Chapter 5
Ryan wanted to follow the SUV.
I stopped him.
“You don’t even know who’s inside.”
“That’s the point.”
“No. The point is not getting yourself killed at four in the morning.”
He stared down the empty street.
Then looked at me.
For once, he listened.
We called Officer Martinez.
She told us to preserve every message, not respond, and send screenshots to the case number she gave us.
Rachel took Noah to her house.
Ryan and I stayed behind long enough to speak with another officer.
Then I went to Rachel’s too.
Ryan stayed at our house.
I didn’t ask him to come.
By sunrise, I had slept maybe forty minutes.
Noah climbed into bed beside me.
“Mommy?”
I opened my eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Is Grandma mad?”
The question made my chest ache.
“She’s upset.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“But I told.”
“You did the right thing.”
He picked at the edge of the blanket.
“She said people who tell family secrets destroy families.”
I sat up.
“Listen to me carefully.”
He looked at me.
“People who hurt children destroy families. Telling the truth doesn’t.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Then he leaned against me.
For the first time since I had walked into that kitchen, I felt something stronger than fear.
Anger.
Not wild anger.
Focused anger.
Linda had counted on shame.
On confusion.
On Ryan protecting her.
On me worrying about appearances.
She had spent years creating a family where challenging her felt crueler than enduring her.
That ended now.
At nine, Ryan called.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Can you come over?”
“Tell me.”
“I need to show you.”
“I’m not leaving Noah.”
“Bring Rachel.”
An hour later, the three of us returned.
Rachel stayed downstairs with Noah.
Ryan led me to his office.
His laptop was open.
On the screen was a bank statement.
“My dad’s company account,” he said.
“How did you get that?”
“Old accounting backups.”
He had been awake all night.
His eyes were bloodshot.
“I remembered Dad used to make digital copies of everything. I found an old hard drive in the garage.”
He clicked through folders.
“Look at this.”
A transfer.
$185,000.
Seven years ago.
Two weeks after Charles died.
Recipient: L.M. Holdings.
“Linda?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Is it her company?”
“Maybe.”
Another transfer.
$90,000.
Then $62,000.
Then $48,000.
I stared.
“That’s almost four hundred thousand.”
“Exactly.”
“The trust.”
“Maybe.”
He opened another file.
A scanned letter.
My husband’s hands shook.
“It’s from my father to the family attorney.”
I leaned closer.
The letter stated that proceeds from the sale of certain company assets were to be placed in a trust for Ryan.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was the attorney?”
“Samuel Price.”
“Call him.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He died four years ago.”
Of course.
“His firm?”
“Closed.”
“Files?”
“Don’t know yet.”
I looked at the transfers.
“What does this have to do with Noah?”
Ryan leaned back.
“I think Noah saw Mom taking papers connected to this.”
“That explains why she threatened him.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Ryan, she beat his hands while accusing him of touching her purse.”
He frowned.
“What are you saying?”
“What if he saw something in the purse?”
Ryan went still.
I remembered Linda’s exact words.
He stole from my purse.
But Noah had said he didn’t steal anything.
Maybe he touched something.
Maybe he saw something she couldn’t risk him recognizing later.
I called Rachel into the room.
She brought Noah.
I crouched beside him.
“Sweetheart, yesterday Grandma said you touched her purse.”
His face immediately tightened.
“I didn’t steal.”
“I know. I’m not asking if you stole.”
He relaxed slightly.
“Did you look inside?”
He hesitated.
Ryan knelt on his other side.
“You’re not in trouble.”
Noah looked between us.
“There was a picture.”
“What picture?”
“Grandpa.”
Ryan’s face changed.
“My dad?”
Noah nodded.
“With another man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
“What were they doing?”
“Standing.”
Kids.
Of course.
“What else was in the purse?” I asked.
“A yellow envelope.”
Ryan and I exchanged a look.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Did Grandma see you?”
“She came in.”
“What did she do?”
“She got really mad.”
“Did she hit you then?”
He nodded.
“On my arm.”
Ryan’s eyes filled with fury.
