Chapter 7
I replayed the call in my head.
Emily, it’s Noah.
The ambulance is here.
I had been panicking.
Music from the gala was loud.
I never questioned the voice.
It had sounded like Mrs. Lopez.
Or close enough.
“What about the ambulance?” I asked.
Reed nodded.
“That part was real. A neighbor called 911 after hearing Noah fall.”
“Then whoever called me knew he collapsed.”
“Yes.”
“Why pretend to be Mrs. Lopez?”
“To control what you did next.”
Charles looked at me.
“To get you away from the gala?”
Reed shook his head.
“Emily was already leaving.”
I stared at him.
“To make sure I went directly to the hospital.”
“Maybe.”
Nothing made sense.
Margaret had watched us for years.
Vanessa had tried to frighten us away.
Walter had exposed me.
Mrs. Lopez had secretly reported to Margaret.
And now Mrs. Lopez was dead.
Every person seemed to be working with someone and against someone at the same time.
Reed ordered protection for Noah.
I refused to leave him until evening.
He was recovering.
Slowly.
But his sarcastic sense of humor had returned.
“If I survive this family reunion,” he said, “I’m changing my last name.”
“To what?”
“Something normal.”
“Like?”
“Smith.”
I smiled.
“Half the country is Smith.”
“Exactly. Nobody has a secret billion-dollar trust or murderous grandmother.”
“Statistically, some Smith probably does.”
He groaned.
“Fine. Johnson.”
I laughed.
Then he became serious.
“You’re going tomorrow night.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“You’d go if it was Mom.”
He looked away.
“Yeah.”
“If Dad is alive—”
“I know.”
His eyes filled.
“What if he doesn’t want us?”
The question hurt more than any threat.
I sat beside him.
“He made that video.”
“Eleven years ago.”
“He tried to protect us.”
“Or stayed away.”
“Maybe both.”
Noah looked at me.
“Do you hate Mom?”
I knew what he meant.
For lying.
For hiding everything.
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
I looked toward the hospital window.
“I’m angry.”
“Same.”
“She was scared.”
“So are we.”
“Yes.”
“But we’re still facing it.”
I squeezed his hand.
“She probably thought running was facing it.”
That night, Reed allowed me to return home only with an officer.
The apartment looked different now.
Police had searched every room.
Mrs. Lopez’s door across the hallway was sealed with crime-scene tape.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I entered my apartment.
Mom’s old photographs were on the bookshelf.
I picked one up.
She stood between Noah and me at a county fair.
We were laughing.
There had been no Whitmores.
No inheritance.
No Walter.
No Margaret.
Just us.
I wanted that life back.
But maybe it had never been real.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Walter.
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
I replied.
PROVE MY FATHER IS ALIVE.
A minute passed.
Then a photograph arrived.
Thomas Carter sitting in a wooden chair.
Holding that day’s newspaper.
Alive.
Older.
Tired.
I stopped breathing.
Then another message.
BRING THE KEY.
I showed Detective Reed.
He immediately started analyzing the photo.
“Background could be the old auto shop.”
“So he’s there.”
“Or was there.”
“I’m going.”
“We already established that.”
“You’re not stopping me?”
He looked annoyed.
“I’m a detective, not your father.”
The word hit me strangely.
He noticed.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I looked at the picture again.
“My father is alive.”
Reed nodded.
“Maybe.”
“He’s alive in this.”
“Yes.”
“What would you do?”
He thought for a moment.
“I’d go.”
I looked at him.
“With six officers hiding nearby.”
I almost smiled.
At 11:40 p.m. the next night, I arrived at the abandoned Carter Auto building.
The sign was barely hanging.
Windows were boarded.
The street was empty.
Police were nearby.
Walter didn’t know.
At least we hoped he didn’t.
I carried the key in my pocket.
No weapon.
No purse.
Nothing else.
I entered through a side door.
“Hello?”
A light came on.
Walter Briggs stood near an old hydraulic lift.
He was almost seventy.
Tall.
Thin.
Gray beard.
Snake-and-dagger tattoo visible on his forearm.
He looked nothing like a monster.
That frightened me more.
“Emily.”
“Where’s my father?”
“Give me the key.”
“No.”
His mouth twitched.
“You have Elaine’s stubbornness.”
“You don’t get to say her name.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“Where is Thomas?”
A door opened behind him.
A man stepped out.
My father.
The face from the video.
Older now.
Scar across his forehead.
Blue eyes.
He stopped when he saw me.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I couldn’t move.
