Chapter 5 - HALF THE CLOCKThe next morning, Carter's Table was surrounded by police.
Not uniformed officers.
Detectives.
Inspectors.
Plainclothes investigators.
They walked through the kitchen photographing refrigerators, checking pipes, opening cabinets.
Tony stood beside me.
“What did we do?”
“Nothing.”
One officer approached.
“Mrs. Carter, we're investigating a health complaint.”
“From whom?”
He smiled.
“You'll receive the paperwork.”
I knew immediately.
This wasn't about health.
They wanted to shut the diner down.
Hannah stood near the counter.
One detective looked at her.
“Are you Hannah Holloway?”
She flinched.
“Carter.”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
That smile made my stomach turn.
“Everyone knows you're Grant Holloway's wife.”
I stepped between them.
“She's my daughter.”
The detective's eyes hardened.
“We'll be speaking with her later.”
“No.”
He laughed.
“Mrs. Carter, you don't seem to understand your position.”
I looked at the badge.
“Detective Morris.”
He froze.
I smiled.
“You were at my diner on Christmas Eve in 2012.”
He stared.
“You were with your partner.”
“You had a broken arm.”
“You ordered apple pie.”
His face changed.
“You remember me?”
“I remember everyone.”
I stepped closer.
“You don't want to make this personal.”
Morris left without another word.
Tony watched him go.
“Who are these people?”
I said:
“People who forgot I've been feeding the city for twenty-three years.”
At noon, the diner was shut down.
Closed indefinitely.
Hannah cried.
Tony cursed.
I stood in the empty dining room.
Twenty-three years.
Gone with one red stamp.
Then I noticed something.
The police had left one cabinet open.
Not randomly.
The cabinet where my husband used to keep old tax records.
I opened the drawer.
Empty.
Except for a small piece of paper.
I unfolded it.
Blue door. Second lock.
I looked at Tony.
“Stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because if I'm not back in an hour, call Daniel Mercer.”
“Who's Daniel?”
“Someone who knows what we're dealing with.”
Hannah followed me downstairs.
We opened the blue door.
This time, I checked the second lock.
It wasn't a keyhole.
It was a keypad.
I entered my husband's birthday.
Nothing.
Hannah tried hers.
Nothing.
Then she said:
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Try mine and Dad's together.”
I entered the numbers.
The wall clicked.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a small hard drive.
And a handwritten letter.
I unfolded it.
Evelyn,
If you're reading this, they have found Hannah.
The hard drive contains enough to destroy the Holloways.
But there is one problem.
It can only be opened with the original password.
Hannah knows the password. She just doesn't know she knows it.
I stared at my daughter.
“What?”
Hannah shook her head.
“I don't understand.”
The letter continued.
Ask her about the night at the lake.
Hannah suddenly went silent.
“What night?”
She looked at me.
“The night Caleb disappeared.”
My heart tightened.
“What happened?”
“I don't remember.”
“You were there?”
She nodded.
“I was nineteen.”
“What happened?”
Her face went white.
“I heard Margaret screaming.”
“What did she say?”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“She said…”
Her breathing changed.
“She said, ‘If you tell your mother, they'll kill her.’”
I stared at her.
Then she whispered:
“Then Caleb gave me something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Try to remember.”
She pressed both hands against her temples.
Then suddenly looked up.
“A song.”
“What?”
“He made me memorize a song.”
“Which one?”
Hannah began humming.
It was an old lullaby my husband used to sing.
I froze.
“That isn't the password.”
Hannah looked at the hard drive.
“Maybe it is.”
We entered the melody converted into numbers.
The screen lit up.
ACCESS GRANTED.
Folders appeared.
I opened the first.
Photographs.
The second.
Payments.
The third.
Medical records.
Then the fourth.
A video file.
Recorded twenty-three years ago.
I pressed play.
My husband's face appeared on the screen.
Older.
Tired.
Terrified.
He looked directly into the camera.
“Evelyn, if you see this, I am probably dead.”
Hannah started crying.
He continued.
“Margaret will tell you your daughter is dangerous.”
“She isn't.”
“Grant will tell you he loves her.”
“He doesn't.”
Then my husband leaned closer.
“But the worst thing you will ever learn is this…”
He paused.
And said:
“Margaret Holloway is not Hannah's greatest enemy.”
The video cut.
A second later, the screen displayed a new message.
PLAY VIDEO TWO?
I clicked yes.
Static.
Then Grant appeared.
Young.
Maybe twenty.
Standing beside Margaret.
Beside them was a third person.
I recognized him immediately.
Frank Delaney.
And I heard Grant say:
“Once Evelyn signs the transfer, we own the diner.”
Frank replied:
“She'll never agree.”
Margaret smiled.
“She will.”
Then she placed a baby photograph on the table.
Hannah.
My baby girl.
Grant looked at it.
“Does she know?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
Then the video ended.
Hannah was crying.
I was too.
But not because of the baby photograph.
Because I had just seen the date.
The recording was made eighteen months before Hannah was born.
Grant had known about her before I did.
I whispered:
“Why?”
Then my phone rang.
Daniel Mercer.
His voice was urgent.
“Evelyn, leave the diner.”
“Why?”
“Because the people coming for you aren't police.”
“What?”
“They're Holloway's private security.”
“How many?”
Daniel paused.
“Enough.”
I heard tires screech outside.
Then the front door exploded inward.
Hannah screamed.
A voice shouted:
“GET ON THE FLOOR!”
I grabbed the hard drive.
And for the first time in twenty-three years, I understood what my husband had left me.
Not a business.
May you like
Not money.
A war.
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