Chapter 7
“You have a brother?”
David looked like he wanted the floor to open beneath him.
“Half brother.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming another favorite answer.”
Evelyn stared between us.
“His name is Daniel Miller?”
David nodded.
“He’s my father’s oldest son.”
“Why have I never heard of him?”
“Because my family doesn’t talk about him.”
“Why?”
David sat down.
“When Daniel was twenty-six, he was arrested for embezzlement.”
“From your business?”
“From our first repair shop.”
My stomach tightened.
“My father’s shop?”
“Yes.”
“He stole from my father?”
“He stole from both of us.”
“How much?”
“Almost a hundred thousand dollars.”
Evelyn looked shocked.
“What happened?”
“Dad paid most of it back before Tom discovered what was going on.”
I stared.
“Your father protected Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“He wanted Daniel prosecuted.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
David looked ashamed.
“Tom agreed not to press charges if Daniel left Massachusetts and never came near the business again.”
I looked at the photograph.
Daniel stood beside my father smiling.
It was hard to imagine that face beside a hospital bed.
“Why would Dad write ‘find Daniel’ if Daniel was dangerous?”
David shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The detective asked, “Do you have a recent photograph?”
“No.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Seven years ago.”
One year before my father died.
“Where?”
David hesitated.
“At my wedding anniversary party.”
My stomach twisted.
“Laura knew him.”
David looked at me.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“She met dozens of people that night.”
I pulled out my phone.
The basement man.
Mark.
Laura’s seventeen-year connection to him.
Every secret seemed to lead to another secret.
The detective began searching records for Daniel Miller.
The results were strange.
No recent address.
No active driver’s license.
No tax records after five years ago.
He had almost disappeared.
Then one officer found something.
A death certificate.
Daniel Miller had supposedly died in Pennsylvania four years ago.
David stared at it.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“I spoke to him three years ago.”
Everyone went silent.
I stepped toward him.
“You just said you last saw him seven years ago.”
“I saw him seven years ago. He called me three years ago.”
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I owed him.”
“For what?”
David rubbed his forehead.
“He said the company existed because of him.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That sounds familiar.”
“He was drunk.”
“Or telling the truth.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he contributed nothing.”
“Except stealing from it?”
David flinched.
Evelyn looked at the old photograph again.
“Thomas wasn’t afraid of him at the hospital.”
I turned.
“What?”
“When I told Thomas that David Miller was asking to see him, he became alert.”
She swallowed.
“He said, ‘Let him in.’”
That changed everything.
If my father knew the man wasn’t David, why allow him inside?
“Did Dad call him Daniel?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything they said?”
Evelyn closed her eyes, remembering.
“Only one thing.”
“What?”
“Thomas said, ‘You finally chose a side.’”
My skin prickled.
David whispered, “Daniel was helping him.”
“Helping him with what?”
“The ledger.”
I stared.
“Maybe Daniel stole from the company because Charles paid him.”
“Or maybe he pretended to work for Charles.”
David stood suddenly.
“My father would know.”
“Robert is missing.”
“I know.”
He looked terrified now.
“But if Daniel was involved six years ago, Dad knew more than he admitted.”
The detective’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
Robert Miller had been found.
Alive.
A state trooper discovered him walking along a rural highway nearly thirty miles away.
We drove to the hospital.
Robert had bruises on his face and wrists.
But his mind was clear.
David rushed to him.
“Dad.”
Robert looked past his son.
Straight at me.
“Hannah.”
I had met him only a few times.
He had always been kind.
Now I wondered what kindness had hidden.
“Where did Mark take you?”
Robert shook his head.
“It wasn’t Mark.”
The detective leaned closer.
“Who was it?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Daniel.”
David staggered backward.
“He’s alive?”
Robert laughed sadly.
“Daniel has been alive this entire time.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
David looked betrayed.
“Why did you tell me he died?”
“To protect you.”
I almost laughed.
There was that word again.
Protect.
The word people used when they meant control.
David stared at his father.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did he take you?”
“He wanted the ledger.”
“Do you know where it is?”
Robert looked at me.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“He made me promise Thomas I would never tell anyone unless Hannah was in danger.”
“I am in danger.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Robert slowly sat higher.
“Your father discovered the ledger was too dangerous to keep in one place.”
“What does that mean?”
“He divided it.”
“How many pieces?”
“Three.”
David stared.
“The lunchbox?”
“One piece was supposed to be there.”
“It was empty.”
Robert nodded.
“Because Daniel moved it.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where are the other two?”
Robert pointed toward me.
“One was given to your mother.”
My breath stopped.
“My mother died before Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the third?”
Robert looked at David.
“Thomas gave it to you.”
David frowned.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“I would remember.”
“He didn’t tell you what it was.”
David stood frozen.
Robert continued.
“Remember the blue toolbox Thomas gave you the week before he died?”
David’s face changed.
“I threw it away.”
I stared at him.
“You what?”
“It was broken.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Oh, David.”
“Where did you throw it away?”
“The company warehouse.”
“Six years ago?”
“Yes.”
I almost screamed.
Robert lifted a hand.
“There may still be hope.”
“How?”
“Your father knew David.”
I looked at him.
“He knew you would ignore anything that looked ordinary.”
David actually looked offended.
Robert almost smiled.
“He hid things inside things.”
I thought of Sophie’s rabbit.
The hidden paper.
The lunchbox.
My father had turned secrecy into an art.
Robert continued.
“The toolbox wasn’t the ledger.”
“Then what was it?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The detective asked Robert what Daniel wanted.
“He believes I know where Hannah’s mother’s piece is.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Why release you?”
Robert looked uneasy.
“He wanted me to deliver a message.”
My stomach tightened.
“To Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Robert reached under his hospital blanket.
A nurse protested, but he removed a folded photograph.
He handed it to me.
It showed my mother holding me as a baby.
I had seen similar pictures.
But never this exact one.
On the back was an address in Boston.
I recognized the neighborhood.
Dorchester.
Below the address were four words.
YOUR MOTHER NEVER LEFT.
I stared at Robert.
“What does this mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“My mother died when I was ten.”
Robert looked at me with unbearable sadness.
“Hannah.”
“What?”
“Thomas told everyone your mother died.”
The air vanished from the room.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I attended the funeral.”
“So did I.”
“I saw the coffin.”
“It was closed.”
“Because of the accident.”
“That’s what Thomas told you.”
I backed away.
“No.”
David whispered, “Dad, what are you saying?”
Robert’s voice broke.
“I’m saying the woman buried under Rebecca Carter’s name may not have been Rebecca.”
I felt the wall against my back.
Memories crashed over me.
My father crying.
The closed coffin.
Adults whispering.
Being told the car accident had been too severe.
My mother’s wedding ring supposedly lost in the crash.
No body identification.
Not by me.
I looked at the address again.
“Who lives here?”
Robert shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I left before anyone could stop me.
The detective followed.
So did David.
The address led to a narrow brick building on a quiet residential street.
Apartment 3B.
My hand shook as I knocked.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
The detective called out.
“Police.”
A lock clicked.
The door opened three inches.
A woman looked through the gap.
She was older.
Her dark hair had gone mostly gray.
There were lines around her eyes.
But I knew those eyes.
I had seen them every morning in my own mirror.
The photograph slipped from my hand.
The woman stared at me.
Her lips began trembling.
“Hannah?”
I couldn’t breathe.
May you like
She opened the door.
And the mother I had buried seventeen years ago whispered my name again.
