PART 4
“Jake has known about Daniel for eighteen years.”
The words landed harder than anything Michael had told me that night.
I stared at him.
“No.”
“It’s true.”
“He was thirteen.”
“I know.”
“He was a child.”
“I know.”
“Then how could he possibly know?”
Michael looked toward my phone.
“Because Daniel spoke to him.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Before your hospitalization.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why would Daniel speak to Jake?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You don’t know?”
“I only know what Jake told me years later.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“You said he knew for eighteen years.”
Michael nodded.
“He came to me when he was seventeen.”
“Four years later?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Michael looked ashamed.
“He asked me if Daniel was the reason you and I stopped being husband and wife.”
I closed my eyes.
My son had grown up noticing everything.
The separate bedrooms.
The silence.
The distance.
Of course he had questions.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Daniel had been involved with you.”
I opened my eyes.
“You told a seventeen-year-old about my affair?”
“He already knew enough to ask.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
Michael’s voice hardened.
“I was tired of lying.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“That would be funny if it weren’t coming from you.”
He flinched.
“What did Jake say?”
“He said Daniel had approached him outside school.”
The photograph flashed through my mind.
Jake and Ethan.
Laura beside the parked car.
Someone watching them.
“What did Daniel say to him?”
Michael shook his head.
“Jake wouldn’t tell me everything.”
“He was protecting me?”
“Maybe.”
“Or protecting you?”
Michael didn’t answer.
I looked at the text message again.
DAD IS LYING.
“What else has Jake known?”
Michael walked toward the sink and braced both hands on the counter.
“Enough to hate me for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because he found out about the hospital procedure.”
My entire body went cold.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
“He knew you authorized it?”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Michael’s voice dropped.
“Because I begged him not to.”
I stared at him.
“You dragged our son into this.”
“I was terrified.”
“No, Michael. You made him carry your secret.”
“He was almost eighteen.”
“He was my child.”
“And mine.”
“Then you should have protected him from this.”
Michael slammed his palm against the counter.
“I was trying to keep this family from completely collapsing!”
“It had already collapsed.”
Silence.
He looked away.
I felt suddenly exhausted.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Eighteen years of guilt had been sitting on my shoulders.
Now every secret Michael revealed added another weight.
But underneath all of it was one fact.
Jake was in danger.
I picked up my phone.
“I’m calling him again.”
Michael turned.
“Don’t.”
I stared at him.
“Why not?”
“He said someone was there.”
“Exactly.”
“If whoever is there has his phone, calling again could make things worse.”
That stopped me.
I hated that he might be right.
“What do we do?”
Michael hesitated.
Then he said,
“We go to Ethan.”
“Jake’s friend?”
“He’s the only person I can think of who might know where Jake moved.”
I remembered the photograph.
“Ethan was in that picture.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever ask him about Daniel?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he was thirteen.”
I gave Michael a hard look.
“That didn’t stop you with Jake.”
He had no answer.
We left the house at 4:02 in the morning.
The roads were almost empty.
Michael drove.
I sat in the passenger seat with Jake’s photograph open on my phone.
The hospital bracelet.
The handwritten note.
PATIENT BROUGHT IN BY D. REEVES.
I kept staring at those words.
“Michael.”
“Yes?”
“Who actually called the ambulance?”
He gripped the steering wheel.
“I did.”
“From the house?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“A little after ten-thirty.”
“And Daniel was there?”
Michael didn’t answer.
I turned toward him.
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“So you did see him before the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“You told me you first saw him there.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because admitting he was in our house meant admitting everything else.”
“What else?”
Michael kept his eyes on the road.
“When I came home, Daniel was standing in the kitchen.”
I felt the memory trying to return.
Rain.
A brown envelope.
Daniel’s coat.
My anger.
“And me?”
“You were on the floor.”
“Conscious?”
“Barely.”
“Was Daniel helping me?”
“No.”
Michael’s voice changed.
“He was searching your purse.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you do?”
“I hit him.”
My breath caught.
“You hit Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“He fell against the table.”
“Was he hurt?”
“Not badly.”
“And then?”
“I called 911.”
“What did Daniel do?”
“He told me not to.”
“Why?”
“He said if I called an ambulance, everything would come out.”
“What did he mean?”
