Chapter 6 - The Accident
My Father Had Been Looking for Michael
The USB drive was tested at the police station.
Detective Reed wouldn't let us hear it until it had been copied and checked for malware.
I hated waiting.
For ten years, my father's death had been a fact.
An ugly fact.
A finished fact.
Now someone had taken that certainty and cracked it open.
Mom refused to speak about it.
She sat in the interview room with both hands wrapped around a paper cup she never drank from.
Finally I asked,
“Mom, did Dad know Michael?”
She shook her head.
“I don't think so.”
“Elena said Dad was investigating him.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Did Dad ever mention Bellmore Holdings?”
Mom looked away.
That was answer enough.
“You knew.”
“I knew the company name.”
“Why?”
“Your father worked there.”
I stared at her.
“You told me he was an accountant.”
“He was.”
“What did Bellmore Holdings do?”
“Investments.”
“That's all?”
Mom's voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I knew she was lying.
The detective returned.
He placed a tablet on the table.
“We found something.”
He opened an audio file.
A man's voice filled the room.
Older.
Calm.
My father's voice.
I hadn't heard it in ten years.
“Emily,” he said.
My chest broke open.
Mom covered her mouth.
The recording continued.
“If you're hearing this, something has happened to me.”
I looked at Detective Reed.
The recording had been made before my father's death.
“Michael Carter is not who he says he is.”
I felt cold.
“He has been moving money between accounts belonging to women he dates.”
Pause.
“He identifies women who are financially vulnerable or emotionally isolated.”
Another pause.
“He doesn't steal everything at once.”
The voice lowered.
“He makes them surrender it.”
My mother started crying.
My father's voice continued.
“Sarah, if he ever approaches you, do not let him manage your finances.”
Mom whispered,
“I never heard this.”
The recording continued.
“I've found records tied to two previous women.”
Paper rustled.
“Both signed documents giving him financial authority shortly before their assets disappeared.”
My hands shook.
Then my father said something that changed everything.
“Michael knows I'm investigating him.”
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
I turned toward Mom.
“Why didn't you know?”
She shook her head.
“Because he never showed me.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“Why?”
“He was protecting me.”
The detective looked uncomfortable.
“There's more.”
He played another file.
This one was video.
A parking lot.
A date stamp from eleven years earlier.
My father's car appeared.
Michael’s car was parked two spaces away.
I leaned closer.
“What is this?”
Detective Reed paused the footage.
“Your father was following him.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
Then we saw my father's car leave.
Michael followed.
The footage ended.
I felt sick.
“My father didn't die randomly.”
“We don't know that yet,” Reed said.
“Then find out.”
He nodded.
“We're already reopening the file.”
My mother looked at him.
“What if Michael caused the accident?”
Reed's expression hardened.
“Then we're not dealing with simple domestic abuse.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I didn't touch it.
It buzzed again.
Then a message appeared.
YOUR FATHER ASKED TOO MANY QUESTIONS.
Mom saw it.
“No.”
Reed took the phone.
His face changed.
“Where did you get this number?”
“I’ve had it for years.”
“Who besides family has it?”
“School. Friends. Work.”
He shook his head.
“This wasn't random.”
He looked at the technician.
“Trace it.”
Minutes later, they had an approximate location.
Not a house.
Not a phone tower.
A public Wi-Fi network.
The same coffee shop where Elena had met us.
We had just left twenty minutes earlier.
Someone had been watching us.
Elena was contacted.
She returned to the station.
When Reed showed her the message, she became pale.
“He knows.”
“What does he know?”
“That I gave you the drive.”
“How?”
She shook her head.
“He always knows.”
I hated the way she said it.
As if Michael wasn't simply clever.
As if he had systems everywhere.
Reed asked,
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
Then gave him an address.
The detective wrote it down.
My mother asked,
“Can we stay there?”
Elena looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael knows that place.”
The room became silent.
“How?”
Elena looked at me.
“Because it belonged to him.”
That night, police moved all of us to a temporary safe location.
Nobody told us the address.
Nobody posted it anywhere.
No one entered without being screened.
For the first time in two days, I believed we might be safe.
Then at 2:14 a.m., someone slipped an envelope underneath the locked door.
The officer found it.
He opened it carefully.
Inside was one photograph.
My father.
Standing beside Michael.
They were outside a courthouse.
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THIS.
I turned toward Mom.
She was asleep on the couch.
I woke her.
“Mom.”
She opened her eyes.
“What?”
I put the photograph in front of her.
She stared.
Then she began shaking.
“Emily…”
“What happened after this?”
She looked at the photograph again.
May you like
Then whispered six words.
“I was there that night.”
