Chapter 7: The First Page
“Mark!”
I tried to run toward the warehouse entrance.
My father grabbed me.
“Don't!”
“That's my husband!”
“He's trying to get you killed!”
Another burst of gunfire tore through the night.
I dropped behind the steel container.
Detective Harris shouted commands into his radio.
“Two suspects! East entrance! Get backup here now!”
Rachel was crouched beside me, trembling.
“Sarah…”
“What?”
“Your father is right.”
I looked at her.
“How would you know?”
She swallowed.
“Because Mark called me before Emma collapsed.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he say?”
“He told me if anything happened, I had to find the envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“The one from your basement.”
I stared at her.
“You knew where it was?”
“No.”
“You knew what was inside?”
“No.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Mark?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Of everyone.”
Another shot.
Then silence.
A terrible silence.
Detective Harris slowly raised his head.
“Stay here.”
He moved toward the entrance.
My father stopped him.
“Wait.”
Harris looked back.
“What?”
“The shooters aren't leaving.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they came for the envelope.”
He pointed toward the upper level of the warehouse.
“They'll search the building.”
Harris frowned.
“Then we need to move.”
My father looked at me.
“Do you trust me?”
I stared at the man I had spent twelve years believing was dead.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Then he grabbed my hand.
“But come with me anyway.”
We ran through the warehouse.
Behind us, Harris and two officers followed.
Rachel stayed close.
My father led us down a narrow stairwell.
“Where are we going?”
“Basement.”
“Why?”
“Because this building has an old service tunnel.”
“To where?”
“The harbor.”
I stared at him.
“You've been here before.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
I almost laughed.
“You've been living in Baltimore this entire time?”
“Not continuously.”
“Then where?”
“Everywhere.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
We reached the bottom.
My father stopped beside a rusted metal door.
He pulled out a key.
The lock clicked.
Rachel stared.
“You planned this.”
“I planned an escape.”
“From whom?”
He looked at her.
“Everyone.”
We entered the tunnel.
It smelled of seawater and rust.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Rachel whispered:
“Where's Mark?”
My father didn't answer.
I looked at him.
“Where is my husband?”
“I don't know.”
“You heard him.”
“Yes.”
“He screamed.”
“I heard.”
“You think he's dead?”
My father looked at me.
“I think he wanted you to hear him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the scream may have been a message.”
“A message?”
“Yes.”
“What message?”
My father stopped walking.
“Fear.”
I stared at him.
“Why would Mark want me afraid?”
“Because fear makes people run.”
“Run where?”
He looked toward the darkness ahead.
“To the place the enemy expects.”
We emerged near the harbor.
Police vehicles were already moving in the distance.
Sirens echoed across the water.
Detective Harris approached us.
“Everyone okay?”
I nodded.
“Where are the shooters?”
“Gone.”
“How?”
“They knew the tunnel.”
My father looked at him.
“Then you have a leak.”
Harris's face hardened.
“You're suggesting someone inside my department helped them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have proof?”
“No.”
“Then don't make accusations.”
My father looked at me.
“That's exactly how they survive.”
I turned to Harris.
“Where is Mark?”
“We found his vehicle.”
“Is he inside?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
Harris hesitated.
“Some.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Not enough to know if he was seriously injured.”
“Then find him.”
“We're trying.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You need to understand.”
My voice shook.
“Someone drugged my daughter.”
“Someone tried to kill me.”
“My husband is missing.”
“My sister knows something she's been hiding.”
“And my father just came back from the dead.”
Harris stared at me.
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
I pointed toward the harbor.
“I am done waiting for everyone else to tell me what is happening.”
Harris looked at my father.
Then back at me.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
An hour later, we were inside a secure police office.
My father sat across from me.
Rachel sat beside him.
Detective Harris stood near the door.
“Start with the Black Ledger,” I said.
My father nodded.
“It began twenty years ago.”
“Who created it?”
“We don't know.”
“Then how did it become important?”
“Because it documented transactions.”
“Transactions involving?”
“People.”
“Money?”
“Money, favors, blackmail.”
He paused.
“Deaths.”
