PART 3
Thomas turned the note toward me.
And apparently… Daniel knew who was going to kill him.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
My eyes moved down to the four handwritten lines.
If anything happens to me, it wasn’t an accident.
He knows about Thomas.
He knows Eleanor was going to leave.
If I don’t make it home, look at the photograph.
There was no signature.
There didn’t need to be.
“Who is the man?” I whispered.
Thomas still had the photograph clenched between his fingers.
He didn’t answer.
“Thomas.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“My uncle.”
I frowned.
“Which uncle?”
“Robert.”
My stomach dropped.
Robert.
Walter’s younger brother.
Uncle Robert.
The man who had given the toast at our wedding.
The man who called Thomas every birthday.
The man who came to our house every Thanksgiving carrying the same bottle of bourbon and making the same terrible joke about my stuffing.
The man Thomas had once described as his second father.
“That’s Robert?” I asked.
Thomas nodded.
He looked twenty-five years younger in the photograph, but there was no mistaking him.
Same square jaw.
Same deep-set eyes.
Same small scar above his left eyebrow.
I looked at the phone lying on the bed.
Walter was still there.
“Dad,” Thomas said.
Walter didn’t answer.
“Dad, why is Uncle Robert in this photograph?”
Another silence.
Then Walter said quietly, “We’ll be there in forty minutes.”
“No.”
“Thomas—”
“No more waiting.”
Thomas’s voice changed.
I’d rarely heard him speak to his father like that.
“You’ve had thirty-eight years to explain this. You can start now.”
“Some things shouldn’t be discussed over the phone.”
“My biological father was apparently murdered, my mother hid evidence under a mattress in my house, and your brother is standing in the photograph she hid with it. I think we’re past worrying about proper conversations.”
Walter exhaled.
Then Eleanor’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Tell him.”
Walter said something I couldn’t hear.
Eleanor repeated herself.
“Tell him, Walter.”
Thomas sat down.
“Dad?”
Walter finally spoke.
“Robert hated Daniel.”
“Why?”
“Because of your mother.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
“What does Uncle Robert have to do with Mom?”
Walter didn’t answer quickly enough.
And suddenly I saw something in Thomas’s expression.
A realization.
“No.”
“Thomas—”
“No.”
He stood again.
“Don’t tell me Robert was involved with Mom too.”
“He wasn’t.”
“Then why would he care?”
“Because Robert knew Daniel was destroying our family.”
Thomas laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth.”
“No, Dad. Apparently, the truth is something nobody in this family has tried in almost forty years.”
That silenced Walter.
Thomas picked up the paternity test.
“You knew?”
Walter answered quietly.
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since you were nine months old.”
Thomas’s face collapsed.
Not dramatically.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
All those childhood memories.
Every fishing trip.
Every Christmas.
Every time Walter had called him son.
Suddenly being examined through a completely different lens.
“And you stayed?” Thomas asked.
“Of course I stayed.”
“Why?”
Walter’s answer came immediately.
“Because you were my son.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Walter continued.
“I don’t care what a piece of paper says. I was there the night you took your first steps. I taught you to ride a bicycle. I sat beside you when you broke your arm. I watched you graduate. I stood next to you when you married Claire. Biology doesn’t erase thirty-eight years.”
Thomas swallowed.
For a moment, I thought he might cry.
Then he looked at Daniel’s photograph.
“But you hated him.”
“Yes.”
“Did you want him dead?”
A long pause.
“At the time?”
Walter’s voice became quieter.
“Yes.”
Thomas stared at the phone.
“But I didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“That’s what we need to talk about in person.”
Before Thomas could respond, Eleanor spoke again.
“There’s something else in the room.”
My heart jumped.
“What?” I asked.
Eleanor went silent.
“Eleanor?”
“Under the bed.”
Thomas and I looked at each other.
“You mean the envelope?” I asked.
“No.”
Her voice was shaking.
“Under the frame.”
I crouched immediately.
The bed was heavy, a solid wooden frame Thomas and I had bought years ago.
I ran my hand beneath the nearest rail.
Nothing.
Thomas dropped beside me.
“Where?” he asked.
“The headboard side,” Eleanor said.
We moved toward the wall.
Thomas reached underneath.
His hand stopped.
“I’ve got something.”
There was a ripping sound.
Velcro.
Thomas pulled out a small black pouch.
I stared at it.
“You’ve been keeping that under our bed for six months?”
Eleanor started crying again.
