Chapter 4 - The Name of a Dead ManThe document was timestamped six years before Patricia died.
At the bottom of the transfer agreement was the name:
Samuel Hayes.
My father.
Dead for eleven years.
I stared at the page until the letters blurred.
"My father?"
"That's what it says."
"How could he receive property after he died?"
Raymond adjusted his glasses.
"He couldn't."
"Then somebody forged the document."
"Possibly."
"Who?"
"We don't know."
I paced across the room.
My father had died bitter and angry.
He had left me almost nothing except an old toolbox and a lifetime of lessons about contracts, men, and mistakes.
He certainly hadn't owned property in Ontario.
At least, I didn't think he had.
"Raymond."
"Yes?"
"What was my father involved in before he died?"
Raymond gave me a strange look.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because Patricia wouldn't have invented this."
He opened another folder.
"Your father was involved in land development."
"I know."
"Not small-scale development."
I stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"He was part of a consortium."
"How big?"
"Big enough to attract people who don't like losing money."
I stared at him.
"What kind of people?"
"Investors. Developers. Private lenders."
"Criminals?"
Raymond sighed.
"I didn't say that."
"But you're thinking it."
He closed the folder.
"The property Patricia transferred was part of a larger parcel."
"How large?"
"Almost forty acres."
I sat.
"Forty acres?"
"Near Georgian Bay."
"That land is worth a fortune."
"Today."
"And then?"
"Back then, it was considered useless."
"Why?"
"There were environmental restrictions."
"Then why hide it?"
Raymond looked directly at me.
"Because underneath the land is something."
The same words Patricia had written.
It's valuable because of what is beneath it.
I felt a chill.
"What?"
Raymond shook his head.
"We're still investigating."
That answer wasn't good enough.
"What did my father know?"
"We don't know."
"What did Patricia know?"
"We don't know."
"Who does?"
Raymond looked at me.
"Maybe Renata."
The name hung in the room.
I called Marcus.
He didn't answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
I drove to his house.
Renata opened the door.
She wasn't surprised to see me.
"You're early."
"Where's Marcus?"
"Working."
"I want to speak with him."
"You don't get to demand anything."
I stepped closer.
"You sent me a photograph and a forty-eight-hour ultimatum."
She smiled.
"I was trying to avoid a fight."
"No. You were trying to scare me."
"And?"
I stared at her.
"You've made a serious mistake."
She laughed.
"You're still pretending you have power."
I pulled out my phone.
I showed her the copy of the trust.
Her smile disappeared.
"Where did you get that?"
"That's not the question."
She stepped back.
"What do you know?"
I smiled.
"Enough."
Her face hardened.
"You don't know anything."
"Do you know who Samuel Hayes is?"
She froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
But I saw it.
That was enough.
"How do you know that name?"
I said nothing.
She moved closer.
"Who told you?"
"Why are you afraid of it?"
"I'm not afraid."
"You just stopped breathing."
She stepped back.
Then she said:
"Leave."
I turned toward the door.
But before I left, she called out.
"You think this is about your cottage?"
I stopped.
She continued.
"It isn't."
I looked back.
"What is it about?"
She smiled.
"You'll find out."
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
Marcus.
He came down slowly.
He looked at Renata.
Then at me.
"Dad."
I walked toward him.
"How long have you known?"
He looked confused.
"Known what?"
"Samuel Hayes."
His face went white.
Renata stepped forward.
"Don't."
I looked at Marcus.
"What did you find in the records three years ago?"
He didn't answer.
Renata grabbed his arm.
"Come upstairs."
"Let him speak."
"He has no right."
Marcus looked between us.
Then he whispered:
"I found a map."
My heart stopped.
"What map?"
"A survey map."
"Of what?"
"The Georgian Bay property."
Renata shut her eyes.
"Marcus."
He continued.
"You weren't supposed to see it."
I looked at her.
"You knew."
She didn't answer.
"How long?"
"Long enough."
"What is on that land?"
She smiled.
But now there was fear underneath it.
"Ask your father."
"He's dead."
"Exactly."
I looked at Marcus.
"Who else knows?"
He whispered one name.
"Grant."
"Who is Grant?"
Renata's face changed.
"Don't say his name."
Marcus ignored her.
"He's the man who first told Mom about the property."
"Your mother?"
He nodded.
"Patricia found out about him near the end."
Everything suddenly connected.
Patricia had not been paranoid.
She had been investigating.
And she had been trying to protect me.
I left.
At home, I called Raymond.
"Find Grant."
"Who?"
"Grant. I don't know his last name."
Raymond sighed.
"That's not much."
"It will have to be enough."
He agreed.
Two hours later, he called.
"I found him."
"Who is he?"
"Grant Mercer."
I waited.
"Where is he?"
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"He died six months ago."
I sat down.
"Another dead man?"
"No."
Raymond paused.
"The strange part is this."
"What?"
"His death certificate says he died in British Columbia."
"And?"
"The police report says his body was never identified."
I stared at the dark lake outside my window.
"Then who buried him?"
Raymond didn't answer.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
Stop digging into the property.
Then another.
Your wife was smarter than you.
Then a final message.
But she made the mistake of trusting the wrong person.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Patricia.
Standing beside a man I had never seen before.
May you like
On the back of the photograph was handwritten one sentence:
He is the reason you're already in danger.
