Chapter 5
Dad wouldn't let me touch the box.
Not until security checked it.
Not until Lauren photographed it.
Not until one of the guards swept the storage unit again.
I stood three feet away, staring at my mother's handwriting.
FOR EMILY.
She had written my name.
She had known I might find this someday.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Lauren finally placed the box on a folding table in the manager's office.
"No lock," she said.
Dad looked at me.
"You should open it."
For once, he wasn't trying to protect me from the truth.
I lifted the lid.
Inside were four things.
A silver bracelet.
A sealed envelope.
A small black videotape.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
Mom stood beside Victoria Blake at Westbridge.
They had their arms around each other.
On the back, Mom had written:
VICKY KNEW. I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.
"What did she know?" I whispered.
Dad shook his head.
"I don't know."
I opened the envelope.
There were several pages.
The first line nearly broke me.
My dearest Emily,
If you're reading this, then either I finally found the courage to tell you the truth, or something happened before I could.
My vision blurred.
I sat down.
Dad moved beside me but didn't touch me.
I kept reading.
Mom wrote that Victoria Blake had been terrified during the weeks before the crash.
She believed her father, Charles Blake, was stealing from investors in his hotel company.
Victoria had accidentally found documents proving millions of dollars were being moved through fake companies.
Richard knew something was wrong too, but he refused to believe their father was involved.
Mom believed Victoria planned to give the documents to her own father unless he confessed.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
Victoria told me that if anything happened to her, I should look at Richard.
I stopped.
Dad took a sharp breath.
"No."
"What?"
"Richard was never a suspect."
I held up the page.
"Mom says Victoria was afraid of him."
Dad shook his head.
"Richard loved his sister."
"People hurt people they love."
"Not Richard. Not Victoria."
"How can you be sure?"
He couldn't answer.
I continued reading.
Mom explained that after Victoria died, everyone assumed the crash had been meant for Dad because the brakes were cut on his car.
But Victoria had borrowed Dad's car earlier that afternoon.
Several people had seen her driving it.
If someone wanted Victoria dead, sabotaging Dad's car made sense.
Especially if the killer expected her to borrow it again.
But she didn't.
Dad drove that night.
Victoria became his passenger.
The killer succeeded anyway.
The next page contained names.
Charles Blake.
Richard Blake.
Samuel Price.
And another name I didn't recognize.
Jonathan Mercer.
"Who's Jonathan Mercer?"
Dad and Lauren exchanged a glance.
"Chloe Mercer's father," Lauren said.
My stomach dropped.
Chloe was one of Madison's closest friends.
Dad added, "Jonathan's family handled accounting for Blake Hotels for decades."
Mom's letter said Jonathan had been a Westbridge student too.
He was older.
Nineteen at the time.
He had worked part-time in the Blake hotel office.
Victoria suspected he helped hide her father's stolen money.
Then the letter changed.
Mom wrote about being followed.
Anonymous calls.
Someone entering our house when nobody was home.
Files disappearing.
Detective Price telling her to stop asking questions.
The last paragraph was written in hurried handwriting.
Daniel thinks the danger is over. I haven't told him everything because he already carries too much guilt. But if I am right, Victoria's death was only the beginning. Someone has spent years protecting what happened. If they learn I found the tape, they will come for it.
I looked at the black cassette.
Dad's face had gone white.
"What tape?"
Lauren picked it up carefully.
"MiniDV."
"Can we watch it?"
"We need equipment."
The storage manager found an old media-conversion shop six blocks away.
Lauren wanted to take the tape directly to police.
Dad disagreed.
"We make copies first."
She stared at him.
"Daniel."
"The police archive was compromised."
She didn't argue after that.
The media shop belonged to an elderly man named Walter who looked terrified when six security officers entered with us.
He dug through a cabinet and found an old camera capable of playing MiniDV tapes.
"We haven't used this thing in years."
Dad paid him enough money to stop asking questions.
Walter inserted the tape.
Static filled the small television.
Then an image appeared.
A bedroom.
Teenagers talking.
The date in the corner was February 12, 2001.
Three days before Victoria died.
