PART 7 — THE SECRET MY FATHER TOOK TO HIS GRAVE

CONTINUE READING ⌄

“And Nolan says Arthur gave her the original deed to the land?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably exactly where he wants you.”
“I know.”
I rubbed my forehead.

“But Marisol knew Dad before Nolan entered the picture. We already know she lied about that.”
“True.”
“And if there’s really land worth eighteen million dollars—”
“We verify it before believing anything else Nolan said.”
That was the difference between Elaine and me.
I was still learning not to chase emotions.
She chased documents.
We returned to her office and started with the alleged payment.
Dad’s business records from twelve years earlier had already been digitized by the forensic accounting team.
Forty thousand dollars should have been easy to find.
It wasn’t.

There was no payment to

Marisol Vega. No V.R. Consulting. No check with her name. Nothing. For twenty minutes, I felt almost relieved. Then forensic accountant Steven Cho called. “I found something strange.” My stomach tightened. “What?” “Arthur withdrew forty thousand dollars in cash.” Elaine and I looked at each other. “When?” “October 17, twelve years ago.”

My mother died on October 11. Six days earlier. I remembered almost nothing from that week except casseroles, funeral flowers, and Dad sitting alone at the kitchen table after everyone went home. “Do we know why?” “No memo. But there’s a handwritten notation in his personal ledger.” “What does it say?” Steven read: M.V. — agreed amount. I stopped breathing. “M.V.?” “Yes.” “Marisol Vega.” “Possibly.” Elaine leaned toward the phone. “Any documentation attached?” “One scanned receipt.” “From Marisol?” “No. From a private-investigations firm.” My heart skipped. “What?” Steven continued. “Redwood Investigative Services.” “How much?” “Two thousand eight hundred dollars.” “Same week?” “Three days before the cash withdrawal.” Elaine wrote the firm name down. “What were they investigating?” “That invoice doesn’t specify.” “Is the firm still operating?” “I’m checking.” Thirty seconds later: “Closed nine years ago. Owner was a man named Samuel Pike.” “Alive?” “Looks like it.” “Find him.” An hour later, Detective Bell located Samuel Pike living outside Waco. Seventy-three years old. Retired. At first, Pike claimed he barely remembered Arthur. Then Bell mentioned my mother’s name. Evelyn Hayes. Pike went quiet. I was listening through a conference call. “Mr. Pike,” I said, “I’m Claire Hayes.” A long breath came through the phone. “Arthur’s girl.” My throat tightened. “You remember me?” “I never met you.” “Then how do you know who I am?” “Your father talked about you constantly.” I closed my eyes. “What did he hire you to investigate?” Pike didn’t answer. “Mr. Pike?” “Your mother.” The room went silent. “My mother?” “Yes.” “What about her?” “I’m not sure I should be the one telling you this.” “She’s been dead twelve years.” “And Arthur’s dead too.” “Exactly.” Pike sighed. “Your father hired me because he believed someone was stealing from your mother.” My eyebrows pulled together. “My mother didn’t own a business.” “No.” “What did she have?” “Land.” I looked at Elaine. “The two hundred and eighty acres?” Pike went silent. That was enough. “You knew about it.” “Yes.” “Was it Mom’s?” “Originally.” Everything shifted. I had assumed Dad owned the land. Apparently, it had come from Mom. “How?” “Your maternal grandfather.” My mother almost never talked about her father. Harold Mercer. A farmer from outside Austin who died when I was ten. I remembered dusty boots, peppermint candies, and a voice that sounded like gravel. “He left Mom the property?” “Among other things.” “Why didn’t I know?” “Your mother didn’t want to sell it.” “That doesn’t explain why nobody mentioned eighteen-million-dollar land.” “It wasn’t worth eighteen million then.” “How much?” “Maybe eight hundred thousand.” Still enormous. “What was being stolen?” “Income connected to mineral and access rights.” I stared at Elaine. “What kind of access rights?” “Pipeline easements. Utility access. Some lease payments.” “Who was taking the money?” “That’s what Arthur wanted me to find.” “And did you?” “Yes.” My heart started pounding. “Who?” Pike hesitated. “Your mother’s younger brother.” I blinked. “Uncle Robert?” “Yes.” I hadn’t seen Robert Mercer in almost fifteen years. He moved to Arizona after my mother died and never returned. “How was he taking Mom’s money?” “He had been managing some of the family property paperwork. Evelyn trusted him.” There was that word again. Trust. “He redirected payments into accounts he controlled.” “How