“I didn’t know where else to put it.”
Thomas unzipped the pouch.
Inside was an old microcassette recorder.
And three tapes.
Each had a date written across it.
February 14, 1988.
February 16, 1988.
February 17, 1988.
The day Daniel died.
Thomas picked up the last tape.
“What is this?”
Walter answered.
“Daniel’s insurance policy.”
Thomas stared at the recorder.
“You’ve listened to these?”
“I listened to one.”
“Which?”
“The last one.”
“What does it say?”
Walter hesitated.
Then Eleanor interrupted.
“Don’t.”
Thomas looked toward the phone.
“Mom?”
“Please don’t listen to it until we get there.”
“Why?”
“Because once you hear his voice, Thomas, you can’t unhear it.”
Thomas stared at the tape.
I could see the battle happening inside him.
Then Walter said, “Twenty-five minutes.”
The call ended.
For a while, we just sat on the guest room floor.
Then Thomas said, “I’m listening.”
I wasn’t surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He inserted the February 17 tape.
The recorder clicked.
Static filled the room.
Then a man’s voice came through the tiny speaker.
A dead man’s voice.
“If you’re hearing this, Eleanor, then I was probably right.”
Thomas stopped breathing.
The voice continued.
“I saw Robert again tonight.”
Thomas looked at me.
“He followed me from work.”
Static crackled.
“I don’t think Walter knows what his brother is doing.”
Thomas’s eyes widened.
Daniel continued.
“Robert came to my apartment yesterday. He told me to disappear. Said Walter had already lost enough because of me.”
There was a pause.
Then Daniel laughed bitterly.
“But this isn’t about protecting Walter anymore. Robert wants something.”
The recording distorted.
Thomas leaned closer.
“I found the documents.”
Static.
“Documents?” I whispered.
Daniel’s voice returned.
“If Robert discovers I copied them, I’m in trouble.”
Thomas frowned.
“What documents?”
The tape continued.
“Eleanor, they’re not just stealing money.”
My stomach tightened.
“They’ve been doing it for years.”
Thomas and I exchanged a look.
“They?”
Daniel continued.
“Robert isn’t alone.”
The tape crackled again.
“I know who his partner is.”
Then the recording abruptly stopped.
Thomas grabbed the recorder.
“No.”
He pressed play again.
Nothing.
He rewound.
The same section played.
Then silence.
“The tape’s damaged,” I said.
Thomas turned it over.
There was still several minutes of tape remaining.
“Someone erased the rest.”
I looked at him.
“Your parents?”
Before he could answer, we heard a car door slam outside.
Thomas stood.
I went to the window.
A silver sedan had pulled into our driveway.
“Your parents.”
Walter climbed out first.
Eleanor followed.
She looked like she’d aged ten years since yesterday.
Thomas headed toward the hallway.
I grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“Whatever happens downstairs, don’t let anger make you miss what they’re actually saying.”
He nodded.
We walked into the living room together.
Eleanor entered without knocking.
The moment she saw Thomas, she stopped.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“Don’t.”
The word came out quietly.
Eleanor froze.
Thomas placed the photograph on the coffee table.
Then the paternity test.
Then Daniel’s note.
Then the recorder.
Walter’s eyes landed on the recorder.
His face changed.
“You listened.”
“Yes.”
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Thomas looked directly at his mother.
“Was Daniel planning to take you away?”
She nodded.
“And me?”
Another nod.
Walter stared at the floor.
Thomas turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“Eventually.”
“How eventually?”
Walter lifted his head.
“Three days before Daniel died.”
Thomas stared at him.
“And you didn’t do anything?”
“I confronted him.”
“What happened?”
“I hit him.”
Eleanor flinched.
Walter continued.
“I was thirty-two years old. I had just discovered my wife loved another man and the baby I’d raised wasn’t biologically mine. I lost control.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten to kill him?”
Walter’s silence answered first.
Then:
“Yes.”
Thomas laughed bitterly.
“Wonderful.”
“But I didn’t touch his car.”
Thomas suddenly looked at him.
“His car?”
The room changed.
Walter realized his mistake immediately.
Thomas stepped closer.
“I never said anything about someone touching his car.”
Walter went pale.
“Thomas—”
“The newspaper says his vehicle left the road. The recording says Robert followed him. Nobody said the car was tampered with.”
Eleanor began crying.
Thomas’s voice rose.
“How did you know?”
Walter looked at Eleanor.