Twenty-seven years of absence stood twenty feet away.
“Emily.”
My knees nearly failed.
His voice.
Same voice from the tape.
“You’re alive.”
He started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
That made me angry.
“You’re sorry?”
He stopped.
I walked toward him.
“You were alive.”
“Yes.”
“For my entire life.”
“Yes.”
“You knew where we were.”
“Sometimes.”
“And you stayed away.”
Walter interrupted.
“He had reasons.”
I turned on him.
“Shut up.”
Thomas looked at Walter.
“She has every right.”
“Damn right I do.”
I looked back at my father.
“Mom died thinking what?”
His face crumpled.
“She knew I was alive before she died.”
“For how long?”
“Five years.”
I stepped backward.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her?”
“Twice.”
My throat closed.
“You saw my mother twice while she was dying?”
“She wouldn’t let me come near you.”
“Why?”
“Because Walter told us Margaret had found you again.”
I looked at Walter.
“You worked for Margaret.”
“I did.”
“Then Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
“Now who?”
“Myself.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“Emily, listen.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You don’t get to appear after twenty-seven years and tell me to listen.”
He stopped.
Good.
“I paid rent at sixteen.”
His eyes filled.
“I worked nights after Mom died.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
Walter looked away.
Thomas whispered, “I watched from a distance.”
Something inside me snapped.
I slapped him.
The sound echoed through the empty garage.
Thomas didn’t react.
“Emily—”
“You watched me struggle?”
“I sent money.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Through Mrs. Lopez.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was helping me.”
Walter cursed quietly.
Thomas looked confused.
“What?”
I stared at him.
“Mrs. Lopez worked for Margaret.”
His face changed.
“No.”
“She drugged Noah.”
“No.”
“She’s dead.”
Thomas staggered.
“What?”
Walter turned sharply.
“Who killed her?”
I stared at him.
“I thought you did.”
“No.”
For the first time, Walter looked genuinely shaken.
“Maria Lopez was my sister.”
Silence.
Everything stopped.
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“She worked for Margaret because I put her there.”
I felt sick.
“So you were watching us together.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
I laughed.
“You people have a strange way of protecting people.”
Walter accepted that.
Then Thomas pointed to my pocket.
“The key.”
“What is it?”
Walter looked at him.
Thomas nodded.
He walked to an old tool cabinet.
Behind it was a steel safe.
I inserted the key.
It fit.
Inside was a ledger.
A stack of documents.
Three hard drives.
And an old revolver.
Walter ignored the gun.
He picked up the ledger.
“This is what Richard died for.”
“What is it?”
“Payments.”
“To who?”
“Police officers. Judges. investigators. Doctors. Anyone Margaret needed.”
My skin crawled.
“For Thomas?”
“Not only Thomas.”
Walter opened the ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
One entry was circled.
DR. SAMUEL HART — ELAINE WHITMORE — $250,000.
I stared at it.
“My mother’s doctor?”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“The oncologist.”
My heart stopped.
“What did Margaret pay him for?”
Walter looked grim.
“We never knew.”
A sound came from outside.
Tires.
Walter looked toward the door.
“Police?”
“No.”
I lied badly.
He grabbed my arm.
“You brought them.”
Thomas stepped between us.
“Don’t touch her.”
Headlights flooded the windows.
Then gunshots shattered the glass.
We dropped.
“That’s not police!” Walter shouted.
More bullets tore through the garage.
I crawled behind an engine block.
Thomas covered me.
Walter pulled the revolver from the safe.
A vehicle crashed through the side gate.
Three masked men entered.
One shouted.
“Get the ledger!”
Walter fired.
One man fell.
Police sirens erupted.
The hidden officers moved in.
Chaos exploded.
Thomas pulled me toward the back room.
A masked man appeared.
He raised a gun.
Thomas shoved me down.
The gun fired.
Thomas jerked.
“Dad!”
He collapsed.
I screamed.
Police shot the attacker.
I crawled to Thomas.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Emily.”
“No, no, no.”
“Listen.”
“Ambulance!”
I pressed my hands against the wound.
Walter ran toward us.
Police tackled him before realizing he was not the shooter.
Thomas grabbed my wrist.
“Your mother.”
“What?”
“The doctor.”
“Stop talking.”
“Her cancer.”
His eyes filled with terror.
“It wasn’t cancer.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He coughed.
Blood touched his lips.
“The money Margaret paid Hart.”
May you like
He squeezed my hand.
“She poisoned Elaine too.”