much?” “By the time Arthur noticed, around a hundred and thirty thousand.” My stomach turned. “What did Dad do?” “He confronted Robert.” “And?” “Robert claimed their father had promised him part of the land.” “Was that true?” “Not according to the deed.” “What happened next?” “Robert threatened litigation.” I remembered arguments during Mom’s final year. Phone calls that ended with her crying. Dad calling Uncle Robert a parasite. I had assumed it was ordinary family resentment. “What does this have to do with Marisol?” Pike was silent. Then he said: “She worked for me.” Every sound in the room disappeared. “What?” “Part-time.” “When?” “During college.” I couldn’t move. Marisol had told me she worked evenings at a restaurant. She never mentioned a private investigator. “What did she do?” “Research. Public-record searches. Filing. Sometimes surveillance support.” “And she investigated my family?” “Yes.” My throat tightened. “Did she know who I was?” “At first? No.” “At first?” “Arthur asked us to look into Robert Mercer. Marisol pulled records.” “And then?” “One afternoon she saw a photograph of you on Arthur’s desk.” My stomach dropped. “She recognized me.” “Yes.” “What did she say?” “That you were her roommate.” I gripped the edge of the table. “So Dad knew Marisol was my friend?” “After that, yes.” “And he kept using her?” “No.” Pike’s voice softened. “He immediately told me to take her off the case.” That sounded like Dad. “Then why did he pay her forty thousand dollars?” “He didn’t.” I froze. “But there was a cash withdrawal.” “I know.” “Nolan said—” “Nolan is wrong.” “Then who was M.V.?” Pike inhaled. “Margaret Vance.” Elaine’s head snapped up. “Vance?” “Yes.” “Related to Thomas Vance?” “His wife.” My skin prickled. Dad’s accountant. Thomas Vance. The man who later helped Nolan steal from Dad. “What did Dad pay Thomas Vance’s wife forty thousand dollars for?” Pike said: “He didn’t pay her.” “Then what?” “The money was returned to her.” I stared at the phone. “I don’t understand.” “Margaret came to Arthur after Evelyn died. She told him Thomas had been helping Robert divert money.” My stomach dropped. “Thomas was stealing from my mother too?” “Yes.” That meant Thomas Vance’s involvement hadn’t started with Nolan. It had started years earlier. Maybe decades. “What did Margaret do?” “She had discovered forty thousand dollars in an account Thomas was hiding.” “And gave it to Dad?” “She withdrew it and turned it over to Arthur.” “Then why does Dad’s ledger show a withdrawal?” “Because Arthur gave the money back.” I was stunned. “Why?” “Margaret was leaving Thomas. She had two children. Arthur told her the money wasn’t worth putting her life at risk.” That sounded exactly like my father. “He let her keep stolen money?” “He considered it repayment from Thomas personally. Arthur had already recovered enough documentation to pursue Robert.” “Did he?” “No.” “Why?” Pike went quiet. “Your mother became very sick.” Cancer. Four months from diagnosis to death. Everything else became irrelevant to Dad. He cared for her until the end. “And Robert?” “He disappeared from Texas shortly after the funeral.” “Because Dad threatened him?” “Possibly.” “Did Robert still have documents connected to the land?” “Yes.” “What kind?” “Copies of deeds. Easement agreements. Old surveys.” My pulse quickened. “Could one of those be the original deed Nolan mentioned?” “No.” Pike sounded certain. “Arthur had the original deed.” “Where?” “That I don’t know.” “And Marisol?” “She might.” I felt anger rise again. “You said Dad removed her from the investigation.” “He did.” “But she continued asking me questions.” “That I didn’t know.” “Did she ever contact you afterward?” Pike hesitated. “Once.” “When?” “After Arthur died.” My entire body stiffened. “What did she want?” “She asked whether Arthur had ever given me a package.” “What kind of package?” “She didn’t say.” “What did you tell her?” “The truth. No.” “Did she mention Nolan?” “No.” “Did you know Nolan?” “No.” “Thomas Vance?” “Yes.” “Did you know Thomas eventually worked with Nolan?” “No.” Pike sounded genuinely shocked. Then he said something that changed everything again. “But if Thomas Vance was working with Nolan, Nolan may have known about the Mercer land long before he knew about Claire.” Elaine looked at me. Of course. Thomas had been involved with my mother’s property. Thomas knew its future value. Thomas knew I would eventually inherit. Perhaps Nolan hadn’t originally targeted Dad’s warehouses. Perhaps the real target had always been the land. “Mr. Pike,” Elaine said, “did Arthur believe that land would become