Chapter 3 - My Brother's SecretThe man who comforted me at my wife's funeral was hunting a child.
Michael entered the house like he owned it.
He hadn't changed.
Same dark wool coat.
Same silver watch.
Same carefully controlled expression.
“Daniel.”
“Michael.”
His eyes moved past me.
“Where's Lucy?”
I didn't answer.
He smiled.
“You always were bad at hiding things.”
Two men remained outside.
I recognized neither.
“Why are you here?”
“Business.”
“At midnight?”
“It's ten-thirty.”
“That's not an answer.”
Michael looked around.
“Hannah Parker has information that belongs to the Mercer family.”
“What information?”
He sighed.
“You don't need to involve yourself.”
I almost laughed.
“She gave me something.”
His face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
“You shouldn't have taken it.”
“What is Lucy?”
His jaw tightened.
“Don't use that word.”
“Then give me another.”
Michael walked toward me.
“Daniel, this isn't what you think.”
“Then explain.”
He lowered his voice.
“Rebecca was investigating something before she died.”
“I know.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You know?”
“She left me a letter.”
Michael's expression hardened.
“What did it say?”
“Why are you afraid?”
“I’m not.”
“You just asked me what the letter said before asking whether Rebecca was alive.”
Silence.
Then Michael whispered:
“Where is it?”
I smiled.
“Burned.”
It was a lie.
He knew it.
But he didn't know where the real letter was.
“Get out,” I said.
Michael's face became cold.
“You have no idea what you're protecting.”
“I know I'm protecting a sick woman and a nine-year-old girl.”
“No, Daniel.”
He leaned closer.
“You're protecting a witness.”
“To what?”
Michael looked toward the stairs.
“Something that was never supposed to survive.”
Before I could respond, the upstairs bedroom door slammed.
Lucy screamed.
I ran.
Hannah's room was empty.
The window was open.
Lucy stood beside the bed.
Her mother was gone.
Michael followed behind me.
He wasn't surprised.
That was all the proof I needed.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Where is she?”
“Daniel, listen to me.”
I grabbed his coat.
“Where is she?”
One of the men from outside entered the room.
“Michael.”
He looked at him.
“It's done.”
My stomach turned.
“What's done?”
Michael didn't answer.
The man handed him a phone.
Michael looked at the screen.
Then his face went pale.
“That's impossible.”
I snatched the phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
Rebecca.
Alive.
Taken that night.
Standing beside Hannah.
Beside them was a man I recognized immediately.
My father.
Except the photograph was dated eighteen years after his death.
I looked at Michael.
“Explain.”
He stared at the image.
“I can't.”
“Try.”
May you like
He finally spoke.
“Because your father didn't die when we thought he did.”
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