And that tiny glance told me everything.
They had rehearsed this story.
Maybe years ago.
Maybe yesterday.
But they had rehearsed it.
Thomas saw it too.
“Oh my God.”
“Son—”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
Walter recoiled as though he’d been slapped.
Thomas pointed toward the recorder.
“What happened to Daniel’s car?”
Walter sat down.
His shoulders sagged.
“The brake line was cut.”
I felt cold all over.
Thomas didn’t move.
“How do you know?”
“Because Robert told me.”
“When?”
“The morning after Daniel died.”
“And you didn’t tell the police?”
Walter looked at Eleanor.
“No.”
“WHY?”
“Because Robert swore he hadn’t done it.”
Thomas stared at him.
“Then why would he know?”
Walter’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because he’d been there.”
Silence.
Eleanor sat beside him.
Thomas looked between them.
“Start talking.”
Walter rubbed his hands together.
“Robert followed Daniel that night. He wanted the documents Daniel mentioned on that tape.”
“The stolen money?”
Walter nodded.
“Our father’s company.”
Thomas frowned.
“My grandfather’s construction company?”
“Yes.”
“Robert was stealing from it?”
“For years.”
“Who was helping him?”
Walter looked away.
“That’s the part we never proved.”
Thomas picked up Daniel’s note.
“Daniel knew.”
“Yes.”
“And Daniel copied the documents.”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
“We don’t know.”
Thomas stared at his father.
“Robert followed him because he thought Daniel had them.”
“Yes.”
“And then Daniel died.”
Walter nodded.
Thomas paced across the room.
“Why did Robert tell you about the brake line?”
“Because he panicked.”
Walter’s voice cracked.
“He said he’d followed Daniel to a gas station. Daniel went inside. Robert searched his car for the documents.”
“And?”
“He didn’t find them.”
“Then what?”
“When Daniel came back, Robert left.”
Thomas stopped.
“So Robert claims somebody else cut the brakes.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
Walter didn’t answer.
Thomas looked disgusted.
Then Eleanor whispered, “There was another reason.”
Thomas turned.
“What reason?”
She looked terrified.
“Robert wasn’t the only person Daniel saw that night.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who else?” I asked.
Eleanor looked at Walter.
Walter shook his head.
“Eleanor.”
“I’m done protecting people.”
“Eleanor, think carefully.”
“I’ve thought carefully for thirty-eight years.”
She stood.
“Daniel called me at 10:41 that night.”
Thomas stared at her.
“He told me Robert had followed him.”
She wiped her eyes.
“But then he said Robert wasn’t the person he was afraid of.”
Thomas slowly stepped toward her.
“Who was he afraid of?”
Eleanor’s lips trembled.
“He said someone else knew about the documents.”
“WHO?”
Before she could answer, Thomas’s phone rang.
All four of us jumped.
Thomas looked at the screen.
Then his expression went blank.
“Who is it?” I asked.
He turned the phone toward me.
UNCLE ROBERT.
Nobody spoke.
The phone kept ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Walter stood.
“Don’t answer.”
Thomas looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because he shouldn’t know you’re asking questions.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
“I haven’t spoken to him.”
Neither had I.
Walter looked at Eleanor.
“You?”
“No.”
The ringing stopped.
Silence returned.
Then a text message appeared.
Thomas read it.
His face changed.
“What?” I asked.
He showed me.
We need to talk about what you found under the mattress.
I felt my stomach drop.
“How does he know?”
Thomas whispered.
Eleanor backed toward the sofa.
“I didn’t tell him.”
Walter shook his head.
“Neither did I.”
Another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
Thomas opened it.
For a second, none of us understood what we were looking at.
Then I did.
It was our house.
Photographed from across the street.
Today.
My mouth went dry.
A third message arrived.
I know what Daniel left behind.
Walter grabbed Thomas’s arm.
“Lock the doors.”
Thomas looked at him.
“What?”
“LOCK THE DOORS.”
I ran to the front door.
Thomas checked the back.
Eleanor stood trembling in the center of the living room.
Then another message appeared.
Thomas read it aloud.
“The tapes aren’t the evidence.”
Walter went completely still.
Thomas looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Walter didn’t answer.
“Dad?”
His father slowly sat down.
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
Walter stared at the black pouch.
Then at the brass key we’d found inside the original envelope.
“Your mother wasn’t supposed to have that key.”
Thomas pulled it from his pocket.
“This?”