exceptionally valuable?” “Yes.” “How?” “He knew development was moving toward it.” “How far back?” “At least fifteen years.” “Did Thomas know?” “Absolutely.” My stomach tightened. “And Marisol?” “She would have seen some of the reports while working for us.” I closed my eyes. So Marisol knew. Thomas knew. Dad knew. And eventually Nolan knew. The only person who didn’t know was me. “What about the deed?” I asked. Pike hesitated. “There was something unusual about it.” “What?” “The property wasn’t supposed to transfer directly to Arthur after Evelyn died.” “Why not?” “It transferred to you.” I stopped breathing. “What?” “You became the owner when your mother died.” I looked at Elaine. “No.” “Yes.” “I was eighteen.” “Nineteen.” “I would have signed something.” “Not necessarily. The property passed through a beneficiary deed prepared by your grandfather.” My head started spinning. “So Dad never owned it?” “He managed it for you.” “Then why wasn’t it in Dad’s estate?” “Because it was already yours.” I stood. Eighteen million dollars. Mine for twelve years. And nobody had told me. “Where are the tax bills?” “Arthur handled them.” “Income?” “Held in a management account.” “Who controlled that?” “Originally Arthur and Thomas.” Thomas Vance. I felt sick. After Dad died, Nolan had collected all the paperwork. And Thomas had apparently remained involved. They didn’t need to steal ownership. They only needed to make sure I never knew I already had it. Elaine was typing rapidly. “Claire, we need the county chain of title.” She pulled it up. Then froze. “What?” Her eyes moved down the screen. “The land is still titled to you.” Relief flashed through me. Then her expression darkened. “But there’s a pending conveyance.” “What does that mean?” “Someone filed documents attempting to transfer it.” “To whom?” She opened the filing. Hearthstone Industrial Holdings LLC. My stomach dropped. “Nolan.” “Yes.” “When?” Elaine looked at the date. “Eleven days ago.” Before I discovered anything. Before the laundry request. Before Nolan knew his whole scheme was collapsing. “He was about to take it.” Elaine scrolled. “The transaction hasn’t fully recorded.” “Why?” “There’s a title objection.” “What objection?” “Original deed verification.” Nolan had told the truth. Someone needed the original deed. And apparently Marisol had it. I called Detective Bell. Within thirty minutes, prosecutors obtained authorization to question Marisol specifically about the land. She refused. Her attorney said she would answer only as part of a cooperation agreement. I almost threw my phone. “She wants a deal?” Bell said: “Apparently.” “She helped Nolan target me.” “She may have information prosecutors need.” “She watched me marry the man who killed my father.” “I know.” “And now she wants something?” “Claire, this is how investigations work.” “I don’t care how investigations work.” I cared that everyone who betrayed Dad seemed to have something to trade. Vanessa had information. Marisol had information. Nolan had information. Everyone was bargaining except the dead man who had tried to protect me. By evening, Marisol agreed to speak. No promises. No guaranteed deal. Just a recorded interview. Bell allowed me to listen from another room. Marisol walked into the interrogation room looking nothing like my best friend. No makeup. Hair pulled back. Gray jail clothing. She sat beside her attorney and stared at the table. Detective Bell began. “Where is the original deed to the Mercer property?” “I don’t have it.” My jaw tightened. Bell placed a copy of the pending Hearthstone conveyance in front of her. “Nolan says you do.” “Nolan lies.” True. “But did Arthur Hayes ever give you a document involving that property?” Marisol swallowed. “Yes.” My heartbeat quickened. “What?” “A sealed envelope.” “When?” “The week before he died.” I leaned closer to the monitor. Bell asked: “What was inside?” “I didn’t know then.” “Why did Arthur give it to you?” “He asked me to keep it somewhere safe.” “Why you?” Marisol’s face twisted. “Because he knew what I had done.” Bell paused. “What had you done?” She closed her eyes. “I told Thomas something I shouldn’t have.” My stomach tightened. “What?” “That Arthur had hired Samuel Pike years earlier.” Bell leaned forward. “When did you tell Thomas?” “About two months before Arthur died.” “Why?” “He contacted me.” “How did he know you?” “I had worked on the Mercer investigation when I was in college.” “What did Thomas want?”“He

