Chapter 10: The Man Who Wore My Father's Face
My father kept repeating the same sentence.
"I wasn't there that night.""
Detective Harris stood near the office window, holding the photograph Susan had left behind.
"Mr. Carter, I need you to understand something. The hospital's visitor log shows that someone entered Claire's room using your identification.""
"But I was home.""
"Can anyone confirm that?""
My father opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
I watched him struggle to remember.
"Daniel," he finally said.
"Daniel was at my house that night.""
Detective Harris raised an eyebrow.
"Your brother?""
"Yes. He came over around nine. We had a drink in the kitchen. He said he wanted to discuss some business matters.""
"How long did he stay?""
"Until nearly midnight, I think.""
"Did he leave alone?""
My father looked confused.
"I don't remember.""
Detective Harris wrote something down.
"Do you have security footage from that evening?""
I answered before my father could.
"The garage camera records the driveway.""
We returned to our house under police supervision.
An officer checked the property before allowing us inside.
The living room was exactly as we'd left it, except someone had moved the furniture.
My father's desk drawer was open.
A family photograph lay face down on the carpet.
And the security monitor had been unplugged.
My father stared at it.
"Someone's been here.""
Detective Harris called for a forensic team.
I went straight to the garage and checked the backup recording unit.
The footage was still there.
I opened the recording from the night my mother died.
9:07 p.m.
Daniel's car entered the driveway.
He got out carrying a black leather bag.
My father appeared at the front door and welcomed him inside.
At 10:32 p.m., Daniel left.
But he wasn't alone.
A second person was sitting in the passenger seat.
I zoomed in.
The image was blurry.
Detective Harris moved closer.
"Can you sharpen that?""
I tried.
The face slowly became clearer.
It was a man wearing my father's jacket.
Same height.
Same build.
Same hairstyle.
But there was something different about the way he walked.
My father leaned toward the screen.
"That's not me.""
Detective Harris nodded.
"You're certain?""
"Absolutely.""
We watched the figure walk toward the driver's side before entering Daniel's vehicle.
Then another motion alert appeared.
11:41 p.m.
The same car returned.
This time, Daniel remained behind the wheel.
The passenger stepped out.
He looked directly toward the garage camera.
Then he removed something from his pocket.
A small black object.
He held it up toward the lens.
The screen went dark.
I stared at the monitor.
"He knew about the camera.""
My father stepped backward.
"Who is that man?""
Detective Harris replayed the final seconds.
The passenger's face was visible for barely two seconds.
But it was enough.
She immediately called her department.
"Run a facial comparison against the hospital visitor footage. I think we have our suspect.""
My father looked at her.
"Who?""
She didn't answer.
Instead, she turned the laptop toward us.
The hospital footage showed a man entering Claire's ward wearing my father's jacket.
He had used Michael Carter's identification.
But when the computer completed its comparison, the result appeared.
The man was Daniel Carter.
My father gripped the edge of the desk.
"My own brother.""
Detective Harris nodded.
"He's been impersonating you.""
I looked at the photograph of the hospital visitor.
"Why would he do that?""
"To establish a false trail," she replied.
"If someone discovered what happened to Claire, the records would point toward your father.""
My father sank into a chair.
"He wanted me blamed for my wife's death.""
Detective Harris didn't respond.
Then her phone rang.
She listened briefly.
Her expression hardened.
"Understood. Don't approach him until we arrive.""
She ended the call.
"We've located Daniel's vehicle.""
"Where?""
"Outside a private storage facility in Buckhead.""
My father stood immediately.
"I'm going with you.""
"No, you're not.""
"That's my brother!""
"And he's a suspect in a serious criminal investigation. You're staying here.""
My father clenched his fists.
Detective Harris left with two officers.
An hour later, she called.
They had found Daniel's car abandoned outside the facility.
The storage unit rented under his name contained several boxes of financial records, forged documents, and photographs of our house.
But the most disturbing discovery was a second folder.
It contained photographs of me.
Leaving school.
Entering a grocery store.
Walking home.
There were dozens.
Some were taken months before my mother died.
I felt sick.
"Why was he following me?""
Detective Harris answered carefully.
"We're still investigating.""
Then she turned another page.
Inside the folder was a handwritten list.
Three names had been crossed out.
Daniel Carter.
Vanessa Carter.
Margaret Lewis.
The fourth name had not been crossed out.
*Ryan Carter.*
Beside it were three words.
*FINAL LIABILITY — REMOVE.*
My father grabbed the paper.
"He's not touching my son.""
For the first time, I believed him.
Then Detective Harris showed us something else.
A photograph taken inside the storage unit.
It showed Daniel standing beside a woman.
A woman whose face I recognized immediately.
Susan Miller.
But the photograph was dated just four days earlier.
Susan had told us she was trying to protect me.
Yet she had been meeting Daniel in secret.
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And on the back of the photograph was a handwritten message:
*The boy must never see the original hospital footage.*