I swallowed.
“And you had access to it?”
“Indirectly.”
“How?”
“I transported witnesses.”
“People who knew about the organization?”
“Yes.”
“And my mother?”
“She was one of them.”
I looked down.
“What did she know?”
“She discovered a network inside several hospitals.”
“Hospitals?”
“Doctors were selling patient information.”
My heart tightened.
I thought of Mark.
My father continued.
“Some information was used for fraud.”
“Some for blackmail.”
“And some for murder.”
I stared at him.
“Mark was involved?”
“He was a courier.”
“For the organization?”
“No.”
“Then for whom?”
“Me.”
I blinked.
“You said he worked with you.”
“He did.”
“To protect witnesses?”
“Initially.”
“Then what happened?”
My father looked away.
“He became greedy.”
Rachel whispered:
“That sounds like Mark.”
My father nodded.
“He started selling information himself.”
I closed my eyes.
“So Malcolm was telling the truth.”
“Partially.”
“What part was false?”
“Mark wasn't working for the organization.”
“Then who was he working for?”
My father looked directly at me.
“Someone inside it.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
I slammed my palm on the table.
“Everyone keeps saying they don't know!”
My father flinched.
“Because the person behind it has stayed hidden.”
“Then why do you think Mark was trying to protect Emma?”
“Because I saw him.”
“When?”
“On the birthday.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I was watching your house.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew someone would come.”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“What did you see?”
My father leaned forward.
“Mark entered the kitchen.”
“Then what?”
“He checked Emma's cup.”
I stared.
“He smelled it.”
My heart stopped.
That was exactly what Mark had done.
“He knew something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he stop Emma?”
“He tried.”
I shook my head.
“How?”
“He grabbed the cup.”
“But Emma had already drunk it.”
“Yes.”
“Then he smelled it.”
“Yes.”
I remembered the moment.
Mark had looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
My father continued.
“He realized the substance wasn't what he expected.”
“What did he expect?”
“A warning dose.”
I felt sick.
“A warning?”
“Someone had threatened him.”
“They told him to put something in Emma's drink?”
“No.”
“They told him to let someone else do it.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“To make it look like Mark had poisoned her.”
Silence.
I suddenly understood.
The vial under his driver's seat.
The sedative.
The missing money.
The gambling debts.
Someone had built a perfect story around my husband.
A story in which Mark was the villain.
My father leaned back.
“They needed you to hate him.”
“Why?”
“Because they knew you would investigate.”
“And?”
“They needed you to find the envelope.”
I looked at Rachel.
She suddenly stood.
“I know where it is.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“What?”
Rachel's face was pale.
“I remember where Mark hid it.”
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Emma's birthday present.”
My blood ran cold.
“What birthday present?”
“The unicorn.”
I stared at her.
“The stuffed unicorn?”
Rachel nodded.
“He put something inside it.”
My father stood.
“Then we need to get to the house.”
Detective Harris shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone is waiting there.”
He turned his computer toward us.
A security feed appeared.
My house.
The kitchen.
The birthday decorations were still hanging.
The camera showed a figure entering through the back door.
Black coat.
Baseball cap.
The same man from the hospital.
He walked directly toward Emma's gifts.
Then he picked up the unicorn.
My heart stopped.
The man reached inside his coat.
And suddenly, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A distorted voice whispered:
“Tell your father the ledger isn't in the unicorn.”
I looked at my father.
His face had gone white.
The voice continued:
“It's inside Emma's room.”
Then the caller laughed softly.
“And you have exactly ten minutes before I burn it.”
The line went dead.
My father grabbed the table.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
He stared at me.
“The only person who knew that location…”
He stopped.
“Who?”
My father looked toward Detective Harris.
“Mark.”
The room fell silent.
Then Harris's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Mrs. Carter…”
“What?”
“We found your husband.”
I stood.
“Where?”
Harris swallowed.
“In the basement of your house.”
My heart stopped.
“He's alive.”
Relief hit me.
Then Harris added:
“But he's tied to a chair.”
May you like
I stared at him.
“And he's been shot.”
