Chapter 8
I didn’t hug her.
I couldn’t.
I stood in the hallway staring at a ghost.
My mother covered her mouth.
Tears poured down her face.
“You’re alive,” she whispered.
I almost laughed.
“You’re saying that to me?”
She reached toward me.
I stepped back.
Her hand dropped.
“Hannah, please.”
“You died.”
“I know what you were told.”
“I went to your funeral.”
“I know.”
“I cried for you every night for a year.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that!”
The hallway echoed.
A neighbor opened a door farther down.
The detective asked us to go inside.
My mother’s apartment was small.
Simple.
Nothing like the Miller house.
Photographs covered one wall.
Most were of me.
School pictures.
A college graduation photo.
A picture from my first apartment.
My skin crawled.
“You’ve been watching me.”
She shook her head.
“Not watching.”
“What would you call this?”
“I needed to know you were okay.”
“For seventeen years?”
She sat down.
“I couldn’t contact you.”
“Why?”
“Because people would have killed you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps protecting me so much that I’ve apparently spent my entire life inside a lie.”
David stayed near the door.
My mother noticed him.
Her face hardened.
“Get out.”
He froze.
“Rebecca.”
“Get out of my home.”
“Hannah may need—”
“She doesn’t need you.”
For once, I agreed.
“Wait outside, David.”
He obeyed.
The detective remained.
I sat opposite my mother.
“Start at the beginning.”
She wiped her face.
“Your father discovered something dangerous.”
“The ledger.”
Her eyes widened.
“You know about it?”
“Enough.”
She nodded slowly.
“Then you know Charles Vale.”
“Yes.”
“Charles was laundering money through businesses connected to your father and David.”
“Dad found out.”
“Yes.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you disappeared.”
“Because I worked for Charles.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Before I married your father.”
She looked ashamed.
“I was Charles Vale’s bookkeeper.”
I stared.
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad?”
“Not at first.”
“What did you do for Charles?”
“I kept records.”
“The ledger?”
“Part of it.”
Everything clicked.
“That’s why Dad had proof.”
“Yes.”
“You gave it to him.”
“Eventually.”
“Why eventually?”
“Because I was afraid.”
She looked at her hands.
“Charles had powerful clients. Contractors. Business owners. People in city offices. Police officers.”
The detective shifted but said nothing.
“I thought I could leave quietly. Marry Thomas. Raise you.”
“But?”
“Charles found me.”
“When?”
“When you were nine.”
A year before she supposedly died.
“He wanted the records back.”
“What happened in the accident?”
My mother went pale.
“It wasn’t an accident.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course it wasn’t.”
“I was driving home from work. A truck hit my car.”
“You survived.”
“Yes.”
“Who died?”
Her tears returned.
“My sister.”
I stared.
“Aunt Caroline?”
I barely remembered her.
She lived in Maine.
Visited twice a year.
“She was with you?”
“She borrowed my coat. She had my purse.”
“And everyone thought she was you.”
“The car burned.”
I felt sick.
“Dad knew?”
“He reached the hospital before identification was finalized.”
“And he decided to pretend you died.”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Because we realized Charles would keep coming after us.”
“But he kept coming after Dad anyway.”
“Yes.”
“So your disappearance solved nothing.”
“It protected you.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“It abandoned me.”
She started crying.
“I know.”
“Did you ever think I needed my mother?”
“Every day.”
“Did you ever stand outside my school?”
Silence.
My stomach twisted.
“You did.”
“Once.”
“How many times?”
She looked away.
“More than once.”
“You watched me grow up.”
“I had to.”
“You could’ve come home.”
“No.”
“You chose not to.”
“If Charles knew I was alive, he would know the records still existed.”
“Dad died anyway.”
Her face broke.
“I know.”
That ended my anger for one second.
She had lost him too.
But my questions weren’t finished.
“Where is your piece of the ledger?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Who told you I had one?”
“Robert.”
She stood abruptly.
“Robert is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hospital.”
She paced.
“Then Daniel knows.”
“Daniel is alive too.”
She stopped.
“You’ve seen him?”
“No.”
“He found Robert.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“This is worse than I thought.”
“Who is Daniel really working for?”
“No one.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Daniel works for himself.”
She looked at the detective.
“He’s been hunting the complete ledger for years.”
“Why?”
“Because his name is in it.”
David had said Daniel stole from the repair shop.
“What did Daniel do?”