The camera had apparently been left recording on a desk.
Victoria entered the room.
So did Richard.
They were arguing.
The sound was weak, but clear enough.
"You don't understand what he'll do," Richard said.
Victoria crossed her arms.
"I'm telling Dad tonight."
"You can't."
"Why?"
"Because he'll destroy everything."
"He already did."
"Vicky, listen to me."
"No. You listen. I know about the accounts."
Richard looked toward the door.
"You shouldn't have gone through those files."
"Jonathan showed me."
Everyone in the media shop froze.
Victoria continued.
"He says Dad has been moving money for years."
Richard grabbed her arm.
"You talked to Jonathan?"
"Let go."
"Did you tell him anything else?"
"You're hurting me."
Richard released her.
Then he said something so quietly Walter had to increase the volume.
"Jonathan isn't helping you."
Victoria laughed bitterly.
"At least he believes me."
"He believes whatever gets him paid."
The door opened.
Another teenager entered.
Jonathan Mercer.
I recognized him from photographs online.
Older, but unmistakable.
He looked at Richard.
"You told her?"
Richard said, "No."
Victoria backed away.
"What is going on?"
Jonathan closed the bedroom door.
"You need to forget what you saw."
Her face changed.
"Why?"
"Because you don't understand it."
"I understand stolen money."
Jonathan stepped closer.
"No. You don't."
Richard moved between them.
"Back off."
Jonathan smiled.
"Relax."
Victoria reached for the camera.
The image shook.
Then went sideways.
The final seconds showed only carpet.
But the audio continued.
Victoria said, "If something happens to me, Evelyn has copies."
Then Jonathan answered.
"Not for long."
The tape ended.
Nobody spoke.
My father looked like he had stopped breathing.
Lauren immediately pulled out her phone.
"We need police here now."
Dad nodded.
Then Walter frowned at the camera.
"There's more."
We all turned.
"What?"
He rewound.
"That recording ended, but the tape isn't blank after it."
He pressed play again.
Static.
Then a new date appeared.
Eleven years later.
Three days before Mom died.
The picture shook as someone carried the camera.
Mom appeared.
She was inside the storage unit.
The same storage unit we had just opened.
She placed the camera on the shelf.
Then she sat directly in front of it.
My heart broke the second she looked into the lens.
She looked tired.
Scared.
But still beautiful.
"If Daniel finds this," she began, "I'm sorry."
Dad covered his mouth.
"If Emily finds it someday..."
Mom stopped.
She took a breath.
"Baby, I hope you never have to."
Tears filled my eyes.
Her voice continued.
"Samuel Price called me this morning. He finally admitted the original crash report was changed."
Dad stepped closer to the screen.
"What?"
Mom looked behind her nervously.
"He says someone inside the department removed evidence from Daniel's car."
Lauren whispered, "Oh my God."
Mom continued.
"The evidence was a partial fingerprint found near the cut brake line."
She held up a photocopy.
"The print belonged to Jonathan Mercer."
My entire body went cold.
But Mom wasn't finished.
"Price says Jonathan had help."
She looked straight into the camera.
"And the person who helped him was Richard Blake."
Dad staggered backward.
"No."
Mom's eyes filled with tears on-screen.
"I don't know why, Daniel. I don't know how much Richard knew. But Price swears Richard was seen near the car that afternoon."
The recording skipped.
Then Mom returned.
Someone was pounding on the storage-unit door.
I heard it through the television.
Mom turned.
The pounding became louder.
She grabbed the camera.
Her face filled the screen.
"If anything happens to me, don't trust—"
The image cut to black.
I leaned forward.
"Don't trust who?"
Walter tried the controls.
"That's it."
"No. Go back."
"I did."
"She was saying something."
Dad stared at the blank screen.
Then Lauren's phone rang.
She answered.
"Grant."
Her expression changed instantly.
"Say that again."
She looked at Dad.
"Detective Price regained consciousness."
Dad stepped toward her.
"And?"
Lauren listened.
Then her face went pale.
"He gave police one name."
Nobody moved.
"Whose?"
May you like
Lauren looked at me.
"Richard Blake."