wanted to know what Pike had found.” “And you told him?” “Some of it.” “For money?” She nodded. “How much?” “Five thousand.” I whispered: “You sold Dad for five thousand dollars.” Elaine said nothing. Bell continued. “What happened after that?” “Thomas introduced me to Nolan.” There it was. The beginning. “What did Nolan want?” “Information about Claire.” My stomach twisted. “Why?” “He said he wanted access to Arthur.” “Through Claire.” “Yes.” “What did you think he meant?” “I thought it was financial.” Bell stared at her. “It was financial.” “I mean I thought they wanted business information. Not…” “Not murder?” Marisol’s eyes filled. “Yes.” Bell’s voice stayed cold. “You accepted money to manipulate your friend into meeting Nolan.” “Yes.” “How much initially?” “Ten thousand.” “And afterward?” “He kept paying.” “For what?” “Information.” “What kind?” “Claire’s schedule. Things she liked. Things she hated. Whether Arthur trusted Nolan.” I felt physically ill hearing my life reduced to intelligence reports. Bell asked: “When did Arthur discover your involvement?” “A few weeks before he died.” “What did he do?” “He came to see me.” “Was he angry?” Marisol started crying. “He was devastated.” That hurt more. “What did he say?” “He asked how much.” “How much what?” “How much money it took for me to betray Claire.” I turned away from the screen. Elaine squeezed my hand. Bell waited. Marisol wiped her face. “I told him.” “What did Arthur say?” “He said, ‘I hope someday you learn the difference between being poor and being cheap.’” I almost smiled through tears. That sounded exactly like Dad. “Did he threaten you?” “No.” “Police?” “No.” “Why not?” “He said Claire had already lost her mother and he didn’t want to take her best friend too.” My chest cracked open. Dad had protected Marisol for me. Even after learning she betrayed us. Bell asked: “Then why did he trust you with an envelope?” “He didn’t.” Marisol looked up. “He tested me.” “What do you mean?” “The envelope he gave me didn’t contain the original deed.” I stared at the screen. “What did it contain?” “A photocopy.” Bell frowned. “Where is the original?” “I don’t know.” “Nolan believes you have it.” “I let him believe that.” “Why?” Marisol took a long breath. “Because after Arthur died, Nolan came to me.” “What did he want?” “The envelope.” “And?” “I gave him the copy.” “Did he know it was a copy?” “Not initially.” “When did he find out?” “When his attorney tried using it for the transfer.” That explained the title objection. Bell leaned forward. “So Nolan needs the original deed.” “Yes.” “Where did Arthur hide it?” “I don’t know.” “Did Arthur leave you any clue?” Marisol stared at the table. “Yes.” My pulse jumped. “What clue?” “He told me, ‘Claire already knows where it is. She just doesn’t know she knows.’” I felt a chill. Bell asked: “What does that mean?” “I’ve spent six years trying to figure it out.” My mind raced. Claire already knows where it is. Dad’s house? Workshop? A childhood hiding place? His truck? Bell asked: “Why did you continue helping Nolan after Arthur died?” Marisol closed her eyes. “Because he had recordings of me.” “What recordings?” “Conversations about Claire. About Arthur.” “He blackmailed you?” “Yes.” “Yet he also paid you.” “Yes.” “Convenient.” “I know how it sounds.” “It sounds like you profited.” “I did.” At least she finally admitted it. Bell asked: “Did you know Nolan killed Arthur?” “Not until afterward.” “When?” “When Nolan called me.” “The audio recording we recovered?” “Yes.” “You heard him say he handled Arthur.” “I knew.” “And you said nothing.” Marisol’s shoulders shook. “Yes.” “You attended the funeral.” “Yes.” “You remained Claire’s friend.” “Yes.” “You attended her wedding.” Marisol covered her face. “Yes.” Bell’s voice hardened. “Why?” “I kept telling myself I could protect her from him.” I laughed bitterly from the observation room. Protect me. Everyone who controlled me claimed they were protecting me. Bell asked: “How?” “I watched him.” “You fed him information.” “I tried to give him harmless information.” “You accepted ninety-six thousand dollars.” “I know.” “You helped him manipulate her.” “I know.” “You allowed Claire to marry a man you believed may have killed her father.” Marisol began sobbing. “There is no explanation that makes that okay.” For the first time, she said something I believed. Bell allowed silence to stretch. Then: “Why did you try to flee to Mexico?” “Because Nolan called me before he was arrested.” My heartbeat quickened. “What did he say?” “He said Claire had found Elaine Mercer.” “And?” “He said everything was collapsing.” “What did he want you to do?” “Get the deed.” “How?” “He thought I knew where it was.” “Did he threaten you?” “Yes.” “With what?” “He said if he went