Chapter 8
Daniel disappeared before sunrise.
Police went to his house.
Empty.
His passport was missing.
Laptop gone.
Two suitcases gone.
Bethany claimed she knew nothing.
Nobody believed her.
My mother survived the attack at the cabin.
A blow to the head.
Broken wrist.
Severe bruising.
She told investigators she never saw her attacker’s face.
I knew she was lying.
Detective Holt knew too.
But after thirty-five years of covering for my father, truth wasn’t a habit Mom could suddenly switch on.
Dad remained in custody.
The investigation into Emily’s death was officially reopened.
When Holt told me, I felt nothing at first.
No relief.
No satisfaction.
Just exhaustion.
Rosie woke asking for waffles.
So we got waffles.
Jenna sat across from us in a private breakfast room the hotel provided.
Rosie poured too much syrup over everything.
For ten minutes, we pretended life was normal.
Then Rosie asked, “Is Grandma bad?”
I looked at Jenna.
She looked at me.
There was no easy answer.
“Grandma made some bad choices.”
“Like Aunt Bethany?”
“Yes.”
“Is Grandpa bad?”
I swallowed.
“Grandpa hurt people.”
Rosie thought about it.
“Mommy?”
My chest tightened.
“Maybe.”
She put down her fork.
“Did Grandpa hurt Mommy?”
I hated that she had to ask.
“I’m trying to find out.”
Rosie looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said something that shattered me.
“Mommy told me Grandpa was scary.”
I stopped breathing.
“Mommy?”
She nodded.
“That’s impossible, sweetheart. You were a baby when Mommy died.”
Rosie frowned.
“In the video.”
“What video?”
“The Mommy video.”
Jenna leaned forward.
“Rosie, where did you see a video of Mommy?”
“At Grandma’s.”
My pulse accelerated.
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“Who showed it to you?”
“Aunt Bethany.”
Of course.
“What happened in it?”
“Mommy was crying.”
My stomach twisted.
“Did she talk to you?”
Rosie nodded.
“She said, ‘Baby girl.’”
Jenna covered her mouth.
“Anything else?”
Rosie thought.
“She said Daddy has to know.”
I stood so fast my chair nearly fell.
“There’s another recording.”
Jenna nodded.
“Something made for you.”
Maybe that had been inside the missing envelope.
Maybe Emily recorded a message.
“Where did you watch it?”
Rosie pointed vaguely.
“Grandma’s TV.”
“The living room?”
“No. Upstairs.”
Mom and Dad had a media room upstairs.
Old family movies.
Home videos.
Hard drives.
I called Holt from the hotel phone.
He listened.
“We’ll search.”
“Do it before someone destroys it.”
“We’re obtaining a warrant for additional digital equipment.”
“Daniel could have copies.”
“Daniel has bigger problems right now.”
“Have you found him?”
“No.”
That scared me.
Daniel was smart.
Patient.
He had money.
Connections.
And if Emily’s recording was accurate, he had once offered to make her “disappear.”
I looked at Rosie.
“Can you protect us?”
Holt didn’t make fake promises.
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Not comforting.
But honest.
Around noon, Bethany called the hotel.
I had no idea how she found us.
That alone terrified me.
The front desk transferred the call before realizing it should have been blocked.
“Ryan.”
Her voice was broken.
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Daniel is gone.”
“I know.”
“He took everything.”
“Good.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“He emptied our account.”
That didn’t surprise me.
“He left me.”
“You helped him hurt Rosie.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get sympathy from me.”
“I’m not asking for sympathy.”
“What are you asking for?”
“Protection.”
I laughed once.
“From who?”
“Daniel.”
My anger cooled.
“What happened?”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That I ruined everything.”
“You did help ruin everything.”
“He said I talked too much.”
“You did.”
Bethany began crying.
“Ryan, he said he’s coming back.”
I said nothing.
“He told me to fix it before he gets here.”
“Fix what?”
“The evidence.”
My stomach tightened.
“What evidence?”
“He thinks Mom kept copies.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bethany.”
“I swear.”
“What does he want you to destroy?”
“The trust records. Emily’s recordings. Anything connecting him to Dad.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Call the police.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“They’ll arrest me.”
“Probably.”
“You’re my brother.”
“And Rosie is my daughter.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost hung up.
Then she whispered, “I can give you something.”
“What?”
“Proof Daniel was with Dad the night Emily died.”
Every nerve in my body fired.
“What proof?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Dad’s car.”
“Where?”
“At Daniel’s old apartment garage.”
“When?”
“The morning after Emily died.”
I stood.
“How do you have it?”
“I found it years ago.”
“Why?”
“I was jealous.”
“What?”
“I thought Daniel was cheating on me.”
Even now the family managed to make horror absurd.
“I checked his cloud account. There were photos from his phone.”
“Why would he photograph Dad’s car?”