“He was Charles’s inside man.”
My stomach tightened.
“He stole from Dad.”
“Yes. But that was the smallest part.”
“What else?”
“He gave Charles access to supplier accounts.”
“And Dad discovered it.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Dad send him to prison?”
“Because Robert begged him not to.”
I looked toward the door.
David’s family had protected Daniel.
And my father had paid for it.
“Did Daniel kill Dad?”
My mother sat down again.
“I don’t know.”
“Evelyn says Daniel entered his hospital room.”
Rebecca went white.
“Evelyn is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“Daniel wasn’t supposed to hurt Thomas.”
“Supposed to?”
My voice became cold.
“You were working with Daniel.”
She shook her head.
“After my disappearance, Daniel contacted me. He claimed he wanted Charles destroyed.”
“Did you believe him?”
“For a while.”
“What changed?”
“The night Thomas died.”
My heart pounded.
“Tell me.”
“Thomas had arranged to meet Daniel at the harbor. Daniel said he had proof that Charles had ordered someone to kill me.”
“Did Dad go?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Thomas called me afterward.”
Her voice cracked.
“He said Daniel had given him something huge.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
“Of Charles?”
“Yes.”
“Ordering your murder?”
“And other things.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
My patience snapped.
“Nobody knows anything!”
“I know where my ledger piece is.”
Silence.
The detective leaned forward.
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“With you.”
I almost laughed.
“I have nothing.”
“You do.”
“I think I would know.”
“Your father gave you my necklace.”
My hand went instinctively to my throat.
I still wore it.
A small silver heart.
My father gave it to me after Mom’s funeral.
I had worn it almost every day since.
My mother stared.
“You kept it.”
I touched the pendant.
“This?”
She nodded.
My fingers shook.
The detective handed me a small multitool.
There was a tiny seam in the pendant I had never noticed.
I opened it.
Inside was no photograph.
Just a microscopic memory card.
I stared at it.
Seventeen years.
I had carried evidence around my neck for seventeen years.
My mother whispered, “That’s my piece.”
We needed a secure computer.
The detective contacted federal investigators.
Within two hours, we were inside an FBI field office.
The memory card contained hundreds of scanned records.
Payments.
Names.
Account numbers.
Dates.
One file was encrypted.
Another folder was labeled T.C.
Thomas Carter.
My father.
Inside were photographs.
Audio files.
And one video.
The date was the night he died.
I clicked play.
My father appeared on screen.
He sat inside his car.
His face looked tired.
“Hannah, if you ever see this, then I failed to keep something away from you.”
I covered my mouth.
My mother started crying beside me.
Dad continued.
“I need you to know your mother is alive.”
I turned toward her.
She closed her eyes.
“She wanted to come back. I stopped her.”
My breath caught.
My mother shook her head.
“He’s protecting me.”
On screen, Dad continued.
“I believed distance was the only way to keep Hannah safe.”
He looked directly into the camera.
“I was wrong.”
A sound outside his car made him look over his shoulder.
Then he spoke quickly.
“David made mistakes, but he did not betray me.”
I froze.
“He met Charles because I asked him to.”
Everything stopped.
Dad continued.
“We needed Charles to believe David had turned against me.”
I stared toward the hallway where David waited.
I had accused him.
Slapped him.
And he had let me.
My father continued.
“David doesn’t know I’m recording this. If I die, tell him I’m sorry I made him carry the blame.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Then Dad looked frightened.
A vehicle appeared behind him.
Headlights flooded the camera.
“I have to go.”
The video ended.
My mother whispered, “Thomas.”
I couldn’t move.
Then the FBI agent beside us spoke.
“There’s another video.”
This one was recorded seven minutes later.
The camera angle was crooked.
My father was driving.
A black SUV followed.
Then impact.
His car jerked violently.
Another impact.
The video went black.
But audio continued.
Tires screamed.
Glass shattered.
My father groaned.
A door opened.
Footsteps.
Then a man spoke.
“You should have given Charles the ledger.”
My father coughed.
“He’ll never find it.”
The voice laughed.
“Oh, I’m not doing this for Charles.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
She recognized the voice.
So did David, who had just entered the room.
He whispered one word.
“Dad.”
Robert Miller.
David’s father.
My mother looked at him in horror.
The audio continued.
My father said weakly, “Robert... why?”
Robert answered.
May you like
“Because you were going to destroy my family.”
Then the recording ended.