“I didn’t know.”
“What did you think he meant?”
“The affair.”
“And the pregnancy?”
“I didn’t know about that yet.”
That surprised me.
“So when did you learn?”
“At the hospital.”
I stared out the window.
The timeline was changing again.
“Why did the record say Daniel brought me in?”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“He rode in the ambulance.”
“What?”
“I told him to leave.”
“He refused.”
“Why?”
“He said he had to make sure you woke up.”
A sick feeling formed in my stomach.
“That doesn’t sound caring.”
“It wasn’t.”
“What did it sound like?”
Michael looked at me.
“Fear.”
We drove another ten minutes in silence.
Then he said,
“There’s something else.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“When the paramedics arrived, one of them asked Daniel what you had taken.”
My skin prickled.
“What did he say?”
“Sleeping pills.”
“But Jake says the nurse told him I never swallowed them.”
“I know.”
“Did Daniel see me take anything?”
“He said he did.”
“Were the pills near me?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“On the kitchen floor.”
“Open bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Empty?”
“Almost.”
“And you believed him.”
“Yes.”
I pressed my forehead against the cold window.
The pieces were beginning to form something ugly.
Daniel at my house.
A missing envelope.
Me unconscious.
An almost-empty bottle.
A substance in my blood.
And a man insisting I had overdosed.
“Did the police investigate?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone thought it was a suicide attempt.”
I closed my eyes.
Including me.
That was the worst part.
I had accepted the story so completely that I never questioned my own missing memory.
We reached Ethan’s house just before 4:30.
He lived in a small ranch home on the edge of town.
Michael knocked first.
No answer.
Then harder.
A light came on.
The door opened a few inches.
A man with sleep-mussed hair stared at us.
He looked almost exactly like the thirteen-year-old boy in the photograph, only older and more tired.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Ethan,” Michael said. “We need Jake’s address.”
Ethan’s eyes moved to me.
His face changed.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
I stepped closer.
“Jake called me. He said someone was at his place. Then the call ended.”
Ethan became fully awake.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
He swore under his breath.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us.”
He hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me.
“Ethan.”
“He told me not to give the address to either of you.”
Michael stiffened.
“Why?”
Ethan looked at him.
“You know why.”
I turned slowly toward Michael.
He said nothing.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Ethan’s expression changed.
Like he had realized he’d said too much.
“Please,” I said. “If my son is in danger, I need the truth.”
Ethan rubbed a hand over his face.
“Jake has been investigating 2008 for almost two years.”
“Two years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he found something after your retirement party.”
“What?”
“An old storage key.”
I looked at Michael.
He looked genuinely confused.
“What storage key?”
Ethan disappeared into the house for a moment.
Then he returned holding a small metal key with a faded plastic tag.
Number 317.
“Jake found this taped inside the back of an old family photo frame.”
I stared at it.
“Whose frame?”
“Your wedding photo.”
My breath caught.
“Who put it there?”
“Jake thinks you did.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t remember.”
“He found a storage facility using the number.”
“What was inside?”
Ethan looked at Michael.
Then back at me.
“Boxes.”
“What kind?”
“Documents. Photos. Cassette tapes. Some hospital paperwork.”
Michael stepped forward.
“Where?”
Ethan backed up.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Ethan.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“Jake was very clear.”
I looked between them.
“Why doesn’t he trust Michael?”
Ethan stared at me for a long moment.
“Because one of the boxes contained letters from you.”
My mouth went dry.
“Letters?”
“Written before the overdose.”
“To whom?”
“Jake.”
I stopped breathing.
“I never wrote him letters.”
Ethan’s eyes softened.
“Yes, you did.”
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
“What did they say?”
“He only showed me one.”
“What did it say?”
Ethan looked at Michael.
Then he quoted from memory.
“If anything happens to me, do not believe I did this to myself.”
Michael went pale.
I could barely stand.
“No.”
“That was your handwriting.”
“No.”
“It was signed Mom.”
A memory exploded in my head.
Me at the kitchen table.
Writing.
Crying.
Folding pages.
Hiding something behind a photograph.
I grabbed the porch railing.
“Oh my God.”
Michael reached for me.
I pulled away.
“I remember writing.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“Not everything.”
I shut my eyes.