“He didn’t.”
I waited.
“The garage camera automatically uploaded snapshots after someone damaged the gate.”
My heart pounded.
“The camera photographed them?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Dad and Daniel.”
“What time?”
“Two fifty-six in the morning.”
Emily crashed shortly after midnight.
“What were they doing?”
“Removing the front bumper.”
I closed my eyes.
Evidence.
Real evidence.
“Send it to the police.”
“I can’t access the account anymore.”
“Then why call me?”
“Because I printed it.”
“Where is it?”
“At Mom and Dad’s.”
“Where?”
“In my old bedroom.”
I almost laughed in disbelief.
“You hid evidence that could prove our father killed my wife in your childhood bedroom?”
“I didn’t know what it meant!”
“You knew enough to keep it.”
“I thought Daniel had been in an accident and hid it from me.”
“Then Emily died the same night.”
“I didn’t connect them.”
“How could you not?”
“Because I didn’t want to!”
There.
Finally.
The truth.
Not ignorance.
Choice.
She had chosen not to see.
Like I once had.
Like Mom always did.
The difference was Emily was dead.
“Tell Holt.”
Bethany panicked.
“No.”
“Then I will.”
“Ryan, wait.”
“What?”
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“Daniel kept a storage unit.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“Westbrook Storage. Unit 314.”
“Give that to police.”
“I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
Her voice cracked.
“You hate me.”
I looked at Rosie.
“No.”
That surprised me.
“I don’t hate you.”
Bethany sniffed.
“Really?”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
I took a breath.
“But I will never trust you with Rosie again.”
She began sobbing.
“That’s your consequence.”
“I love her.”
“You hurt her.”
“It was supposed to be a joke.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I know.”
“No, listen to me. Stop using that sentence to make yourself feel less guilty. You held a terrified four-year-old while your husband filmed her. You bruised her arms. You threatened her. You helped convince her that I might abandon her.”
Silence.
“You did that.”
“I know.”
“Then start acting like you know.”
A minute later she agreed to call Holt.
By evening, police searched the storage unit.
Holt called me afterward.
“We found a lot.”
“What?”
“Records. Computer equipment. Old vehicle parts.”
My heart stopped.
“Vehicle parts?”
“A bumper.”
I sat down.
“From Dad’s car?”
“We’re testing it.”
“What else?”
“Boxes labeled with names.”
“Whose names?”
“Your father. Your mother. Bethany. Yours.”
“And Emily?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
“What’s in her box?”
“Personal information. Photos. Copies of messages.”
“Surveillance.”
“That’s one interpretation.”
“It’s the correct one.”
Holt didn’t argue.
“Anything about the night she died?”
“We’re still processing.”
“Did you find Daniel?”
“No.”
I looked at the hotel room door.
Every sound made me nervous.
Then Holt said, “We found something related to you.”
“What?”
“A file marked FITNESS.”
My stomach dropped.
“What’s inside?”
“Medical records. Employment records. Notes about your behavior after Emily’s death.”
I stared.
“My medical records?”
“Yes.”
“How did Daniel get those?”
“We’re investigating.”
“What notes?”
“Statements from family members.”
I already knew.
Dad.
Mom.
Bethany.
Documenting me.
Building a case.
Waiting.
“For guardianship?”
“That appears possible.”
I looked at sleeping Rosie.
They had planned to take her.
Not because I was dangerous.
Because she was connected to the trust.
Her existence gave them leverage.
“What happens to the trust if I’m declared unfit?”
“We’re having financial crimes investigators examine that.”
“Guess.”
Holt sighed.
“If you lacked legal capacity and a guardian or conservator was appointed, control could potentially remain with the existing trustee or another court-approved party.”
Dad.
Or Daniel.
The entire plan became clear.
Destroy my credibility.
Take Rosie.
Control both my money and hers.
Emily discovered it.
Emily fought them.
Emily died.
I whispered, “They were going to do to me what they did to her.”
Holt didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
A knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
Holt said, “Ryan?”
Another knock.
Three soft taps.
Jenna emerged from the bathroom.
“Who is it?”
I gestured for silence.
“Ryan?” Holt said again.
I whispered, “Someone’s at the door.”
“Do not open it.”
I looked through the peephole.
Empty hallway.
No one.
Then something slid beneath the door.
A white envelope.
Jenna gasped.
I backed away.
Holt’s voice sharpened.
“Ryan, move everyone into the bathroom and call hotel security.”
I grabbed Rosie.
Jenna locked us inside the bathroom.
Hotel security arrived within minutes.
Then police.
The envelope was collected carefully.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Holt showed it to me later from behind an evidence sleeve.
It was a photo of Rosie and me entering the hotel.
Taken that morning.
On the back, four words had been written.
STOP DIGGING OR SHE’S NEXT.
May you like
Daniel wasn’t just running.
He was watching us.