Walter nodded.
“What does it open?”
Walter looked toward Eleanor.
She whispered, “I don’t know.”
But Walter did.
I could see it on his face.
Thomas stepped closer.
“What does this key open?”
Walter finally answered.
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“First County Bank.”
Thomas frowned.
“Whose box?”
Walter swallowed.
“Daniel’s.”
The room went silent again.
“But Daniel has been dead for thirty-eight years,” I said.
Walter nodded.
“That’s why nobody ever found what he copied.”
Thomas looked at the key.
“You think the documents are inside?”
“I think Daniel wanted someone to find them.”
Thomas’s phone vibrated again.
Another message from Robert.
This time there were only seven words.
Do not take that key to the bank.
Thomas stared at the screen.
Then slowly looked toward the front window.
The curtains were open.
Across the street sat a dark SUV.
Engine running.
Nobody got out.
Walter saw it.
His face turned white.
“Claire, move away from the window.”
I stepped back.
Thomas clenched the brass key in his fist.
Then something occurred to me.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“How could Robert know about the key?”
Nobody answered.
“If Eleanor never told him, Walter never told him, and we haven’t spoken to him…”
I looked toward the dark SUV.
“…then somebody has been inside this house.”
Eleanor’s face changed.
And suddenly she whispered:
“The guest room.”
Thomas turned toward her.
“What about it?”
She stared toward the hallway.
“Three nights ago.”
“What happened three nights ago?”
“I woke up around two in the morning.”
She swallowed.
“I thought I heard the guest-room door opening.”
My skin prickled.
“Did you check?”
“I assumed it was Walter coming back from the bathroom.”
Walter shook his head.
“I never got up.”
Nobody moved.
Then we heard it.
A faint sound from the back of the house.
Click.
Thomas looked at me.
I looked at him.
The guest-room door.
It had just closed.
But all four of us were standing in the living room.
Thomas grabbed the fireplace poker.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not,” I whispered.
He started down the hallway.
Walter followed.
I stayed behind them with Eleanor.
The guest-room door was shut.
Thomas reached for the handle.
Then stopped.
Something white protruded from underneath the door.
A piece of paper.
Thomas bent down and pulled it free.
There was a message printed across it in block letters.
YOU FOUND THE WRONG ENVELOPE.
Thomas pushed open the door.
The room was empty.
The window stood wide open.
The curtains moved gently in the wind.
The papers we’d left scattered across the bed were gone.
So were Daniel’s photographs.
The paternity test.
The newspaper clipping.
Everything.
Except the microcassette recorder.
It sat perfectly centered on the mattress.
Thomas walked toward it.
“Don’t touch it,” Walter said.
But Thomas already had.
He pressed PLAY.
Static filled the room.
Then Daniel’s voice returned.
Except this wasn’t the section we’d heard before.
This was something else.
Something someone had apparently wanted us to hear.
“If Thomas ever hears this, then Eleanor finally told him.”
Thomas’s face went completely still.
Daniel continued.
“Son, there are two things you need to know.”
Thomas’s eyes filled.
“First, I’m sorry I never got the chance to know you.”
A long pause.
“And second…”
The tape crackled.
“The person who killed me isn’t Robert.”
Walter stumbled backward.
Eleanor gasped.
Thomas leaned closer.
Daniel’s final sentence came through perfectly clearly.
“It’s someone Thomas will grow up trusting.”
Then the tape clicked off.
Nobody spoke.
Until Eleanor whispered:
“No.”
Thomas turned toward her.
Her face had gone completely white.
“Mom?”
She stared at the recorder.
“No, no, no…”
“Eleanor?” I said.
She looked at Thomas.
And the terror in her eyes was unlike anything I’d seen before.
“I know who Daniel meant.”
Thomas took one step toward her.
“Who?”
Eleanor opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, the front doorbell rang.
Once.
Then twice.
Then three times.
Thomas’s phone vibrated.
A final message from Robert appeared.
Don’t let the man at your front door inside.
Thomas stared toward the hallway.
Then we heard a man’s voice from outside.
“Thomas?”
Walter suddenly grabbed the wall for support.
Because he recognized the voice.
And apparently, so did Eleanor.
The stranger knocked again.
“Thomas, my name is Michael Mercer.”
Thomas froze at the surname.
The man continued.
“Daniel Mercer was my brother.”
My heart stopped.
“And I’ve been waiting thirty-eight years to tell you who murdered him.”
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