down, everybody who helped him would go down too.” “Why Mexico?” “I panicked.” Bell leaned back. “Did Nolan ever tell you why the Mercer land mattered so much?” “Yes.” “How much is it worth?” “He said an industrial-development consortium offered eighteen million.” “Who?” “I don’t know the company.” “Did Arthur receive an offer?” “No.” “Then how did Nolan know?” “Thomas.” Of course. “Thomas had inside information?” “Yes.” “From where?” “A client.” Bell made notes. Then asked the question I was waiting for. “What clue did Arthur give you about the original deed?” Marisol looked directly toward the mirrored glass. I knew she couldn’t see me. But it felt as if she did. “He said Claire would understand when she remembered the blue lid.” My heart stopped. Blue lid. For a second, I was ten years old again. Dad packing lunch. Old Tupperware. The blue lid never matching the container. Except that wasn’t the only blue lid. I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall. Elaine jumped. “What?” “My mother’s recipe box.” “What?” “It wasn’t a recipe box.” Memories crashed over me. After Mom died, Dad put her important keepsakes into a large blue-lidded storage tub. Photographs. Letters. Christmas ornaments. My childhood drawings. He always called it: Mom’s box. When Nolan and I moved into Dad’s house, I asked where it was. Nolan said the basement had flooded and several boxes were ruined. I had believed him. “What happened to it?” Elaine asked. “Nolan said he threw it away.” We both knew now that Nolan rarely threw anything away. He hid things. Dad’s desk. Dad’s toolbox. Dad’s phone. I called Detective Bell immediately. Twenty minutes later, police searched every storage unit tied to Nolan and Hearthstone. Nothing. Then Raymond called. “You’re looking for a blue storage bin?” “Yes.” “I saw one.” My heart raced. “Where?” “When Nolan remodeled Arthur’s workshop, he rented a dumpster.” “Okay.” “I helped move some things because you were at work.” “Did Nolan throw out the bin?” “No.” “Where did it go?” “Attic.” “What attic?” “Your house.” I froze. My father’s house. My house. The place Nolan had controlled for five years. The original deed might have been above my head the entire time. Police went immediately. I wasn’t allowed inside while they searched. At 8:17 p.m., Detective Bell called. “We found the blue bin.” My knees weakened. “And?” “It contains photographs, letters, jewelry, and several old documents.” “The deed?” “We found an envelope taped beneath the bottom lining.” I shut my eyes. Dad. Of course. He would never trust something important to a normal hiding place. “Is it there?” Bell paused. “Yes.” Relief hit me so hard I sat down. “The original beneficiary deed is here.” Elaine smiled. For the first time in days, truly smiled. “That should kill Nolan’s attempted transfer.” But Bell wasn’t finished. “There’s another document in the envelope.” My stomach tightened. “What?” “A handwritten letter addressed to you.” “From Dad?” “No.” I frowned. “Then who?” Bell hesitated. “Your mother.” Everything inside me stopped. “My mother?” “Yes.” “She wrote it?” “It appears so.” “When?” “The date is three days before she died.” I couldn’t breathe. “Read it.” Bell’s voice softened. “Claire, I think you may want to read this yourself.” “I’ve spent twelve years without her. Please.” Paper rustled. Then Detective Bell began. “My darling Claire, if your father gives you this letter someday, it means I didn’t get enough time to explain things myself.” Tears filled my eyes instantly. “I know you believe the land belonged to Grandpa. That is only part of the truth.” I gripped Elaine’s hand. “The land came through my family, but there is something beneath it your grandfather protected for decades.” I frowned. Something beneath it? Bell continued. “Robert knows. Thomas Vance knows. Your father knows enough to be worried.” My heartbeat quickened. “What does she mean?” Bell kept reading. “If anyone ever pressures you to sell the Mercer land, do not sign until you have opened the survey file marked 1948.” Elaine and I stared at each other. Survey file. “The value is not only in the land.” Bell paused. “What?” I whispered. “Keep reading.” “The eastern parcel contains something the companies around us have wanted for years.” Another pause. Then: “Grandpa refused every offer because once they control it, they control access to everything around it.” I frowned. “Access to what?” Bell reached the next line. “The water.” The word landed strangely. “Water?” Elaine immediately sat at her computer. Bell continued. “Under our property lies one of the strongest private groundwater