Chapter 4: The Man I Buried Twenty-Two Years Ago
“Your father knows him.””
Brittany's words hung in the living room long after she stopped speaking.
Daniel stared at her.
“Who are you talking about?””
She pressed her back against the staircase railing, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Your father knows the man I'm talking about.””
I slowly lowered the bank statement.
“Brittany, stop speaking in riddles. Who is this man?””
She looked directly at me.
“Richard Cole.””
The name struck me like a fist to the chest.
For a moment, the room disappeared. I could hear nothing except the ticking of the clock on the bookshelf, the same clock that had recorded my daughter-in-law tearing her blouse and turning my own son against me.
Richard Cole.
Twenty-two years earlier, I had stood beside an open grave in a cemetery outside Atlanta while rain soaked my suit. Richard had been my business partner, my closest friend, and the man who had helped me build the construction company that eventually paid for this house.
He died in a car accident on a rural road outside Macon.
At least, that was what the authorities told us.
I remembered his funeral clearly. His wife, Margaret, had clung to the coffin. His eight-year-old daughter had stood beside her, holding a little stuffed rabbit.
That little girl had been Brittany.
I gripped the arm of my chair.
“Where did you hear that name?””
Brittany swallowed.
“From my mother.””
“Your mother told you I knew Richard?””
“She told me you and Dad built everything together. She also told me that when Dad died, you promised to look after us.””
Daniel turned toward his wife.
“You never told me your father was Frank's business partner.””
“Because it wasn't relevant.””
“Not relevant?”” Daniel's voice cracked.
“You've been living in his house for eight months! You asked him to sign away the property, and now we're hearing about stolen money and a man who died twenty-two years ago!””
“Daniel, please.””
“No. Answer me.””
Brittany glanced at me.
“My father didn't die the way everyone said he did.””
The room went still.
I rose despite the pain in my ribs.
“What are you saying?””
She rubbed her palms against her jeans.
“Two days before his accident, Dad called my mother and told her he was going away for a while. He said he had discovered something about the company. Something that could destroy several people.””
“Why didn't your mother tell the police?”” I asked.
“She did. They said it was an accident. Then she received an envelope containing money and a note telling her to stop asking questions.””
My stomach tightened.
“Who sent it?””
“I don't know.””
“Did she keep the note?””
Brittany nodded.
“She kept everything. Letters, bank records, old photographs. She hid them in a storage unit before she died.””
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“And somehow that gives you the right to steal Dad's retirement money?””
“No!”” Brittany cried.
“I wasn't trying to steal his money. I was trying to find out what happened to my father.””
I stared at her.
“Then why did you ask me to transfer the house?””
She looked away.
“Because the documents I need are connected to this property.””
“What documents?””
“The original company records. Dad told my mother that he had left something with you.””
I thought of the envelope that had disappeared from my bedroom.
Old financial records.
The missing gold watch.
The silver frame.
My brother's suspicious visits.
I felt suddenly sick.
“Someone has been searching my house,” I whispered.
Daniel turned toward the bookshelf.
“Dad, what do you mean?””
“Three months ago, I noticed that some of your mother's things had gone missing. I thought I had misplaced them.””
Brittany's eyes widened.
“I didn't take your wife's things.””
“I didn't say you did.””
“But you think I did!””
“I'm beginning to think someone has been using all of us.””
Daniel looked between us.
“Then we call the police and tell them everything.””
Brittany shook her head violently.
“You can't!””
“Why not?””
“Because if they investigate the money, they'll discover the transfers from the company account. And if they find those, they'll know who signed them.””
I stared at her.
“Who signed them?””
She didn't answer.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Brittany.””
She closed her eyes.
“Your uncle.””
My knees nearly buckled.
Michael had handled some of the company's finances after Richard died. I had trusted him because I was grieving, exhausted, and desperate to keep the business alive.
But the company had been sold years ago.
Why would Michael still be moving money?
I reached for the bank statement again.
“Those withdrawals were from my personal retirement account. How could Michael access it?””
Brittany's silence answered me before her mouth did.
Daniel's face changed.
“You helped him.””
“I was trying to get the documents!””
“You gave him access to my father's accounts?””
“He said it was the only way!””
Daniel recoiled as if she had struck him.
I looked at the security camera app on my phone. The recording was still running.
“Brittany, who else is involved?””
She opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*STOP ASKING ABOUT RICHARD COLE. THE NEXT ACCIDENT WON'T BE TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO.*
I read it twice.
Then I turned the screen toward Daniel.
His anger disappeared.
For the first time that afternoon, my son looked genuinely frightened for me.
And somewhere outside my front window, a dark sedan slowly pulled away from the curb.
I recognized the driver.
May you like
It was Michael.
But the person sitting beside him was someone I had believed was dead.