I saw Daniel again.
He was angry.
Not charming.
Not gentle.
Angry.
“You found out something,” Ethan said quietly.
I looked at him.
“Jake thinks so.”
“What?”
“He thinks you discovered Daniel had been using you.”
“For what?”
Ethan hesitated.
Then said,
“Money.”
I stared.
“Money?”
“Your company.”
I worked in procurement in 2008.
Daniel had been a regional consultant.
Suddenly, that detail felt important.
“What about my company?”
“Jake found copies of contracts.”
Michael looked confused.
“What contracts?”
“Daniel was feeding information to vendors. Bid numbers. Internal pricing.”
I felt sick.
“No.”
“You had access.”
“Yes.”
“Jake thinks Daniel got close to you so he could use your login.”
I shook my head.
“He never had my password.”
“Maybe not directly.”
Then I remembered.
Daniel using my office computer one afternoon.
He said his laptop battery had died.
I had left him alone for ten minutes.
“Oh, God.”
Ethan continued.
“Jake found emails between Daniel and someone named R.M.”
Michael froze.
I noticed.
“You know those initials.”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“I didn’t.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Jake thought you might.”
Michael’s face hardened.
“Who is R.M.?”
Ethan said nothing.
I stepped between them.
“Tell me.”
“Raymond Mercer.”
I stared at Michael.
His father’s name.
“No.”
Michael backed away.
“That’s impossible.”
“Jake found payment records.”
“My father died in 2012.”
“I know.”
“What payments?”
Ethan answered,
“Large transfers to a company your father owned.”
I turned toward Michael.
“Your father was involved with Daniel?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His voice sounded genuinely broken.
Ethan unlocked his phone.
“I have a picture Jake sent me.”
He showed us an old typed memo.
My name appeared in the middle.
SUSAN MERCER — ACCESS CONFIRMED.
Below it:
R.M. AUTHORIZED PHASE TWO.
I stared at Michael.
“What was phase two?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then Ethan scrolled.
Another image.
A handwritten note.
April 17, 2008.
SUSAN FOUND THE LEDGER. DANIEL WILL HANDLE IT TONIGHT.
My knees nearly buckled.
Michael whispered,
“Jesus.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Jake thinks Daniel came to your house to get the ledger back.”
“What ledger?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“But I did.”
“Apparently.”
“And then I ended up unconscious.”
“Yes.”
The air felt too cold.
Too thin.
“Where is Jake?”
Ethan finally gave us the address.
An apartment above an old print shop twenty minutes away.
We drove there with Ethan following behind.
The building’s front door was unlocked.
That scared me immediately.
Jake’s apartment was on the second floor.
His door stood open.
“Jake?” I shouted.
No answer.
We entered.
The living room was wrecked.
Drawers pulled out.
Papers everywhere.
A lamp shattered on the floor.
“Jake!”
I ran through the apartment.
Bedroom empty.
Bathroom empty.
Kitchen empty.
Then Ethan shouted.
“Over here.”
There was blood on the floor.
Not much.
But enough.
My body went cold.
Michael picked up a broken picture frame.
Underneath it was Jake’s phone.
The screen was cracked.
Beside it lay an old cassette tape.
A label was written in my handwriting.
APRIL 17 — IF I FORGET.
I stared at it.
“I wrote that.”
Michael whispered,
“Susan…”
“There has to be a player.”
Ethan searched the shelves.
He found an old cassette recorder.
Jake had probably been listening to it.
I inserted the tape.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it.
Then I pressed PLAY.
Static.
Then my own voice.
Eighteen years younger.
Terrified.
“If I’m listening to this later, it means something happened.”
I covered my mouth.
Michael stared at the machine.
My younger voice continued.
“Daniel lied to me. This was never just an affair.”
My knees weakened.
“I found copies of vendor payments and internal bid sheets in his briefcase. My login was used to access files I never opened.”
Ethan whispered, “Jesus.”
The tape continued.
“I confronted him. He said I should stop asking questions because Michael’s family was involved.”
I looked at my husband.
His face went white.
“I didn’t believe him.”
My recorded voice cracked.
“Then he showed me signatures.”
Static.
“Raymond Mercer’s signature.”
Michael sat down hard.
My younger self continued.