wells in the county, with old rights attached that may be far more valuable someday than the dirt above it.” I stared at Elaine. The land wasn’t simply industrial acreage. It controlled water access. Mom’s letter continued. “Robert believes selling it will make us rich. Your father believes keeping it will protect you. I agree with your father.” My chest tightened. “If I am gone, trust Arthur. He has never wanted the land for himself.” Then the final lines: “And Claire, if Thomas Vance ever tells you a document is routine, read every word twice.” I closed my eyes. Mom had warned me about Thomas twelve years before Nolan taught me not to read paperwork. Bell said: “There’s more.” “What?” “An attached survey.” “1948?” “Yes.” Elaine was already searching water-rights databases. Then she stopped. Her face changed. “Claire.” “What?” “I think I understand why eighteen million might actually be low.” My heartbeat quickened. “How low?” She turned her laptop. A proposed industrial and data-center corridor was planned near the property. Projects requiring enormous amounts of water. The Mercer parcel controlled a significant well and access corridor. “What could it be worth?” “I don’t know yet.” “Guess.” Elaine hesitated. “With the right water rights confirmed?” “Yes.” “Potentially tens of millions more.” I stared at her. Nolan hadn’t been trying to steal an eighteen-million-dollar field. He had been trying to steal control of an asset whose full future value might be far greater. Then Bell spoke again. “Claire, there’s one final thing inside the blue bin.” “What?” “A photograph.” “Of who?” “Your mother.” I smiled through tears. “Okay.” “She’s standing on the Mercer property.” “And?” “She isn’t alone.” My smile disappeared. “Who is with her?” Bell hesitated. “Thomas Vance.” My stomach tightened. “And a second man.” “Robert?” “No.” “Dad?” “No.” I felt cold. “Who?” “We ran facial comparison against records we already have.” Bell’s next words turned the room silent. “It appears to be Nolan Carter’s father.” I stopped breathing. “Nolan’s father?” “Yes.” “I never met Nolan’s father. He said he died when Nolan was a teenager.” “That may not be true.” “Who is he?” Bell paused. “His name is Richard Carter.” “Okay.” “And according to corporate records, Richard Carter spent twenty-six years as a land-acquisition executive.” My skin prickled. “For who?” Bell answered: “The same development group currently trying to buy the Mercer property.” I stared at Elaine. Nolan hadn’t discovered my family’s land through Thomas. His family had known about it for decades. “How old is the photograph?” Bell checked. “Approximately twenty years.” I could barely speak. “So Nolan’s father knew Mom.” “Yes.” “Knew Thomas.” “It appears so.” “And wanted the land.” “Very likely.” Everything Nolan had done suddenly looked different. This wasn’t one greedy husband stumbling onto an inheritance. It might have been the continuation of something that began when I was still a child. “Where is Richard Carter now?” Bell went quiet. “Detective?” “We looked him up.” “And?” “Richard Carter is alive.” My blood froze. Nolan had lied about his father being dead. “Where?” “Texas.” “How close?” Bell hesitated. Then said: “He owns a residence approximately fourteen miles from the Mercer property.” I stared at the photograph of my mother on the screen. “What does this mean?” Bell’s voice became careful. “It means we need to determine whether Nolan acted alone, or whether someone else has been pursuing your family’s property for a very long time.” Then my new phone buzzed. Unknown number. One text. I opened it. There was no greeting. Just a photograph taken from a distance. Elaine and me leaving her office earlier that afternoon. Below it were nine words: ARTHUR SHOULD HAVE SOLD. YOU STILL HAVE THE CHANCE. My hands turned ice cold. A second message arrived. This one included an address. The Mercer land. Then: COME ALONE TOMORROW AT 10. BRING THE ORIGINAL DEED. I showed Detective Bell. He went silent. Then said: “Claire, do not respond.” I stared again at the first message. Arthur should have sold. Not Nolan should have stopped. Not give us the land. Arthur should have sold. Whoever sent it had known my father. Possibly my mother. Possibly the truth behind a fight that began decades before I ever met my husband. And for the first time, I understood something terrifying. Nolan was in jail. Thomas Vance was dead. Marisol was in custody. Vanessa was cooperating. Yet someone was still watching me. Which meant my father’s murderer might have been caught… but the person who started everything was still free.