mean?”
Dad didn't answer.
Police officers filled our kitchen.
Richard was shouting into his phone.
Someone was tracing the livestream.
But all I could see was my father's face.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“What happened to Mom?”
“Emily, not now.”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
I stepped toward him.
“He just threatened a girl and used Mom to make me come there. So don't tell me not now.”
Dad closed his eyes.
That terrified me more than anything.
“Your mother was investigating Preston District before she died.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She wasn't working for Carter Development then.”
Mom had been an attorney.
I remembered that much.
“She did environmental law,” Dad continued.
“She represented several homeowners near Preston.”
Richard stared at him.
“You never told me this.”
“It wasn't your business.”
I grabbed Dad's sleeve.
“What did she find?”
Dad's voice became rough.
“Evidence that a chemical manufacturer operating there in the 1990s illegally dumped industrial waste.”
“So the contamination was real.”
“Yes.”
“Did your company know?”
“Not when we bought the land.”
“When did you find out?”
“Six months before your mother's accident.”
Every word felt like a stone landing in my stomach.
“And you kept planning the development?”
“For three weeks.”
I stared.
“Three weeks?”
“I was trying to verify the reports.”
“Mom knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did you fight about it?”
Dad looked away.
That was answer enough.
I suddenly remembered voices behind my parents' bedroom door.
Mom crying.
Dad saying, Give me time.
I'd been eleven.
I had forgotten.
Or forced myself to.
“What happened?”
“Your mother found a former plant manager willing to testify.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
I looked toward the phone showing the frozen image of Marcus.
“What was his name?”
Dad hesitated.
“Samuel Vale.”
Richard whispered, “Marcus's father.”
The room went silent.
The detective turned.
“Say that again.”
Dad looked at him.
“Samuel Vale was Marcus Vale's father.”
Suddenly everything fit differently.
Marcus wasn't just some hired security director.
His family was connected to Preston.
“What happened to Samuel?” I asked.
“We never found out.”
Dad's voice tightened.
“Two days after he disappeared, your mother died.”
My knees weakened.
“Was it really an accident?”
Dad didn't answer quickly enough.
I backed away.
“You lied to me.”
“Emily.”
“You told me it was a drunk driver.”
“The driver was intoxicated.”
“But?”
Dad swallowed.
“But your mother's car had mechanical damage that investigators couldn't explain.”
“What kind?”
“The brake line had been cut.”
My vision blurred.
“Dad.”
“We couldn't prove when it happened.”
“You knew someone might have killed her?”
“I suspected.”
“For six years?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed, but it sounded broken.
“By lying?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Dad stepped toward me.
“I had already lost your mother. I wasn't going to give whoever did it a reason to look at you.”
“They're looking at me now.”
“I know.”
His face crumpled for half a second.
“I know.”
Richard sat down slowly.
“Marcus thinks Jonathan killed his father.”
Dad looked at him.
“Probably.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Richard studied him.
“I believe you.”
Dad gave him a cold look.
“I don't need your belief.”
The detective interrupted.
“We found the livestream source.”
Everyone turned.
“It's bouncing through several devices, but the initial signal originated near Preston.”
“Then go,” Richard snapped.
“We already have tactical units moving in.”
Richard slammed his hand on the counter.
“He said one hour!”
“And walking into a hostage situation is exactly what he wants.”
Dad looked at me.
“You're staying here.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
His face hardened.
“That wasn't a request.”
“Then you're not going either.”
“I didn't say I was.”
“You're thinking it.”
He didn't deny it.
I walked closer.
“If Marcus thinks you killed his father, he doesn't actually want me.”
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“He wants you.”
“He asked you to bring me because he knows I'll force you to come.”
The detective nodded slowly.
“She may be right.”
Dad snapped, “Don't encourage her.”
“I'm not. I'm analyzing motive.”
I looked at Richard.
“Why Madison?”
His face tightened.
“To punish me.”
“For what?”
“I hired Marcus. Trusted him. But lately…”
He hesitated.
“Lately what?”
“I discovered money missing.”
Dad turned sharply.
“How much?”
“Almost three million dollars.”
Richard rubbed his face.
“I confronted him Monday.”
My first day of school had been Monday.
“When?”
“Six in the morning.”
I felt cold.
“So after you confronted him, he followed me.”
Richard looked horrified.
“I didn't know.”
Dad said, “He knew his time was running out.”
The detective's radio crackled.
Everyone froze.
A voice spoke quickly.
“Entry team approaching structure.”
We gathered around the officer's radio.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Seconds crawled.
Then shouting.
“Police!”
More voices.
A crash.
Richard grabbed the counter.
Then—
“Room clear.”
Another voice.
“No hostage.”
Richard's face collapsed.
“What?”
The detective grabbed his radio.
“Repeat.”
“No hostage. Building empty.”
My stomach dropped.
Then the television in Dad's study turned on by itself.
Every head turned.
The screen showed static.
Then Marcus.
Live.
He sat in a chair somewhere dark.
Madison wasn't visible.
“You're predictable, Jonathan.”
Dad moved toward the television.
Marcus smiled.
“You sent police to the place I wanted you to send them.”
Behind him a light switched on.
Madison appeared again.
This time I recognized the room.
I had been there hundreds of times.
Dad recognized it too.
His face turned white.
It was my mother's old law office.
The one Dad had kept untouched since her death.
Downtown.
Marcus lifted a folder.
“I found what Catherine Carter hid.”
Dad whispered, “No.”
Marcus opened it.
“Names. Payments. Land records.”
He looked directly into the camera.
“And one signature Jonathan Carter never wanted his daughter to see.”
He held a page toward the lens.
Even through the blurry stream, I recognized Dad's handwriting.
My father's signature was at the bottom.
Marcus smiled.
“Tell Emily why you paid Samuel Vale five hundred thousand dollars three days before her mother died.”
I looked at Dad.
He didn't deny the signature.
May you like
He simply whispered, “Because Samuel was supposed to disappear.”
My heart stopped.
