Chapter 4 - I froze.Daniel was still on the phone.
“Mrs. Carter?”
I lowered my voice.
“Someone's inside.”
“Get somewhere secure.”
I moved silently toward the study door.
The footsteps below were slow.
Deliberate.
Someone was not searching in panic.
They knew the house.
That frightened me more.
I reached for the drawer where I kept an old flashlight.
It wasn't there.
Neither was my backup phone.
Someone had been in my study.
I slipped into the closet.
The footsteps reached the stairs.
Then stopped.
A shadow passed beneath the door.
I held my breath.
The handle turned.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
I couldn't see his face.
He walked directly to the desk.
Opened the second drawer.
Then the third.
He wasn't searching randomly.
He was looking for something specific.
I watched him pull out folders.
One by one.
Finally, he reached beneath a stack of tax papers.
He smiled.
He had found it.
My husband's old notebook.
The same notebook containing the note.
The intruder turned toward the door.
I saw his face.
And almost cried out.
It was Marcus Reed.
Wesley's business partner.
The man who had attended my husband's funeral.
The man who had called me “Mom” for years.
He slipped the notebook into his coat.
Then his phone rang.
“Did you get it?” someone asked through the speaker.
Marcus whispered,
“Yes.”
“Good. Get out.”
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“She knows.”
A pause.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
My blood ran cold.
The person on the phone said,
“Then Wesley has to handle her.”
Marcus hesitated.
“You said she wouldn't be involved.”
“She wasn't supposed to be.”
“And the house?”
“Get the deed tonight.”
The call ended.
Marcus turned.
He walked toward the study window.
I realized what he was doing.
Checking whether anyone was watching.
He opened the window and climbed out.
I waited.
Thirty seconds.
Then a minute.
I came out of the closet.
My hands shook as I called Daniel.
“He was here.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Reed.”
Silence.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What did he take?”
“My husband's notebook.”
“That's bad.”
“You know what's in it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say it's bad?”
Daniel breathed slowly.
“Because I asked about Marcus yesterday.”
“Why?”
“He has a history.”
“What kind?”
“Fraud.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why is he working with Wesley?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
Then Daniel said,
“You need to leave the house.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Carter, this isn't a property dispute anymore.”
“I know.”
“They broke into your home.”
“I know.”
“You're in danger.”
I looked at the floor.
“No.”
“What?”
“They're desperate.”
Daniel didn't understand.
“Desperate people make mistakes.”
I walked downstairs.
I opened the kitchen drawer.
Inside was the envelope from the restaurant.
I removed the final document.
A notarized statement.
My husband had created an emergency trust shortly before his death.
The trust named me as beneficiary.
But there was a second clause.
A clause I had never seen.
The house could not legally be sold, transferred, or refinanced without the written consent of the trustee.
I read the trustee's name.
Then everything stopped.
The trustee was not my husband.
Not my attorney.
Not a bank.
It was Daniel Mercer.
He had been appointed years before I even knew him.
I immediately called him.
“You knew.”
He was silent.
“What did you know?”
“I was waiting until you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
He took a breath.
“Your husband didn't die without protecting you.”
I closed my eyes.
“From whom?”
“From the same people trying to take your house now.”
“And why?”
“Because eight years ago, your husband discovered that his business partners were stealing from the company.”
I looked at the clock.
“So Wesley knows?”
“Yes.”
My voice cracked.
“How long?”
“Since before his father died.”
I suddenly remembered Wesley's behavior after the funeral.
The constant questions.
The fear.
The secrecy.
The desperate insistence that we should never discuss his father's business.
I whispered,
“My son has known for eight years.”
“Yes.”
“And he still chose them.”
Daniel didn't answer.
Then he said,
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your husband left a recording.”
“Where?”
Daniel's voice lowered.
“In the wall safe beneath the study floor.”
I turned toward the room.
And suddenly I understood the note.
If they ever come for the house, look beneath the floorboards in the study.
I grabbed a screwdriver.
When I lifted the first floorboard, there was a metal box beneath it.
Inside was a small recorder.
And a photograph.
A photograph of Wesley.
Standing beside Marcus.
And another man.
A man I recognized immediately.
The police chief of Willow Creek.
My hand began to shake.
May you like
Because the date on the photograph was eight years ago.
Three days before my husband's death.
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