Chapter 5 - The Photograph From Twenty-Two Years Ago
I couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
“That's impossible,” I said.
Luis looked at me.
“Who is he?”
“Daniel Crane.”
“You've known him that long?”
“No.”
The photo said otherwise.
My father had died twenty-two years ago.
Daniel was standing behind us as though he belonged there.
I zoomed in with my phone.
My father was smiling.
I was twenty-two.
And Daniel was holding a clipboard.
I remembered that day.
It was the first week of my first warehouse.
My father had helped me find the property.
He'd negotiated the lease.
Then, three days later, he died in a highway accident.
At least, that's what I'd been told.
I looked at Luis.
“Pull my father's accident report.”
He stared at me.
“You think it's connected?”
“I don't think anything anymore.”
He left.
I called Teresa.
She didn't answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then Chloe's school called.
My daughter had been pulled from class.
I was halfway to the car before the secretary finished the sentence.
“She said her mother told us someone was coming to get her.”
I arrived at the school in six minutes.
Chloe was in the counselor's office.
She ran into my arms.
“Dad!”
“I'm here.”
“Where's Mom?”
“I don't know.”
Chloe grabbed my shirt.
“Dad, I saw the man.”
“What man?”
“The one from Mom's phone.”
My heart slammed.
“Where?”
“He was at the school.”
The principal entered.
“We found a note in Chloe's backpack.”
He handed it to me.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING.
I looked at Chloe.
“Did anyone touch you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone talk to you?”
She shook her head.
Then she whispered,
“A lady did.”
“What lady?”
“She said she knew Mom.”
“What did she look like?”
“Red hair.”
I closed my eyes.
Teresa had no friends with red hair.
At least none I knew.
We went home under security escort.
At 5:18 p.m., Luis called.
“Boss, I got the accident report.”
“And?”
“You're going to want to see it yourself.”
He sent a scan.
I opened it.
The report said my father's truck had crossed the centerline.
Driver error.
Case closed.
Then I noticed something.
The signature of the investigator.
I knew the name.
Detective Samuel Crane.
Daniel's father.
My mouth went dry.
I called Luis.
“Find everything you can about Samuel Crane.”
A pause.
Then:
“Already did.”
“What?”
“He died eighteen years ago.”
“That's not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because his signature appears on a document from last month.”
Silence.
“Send it.”
Thirty seconds later, a file arrived.
A photograph of a customs document.
Samuel Crane's signature.
Dated seventeen days ago.
I looked at the front door.
Teresa had returned.
She was standing there.
And beside her was a woman with red hair.
The woman looked directly at me.
May you like
Then she said,
“You should have left when she gave you the chance.”