“What picture did you see exactly?” he asked.
Noah thought hard.
“Grandpa was younger.”
“You’ve seen Grandpa in photos before?”
“Yes.”
“Was Grandma there?”
“No.”
“The other man. Old? Young?”
“Like Daddy.”
That could mean anything.
Then Noah added, “He had Daddy’s face.”
The room went quiet.
Ryan gave a confused laugh.
“What does that mean?”
Noah pointed at him.
“He looked like you.”
My skin prickled.
Ryan pulled up old family photographs.
“Was it Uncle Mark?”
Ryan’s uncle had died years ago.
Noah shook his head.
“Was it Grandpa’s friend Jim?”
No.
Three more photos.
No.
Then Ryan opened an old scanned company Christmas party photograph.
Noah suddenly pointed.
“Him.”
Ryan froze.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Ryan stared at the screen.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“Who’s Daniel Mercer?”
“My father’s business partner.”
“Where is he now?”
Ryan looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Rachel leaned over.
“Why does Noah think he looks like you?”
Ryan zoomed in.
The photograph was old.
Daniel Mercer was maybe thirty-five.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Same jawline as Ryan.
Same crooked smile.
The resemblance was uncomfortable.
Ryan closed the image.
“It’s coincidence.”
Maybe.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown caller.
We all stared at it.
Ryan answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Is this Ryan Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Thomas Price.”
Ryan frowned.
“Price?”
“Samuel Price was my father.”
The attorney.
Ryan stood.
“How did you get my number?”
“You called our old office forwarding service this morning. They sent me your message.”
Ryan looked at me.
“Yes. I’m trying to locate records related to my father’s estate.”
“I know.”
A pause.
Then Thomas said, “I think you should stop.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?” Ryan asked.
“My father handled Charles Carter’s estate.”
“Yes.”
“And before he died, he told me that if anyone named Carter ever came asking about the trust, I should stay out of it.”
Ryan’s face hardened.
“Why?”
“Because he was afraid.”
“Of my mother?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Thomas exhaled.
“Daniel Mercer.”
The room went silent.
Ryan looked at the laptop.
“What does he have to do with my inheritance?”
“I don’t know the whole story.”
“What do you know?”
“My father kept one sealed file.”
“Where?”
“I have it.”
Ryan’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Can we meet?”
“No.”
“Mr. Price—”
“I have a family.”
“So do I.”
Silence.
Then Ryan said, “My six-year-old son was assaulted yesterday because he saw documents someone wanted hidden.”
Thomas didn’t speak for several seconds.
Then his voice changed.
“Where are you?”
We arranged to meet in a public coffee shop two hours later.
Thomas insisted no police.
I hated that.
Ryan said we needed to hear him out.
Rachel stayed with Noah.
Before we left, she pulled me aside.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
“No. I mean with Ryan.”
I frowned.
“He’s finally seeing what his mother is.”
“That doesn’t mean you know everything he’s hiding.”
Her words followed me all the way downtown.
Thomas Price was already seated when we arrived.
He was in his late forties.
Nervous.
He kept checking the door.
A thick brown envelope sat on the table.
Ryan sat across from him.
“I’m Ryan.”
“I know.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
He pushed the envelope forward.
“My father wanted this destroyed.”
“Why didn’t you?” Ryan asked.
“Because he was terrified when he asked me.”
Ryan opened the envelope.
Inside were photocopies.
Bank transfers.
Legal letters.
A photograph.
The same photograph Noah had described.
Charles Carter standing beside Daniel Mercer.
And on the back, handwritten in faded ink, were six words.
RYAN MUST NEVER LEARN THE TRUTH.
Ryan stared at it.
“What truth?”
Thomas looked at him.
“I think Daniel Mercer was more than your father’s business partner.”
Ryan’s face hardened.
“Say what you mean.”
Thomas swallowed.
“Charles Carter may not have been your biological father.”
Ryan didn’t move.
May you like
Neither did I.
Then Thomas added quietly, “And your mother was paid almost four hundred thousand dollars to make sure you never found out.”
