My Stepmother Threw a Glass at My Head—Then Begged Me Not to Call My Father

“Get away from him!””

Detective Harris grabbed my shoulder and pulled me backward as officers flooded the waterfront parking lot. Richard lay motionless beside the sedan, blood spreading across his charcoal coat.

I couldn't stop staring at his face.

He had spent thirteen years hiding from the truth. He had stolen from his daughter, helped separate two children from their mother, and paid Denise to keep quiet.

But he was still my grandfather.

And someone had just shot him before he could tell me everything.

“Call an ambulance!”” I screamed.

Harris pressed his radio.

“Officer down at the waterfront. We need medical assistance immediately.””

I stared at him.

“Officer down? My grandfather was shot!””

He glanced at me, and something cold passed through his eyes.

“Stay behind me, Emily.””

My phone vibrated against the pavement.

Olivia's message remained on the screen.

The person who shot your grandfather is wearing their uniform.

I looked around.

Six officers stood near the vehicles. One was checking the road. Another knelt beside Richard. A third had his weapon drawn, scanning the waterfront.

And one officer stood unusually still.

He was tall, with a shaved head and a black tactical vest. His badge read MILLER.

He wasn't watching Richard.

He was watching me.

When our eyes met, he lowered his gaze and slipped something into his pocket.

I remembered the photograph Olivia had sent me. I remembered the anonymous messages warning me to stop searching.

Someone had been tracking our movements for days.

“Detective Harris,” I whispered.

He turned.

“We need to talk.””

“Not now.””

“Someone on your team shot him.””

Harris's expression hardened.

“What?””

I showed him Olivia's message.

He read it, then looked toward the officers.

“Who sent this?””

“Laura Mitchell's daughter. Olivia.””

Before he could respond, Miller approached.

“Detective, we need to move the witness. This area isn't secure.””

Harris looked at him.

“Who authorized that?””

“Command.””

“Which commander?””

Miller hesitated.

It lasted barely a second, but Harris noticed.

“Step away from the witness,” he ordered.

Miller's jaw tightened.

“Sir, I'm trying to protect—”

“I said step away.””

The officer backed up slowly.

Then he turned and ran.

“Stop!”” Harris shouted.

Miller sprinted between two parked vehicles, shoved through a gap in the fence, and disappeared into a narrow alley.

Two officers chased him.

Harris crouched beside Richard while another officer checked his pulse.

“He's alive,” the officer said.

“Barely.””

The ambulance arrived minutes later.

As paramedics lifted Richard onto a stretcher, he opened his eyes.

His lips moved.

I bent close.

“Granddad?””

He gripped my wrist with surprising strength.

“Olivia,” he whispered.

“I'll find her.””

“Not the hospital.””

His eyes flicked toward the officers.

“Not safe.””

Then his hand fell away.

The paramedics rushed him into the ambulance.

I turned to Harris.

“Who is Miller?””

“Officer Daniel Miller. He's been assigned to our department for three years.””

“Was he involved in the investigation?””

Harris shook his head.

“Not officially. He was attached to the security detail this morning.””

“Then why did he run?””

Harris didn't answer.

He was already on his radio, requesting Miller's personnel file and ordering every unit to locate him.

I checked my phone.

Olivia had sent another message.

Meet me at St. Mary's Hospital. East entrance. Come alone.

I showed Harris.

He immediately shook his head.

“No.””

“She knows who killed Laura.””

“And someone just attempted to murder Richard in front of us. You are not walking into another unknown situation.””

“Then come with me.””

He considered it.

“Fine. But we do this my way.””

Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at St. Mary's Hospital.

Harris stationed two officers near the entrance while I entered through the east corridor. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the air smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee.

A woman stood beside the vending machines.

Dark hair. Pale skin. A nurse's uniform beneath a gray cardigan.

The same woman from the photograph.

She looked directly at me.

“Emily?””

I nodded.

“Are you Olivia?””

She glanced behind me.

“Did you come alone?””

“No.””

Her face tightened.

“I told you to come alone.””

“Someone tried to kill my grandfather. I'm done following instructions from strangers.””

Olivia studied me for a long moment.

Then she laughed softly.

“You sound exactly like Sarah.””

I stepped closer.

“You knew my mother?””

“I was three when she died.””

“She didn't die.””

“I know.””

The words came out with such quiet certainty that my throat tightened.

Olivia led me toward an empty consultation room and closed the door.

“My mother was Laura Mitchell,” she said.

“She worked for Sarah. She helped her escape the night of the accident.””

“What happened?””

Olivia sat down.

“Denise promised my mother enough money to start a new life with me. But the plan changed. Someone followed them onto the highway, and their car was forced off the road.””

I gripped the back of a chair.

“Who was driving?””

“My mother.””

“Was Sarah with her?””

Olivia shook her head.

“No. Sarah was in another vehicle. She survived because my mother switched places with her shortly before the crash.””

I remembered Richard's words.

Laura had worn my mother's coat. She had driven my mother's car.

She had died so my mother could disappear.

“Why would Laura do that?””

“Because Denise threatened to take me away. She told my mother that if Sarah escaped, everyone would be punished. Laura thought she could protect me by making the accident look real.””

Olivia wiped her eyes.

“But Denise didn't keep her promise. After my mother died, she took me in and changed my identity. She told me my mother had abandoned me, just as Thomas told Daniel that Sarah had abandoned him.””

I sat down slowly.

“You grew up with Denise?””

“For eight years. Then she sent me to a boarding school under another name. She visited occasionally and reminded me that if I ever talked about Laura, I'd lose everything.””

“What changed?””

“Three months ago, I found a box of my mother's belongings. Inside was a letter addressed to Sarah. It said Denise had arranged the accident and that my mother had hidden evidence proving it.””

Olivia reached into her cardigan and produced a small memory card.

“My mother recorded a conversation with Denise the day before she died.””

I stared at the card.

“What's on it?””

“Everything.””

Before I could ask another question, the consultation room door opened.

Detective Harris stood in the doorway, his face grim.

“Emily, we have a problem.””

He held up his phone.

A photograph showed a man entering the hospital's underground parking garage.

Officer Miller.

Harris looked at Olivia.