Chương 6
“Tell me your name.”
The man hesitated.
“Daniel.”
My fingers tightened.
The name.
The one Eli had heard.
The one Claire wrote about.
The one Mara refused to explain.
“Daniel what?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
I repeated it silently.
A name finally attached to a face I still could not see.
“Why did Claire write about you?”
“Because she found out your father had been protecting someone.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
The answer was so unexpected that I almost laughed.
“Why would my father protect you?”
“Because he knew what would happen if certain records became public.”
“What records?”
“Financial records from the company.”
I shook my head.
“My father’s company was audited.”
“Yes.”
“There were no problems.”
“Officially.”
The word bothered me.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it sounded like something someone said after watching the truth disappear behind paperwork.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your father discovered that people inside the company were moving information they were not supposed to move.”
“Information about what?”
Daniel looked toward the house.
For the first time, I saw something change in his posture.
Not confidence.
Concern.
“About employees.”
“That’s vague.”
“It has to be.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not know who still has access.”
I almost said the same words Mara had said.
I almost accused him of hiding behind uncertainty.
Then I stopped.
Because there was something different.
Mara sounded like someone afraid of what she knew.
Daniel sounded like someone afraid of what he did not know.
My phone rang.
Mara.
I answered without taking my eyes off the porch.
“He’s outside.”
“I know.”
That surprised me.
“How?”
“Because he called me before he came to you.”
I stepped away from the door.
“You spoke to him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Because I was trying to figure out whether he was alone.”
The frustration rose in my chest.
“Everyone keeps deciding what information I can handle.”
Mara went quiet.
Then she said:
“You’re right.”
The answer stopped me.
“I should have told you more.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Then start.”
“I can’t tell you everything.”
“Why?”
“Because some of it belongs to Claire.”
I closed my eyes.
Even now, even after everything, Mara was protecting her.
Not from me.
For me.
And somehow that hurt more.
“What did Claire know about Daniel?”
“She knew he had evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Something connected to your father’s company.”
“What?”
Mara exhaled.
“Your father was not investigating Daniel.”
I looked at the man outside.
“He was protecting him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel found out someone was using the company records to hide the identity of a person who should not have been there.”
The hallway seemed colder.
“Someone who should not have been there?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Mara did not answer.
This time I understood why.
Not because she wanted control.
Because she was afraid saying a name would change something she could not undo.
A sound came from the porch.
Not a knock.
A small movement.
I looked through the glass again.
Daniel had stepped back from the door.
He was leaving.
I felt a strange mix of relief and suspicion.
Then he placed something on the porch.
An envelope.
He looked directly toward the window.
For the first time, I saw his face.
Older than I expected.
Tired.
Familiar in a way I could not explain.
He lifted his hand once.
Not a wave.
More like an apology.
Then he walked away.
I waited until his car disappeared before opening the door.
The envelope was addressed to me.
Not Mark.
Not Mr. Bennett.
It said:
For the son of David Bennett.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed my father standing beside Claire.
But Claire was holding a document I had never seen before.
And on the back of the photograph, written in my father’s handwriting, were five words.
“Your mother knew first.”
I stood on the porch holding the picture.
Because my mother had been dead for nineteen years.
And until that moment, I had never once considered that she might have been part of the secret Claire died trying to uncover.
The photograph in my hand was impossible, but not in the way people usually mean when they say that word.
It was not impossible because the image looked fake.
It was impossible because every detail looked real.
The scratches across the bottom corner.
The faded color from years of being carried around.
The small coffee stain near the edge.
Claire’s expression.
My mother’s hand resting on the steering wheel.
The two women sitting together in a car that should not have existed.
I sat on the edge of my desk chair and stared until my eyes started to hurt.
For several seconds, I did not think about secrets or lies or my father’s company.
I thought about my mother’s laugh.
I had almost forgotten it.
That was the strange thing about losing someone when you were young.
You remembered facts before you remembered feelings.
I remembered that she wore perfume that smelled like flowers.
I remembered that she cut apples into perfect slices because she knew I hated uneven pieces.
I remembered sitting on the kitchen floor while she worked on company paperwork at the table.
What I did not remember was her being part of my father’s business.
I did not remember her being someone people went to for answers.
I did not remember her having anything to do with the secrets that had followed me into adulthood.
I turned the photograph over.
There was no message.
No date.
No explanation.
Only the image.
I looked at my phone again.
The message had come from Claire’s old number.
A number that had been disconnected after her funeral.
I had personally canceled it.
I had spent an hour on the phone with the carrier because hearing the automated voice say her name when I called it felt like reopening a wound.
May you like
Someone had access to that number.
Someone had access to this photograph.
