Chương 7
Claire stood behind him.
“You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
She did not argue.
That scared him.
Daniel moved through the boxes.
Most were exactly where he remembered.
Old tax documents.
Manuals.
Receipts.
Photographs.
Nothing unusual.
Then he saw the box.
Not because it looked different.
Because it was the only one with his father’s handwriting on the side.
MERCER FAMILY.
Daniel crouched.
His fingers stopped before touching it.
His father’s handwriting had become unfamiliar.
Like seeing the voice of someone who could no longer speak.
He opened it.
Inside were photographs.
A few letters.
A leather folder.
And underneath everything, an empty space.
Daniel noticed it immediately.
“What?” Claire asked.
He looked up.
“There was something here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my dad packed things like this.”
He lifted the folder.
The papers inside were gone.
Not removed recently.
The edges had left marks in the dust.
Someone had taken them months ago.
Maybe years ago.
“Claire.”
She stepped closer.
“I didn’t take anything.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you thought it.”
Daniel looked at her.
She looked hurt.
Not defensive.
Hurt.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
Claire absorbed them.
Then nodded.
“I know.”
They searched the box without speaking.
The silence between them was different now.
Not peaceful.
Not healed.
Just less like a fight.
Daniel found a photograph near the bottom.
He almost missed it.
It was turned face down.
He picked it up.
The back had a date written in his father’s handwriting.
April 14, 2018.
Daniel knew the date.
His father’s birthday.
He turned the picture over.
His breath caught.
It showed him.
Not as a child.
Not years ago.
Three years earlier.
Standing outside a restaurant.
Beside a man he had never seen.
The man looked older.
Gray hair.
A dark jacket.
One hand rested on Daniel’s shoulder.
Like they knew each other.
Like they were comfortable.
Daniel stared.
“That’s him,” Claire whispered.
He looked at her.
“You’ve seen him.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The first day he came here.”
Daniel looked back at the photograph.
“You knew?”
“I recognized him.”
“From this?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“From the way he looked at you.”
Daniel felt a strange pressure behind his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
He hated that answer.
But this time, he believed her.
Because she looked just as lost.
He studied the picture again.
The man beside him was smiling.
Daniel was not.
His expression was serious.
Almost angry.
But he could not remember the moment.
“Where was this taken?”
Claire looked at the date.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel flipped the picture over.
There was something written beneath the date.
A note.
Small.
Almost hidden.
“Ask him about the basement.”
Daniel read it twice.
Then a third time.
“What basement?”
Claire looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Before Daniel could answer, his phone buzzed.
The number was unknown.
He almost ignored it.
Then he saw the message.
A photograph.
His thumb hovered for a moment.
Then he opened it.
The image loaded slowly.
It was a picture of the front of his house.
Taken from across the street.
Tonight.
A second message appeared beneath it.
You came back too late.
Daniel felt every muscle in his body tighten.
Claire saw his face change.
“What is it?”
He did not answer.
The phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This one only contained four words.
Ask your father’s son.
Daniel stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
He tapped it awake again.
The words had not changed.
Ask your father’s son.
The sentence felt personal in a way the others had not.
Not a threat.
Not exactly.
A reminder.
Whoever sent it knew something about his family.
Something about his father.
Something about him.
“Daniel.”
Claire’s voice brought him back.
He locked the phone.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at him.
That answer was too fast.
He knew it because he had used it himself for years.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend nothing happened.”
Daniel looked toward the garage door.
The photograph was still in his hand.
The note was still visible.
Ask him about the basement.
“I got a message.”
Claire went still.
“From him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel.”
“I don’t know.”
He hated saying it.
But he was beginning to understand that uncertainty was not a weakness.
It was the only honest thing left.
He showed her the phone.
She read the message.
Her face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“You know that phrase.”
Daniel looked up.
“What?”
“You recognized something.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
She looked at the floor.
“I’ve heard it before.”
“From who?”
She did not answer.
“Claire.”
“Your father.”
The garage seemed to become colder.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“Not those exact words.”
“Then what?”
“He talked about a basement.”
Daniel stepped back.
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“You talked to my father?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The confession was quiet.
Almost defeated.
Daniel felt anger rise so quickly it surprised him.
“You talked to him behind my back?”
“No.”
“When?”
“After you and I separated.”
The anger shifted.
“Why?”
Claire looked toward the boxes.
“Because he called me.”
Daniel stared.
“My father called you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“He was worried.”
“About what?”
“You.”
The answer again.
Always him.
Always something around him that everyone else seemed to understand.
“What did he say?”
Claire hesitated.
“He said you were asking the wrong questions.”
Daniel laughed once.
“That sounds like him.”
It came out bitter.
Because it did sound like his father.
The man who never answered directly.
The man who believed silence was a form of protection.
“What questions?”
Claire looked at him.
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then why call you?”
“Because he wanted me to make sure you didn’t find something before you were ready.”
Daniel looked down.
May you like
The photograph shook slightly in his hand.
“Before I was ready for what?”