“I don’t know if Michael knows.”
I looked at him.
He shook his head.
“I swear.”
The tape continued.
“I’m going to copy everything tonight and take it to the police tomorrow.”
My heart pounded.
Then my voice became frightened.
“Daniel is outside.”
Static.
“He keeps calling.”
A knock sounded on the recording.
Three hard knocks.
My younger voice whispered,
“If something happens to me, he did it.”
Then another voice appeared faintly in the background.
Daniel.
“Susan, open the door.”
I stopped breathing.
My recorded voice said,
“I already sent copies.”
Daniel shouted something I couldn’t understand.
Then a crash.
The tape cut to static.
For several seconds, nothing.
Then it resumed.
But now another voice was present.
Michael’s.
Much younger.
“What did you give her?”
My head snapped toward him.
Michael looked horrified.
“No.”
His recorded voice continued.
Daniel answered,
“Enough to scare her.”
Michael whispered beside me,
“I don’t remember this.”
On the tape, Michael shouted,
“She’s not breathing right!”
Daniel said,
“Then call an ambulance.”
A crash.
Then Michael:
“What did she send?”
Daniel:
“I don’t know.”
Michael:
“To who?”
Daniel:
“I SAID I DON’T KNOW.”
The recording distorted.
Then my younger voice made a faint sound.
Michael shouted my name.
Then Daniel said something that froze everyone in the room.
“If she wakes up, Raymond is finished.”
Michael stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“My father.”
The tape continued.
Another voice appeared.
An older man.
Calm.
Controlled.
Michael whispered,
“No.”
I turned toward him.
He looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Whose voice is that?”
His lips trembled.
“My father’s.”
On the recording, Raymond Mercer said,
“Get her to the hospital.”
Daniel replied,
“And the ledger?”
Raymond said,
“Burn it.”
My skin went cold.
Michael stared at the recorder.
“I never knew he was there.”
But the tape proved otherwise.
His father had been in our house.
The night I almost died.
Then my younger voice whispered one final sentence.
Barely audible.
“Jake saw him.”
The tape ended.
No one moved.
I stared at Michael.
“Jake saw your father?”
“I don’t know.”
A sound came from the bedroom.
We all turned.
A closet door creaked open.
I screamed.
Jake stumbled out.
Alive.
Blood on his forehead.
“Mom.”
I ran to him.
He nearly collapsed into me.
“Jake.”
“I’m okay.”
“Who did this?”
He looked past me at Michael.
“Not Dad.”
Michael exhaled.
“Then who?”
Jake reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black ledger.
“The person who has been trying to find this for eighteen years.”
I stared at it.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Grandpa Raymond’s old storage unit.”
Michael whispered,
“My father kept it?”
Jake nodded.
“It has names, payments, dates.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Raymond?”
“Yes.”
Jake’s face changed.
“And one more person.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
He opened the ledger to a marked page.
Then handed it to me.
I looked down.
At first, I didn’t understand.
Then I saw the signature.
A name I knew better than my own.
SUSAN MERCER.
My blood turned cold.
“No.”
Jake grabbed my hand.
“Mom, I don’t think you signed it willingly.”
“What is this?”
“A payment authorization.”
“For what?”
Jake looked at Michael.
Then back at me.
“For the procedure at the hospital.”
The room went silent.
I stared at the page.
“No.”
Michael shook his head.
“That’s not possible.”
Jake swallowed.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The procedure wasn’t the only thing they did that night.”
My heart stopped.
“What else did they do to me?”
Jake’s eyes filled with tears.
“They removed something.”
I pressed a hand to my abdomen.
“What?”
He looked at the ledger.
Then at me.
“Not an organ.”
“Then what?”
Jake whispered,
“Evidence.”
I could barely speak.
“Evidence of what?”
Before he could answer, headlights swept across the apartment windows.
A car stopped outside.
Jake’s face changed instantly.
“They found me.”
Ethan ran to the window.
“Who?”
Jake closed the ledger.
“The last person still alive who knows exactly what happened to Mom in that operating room.”
My pulse exploded.
“Daniel?”
Jake shook his head.
“No.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming closer.
Then Jake looked directly at Michael.
“It’s the surgeon.”
— END OF PART 4 —
