Chương 9
The chain was still in place.
But something was wrong.
The drawer beside the entrance was open.
She knew she had closed it.
She always closed it.
Inside were old keys, mail, and a small notebook her mother had used for grocery lists.
The notebook was lying on the floor.
"Mara."
Daniel's voice came through the phone.
"What do you see?"
She didn't answer.
She walked closer.
The notebook was open.
A page had been torn out.
Her heartbeat changed.
Not faster.
Heavier.
"Someone was here."
Daniel became completely silent.
Then he said, "Leave."
She looked around the apartment.
The place that had held her memories now felt like a place where someone else had been standing.
"Daniel."
"Leave right now."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because my car keys are on the table."
"Take your phone and go."
"I can't just walk out."
"Why?"
She looked at the open notebook.
Because if someone had come inside, they had not been looking for random things.
They had found what they wanted.
Or they had been searching for something they had not found yet.
"Because I need to know what they took."
"No."
The force in his voice surprised her.
"No?"
"No."
She heard him move.
"That is exactly what they want."
"They broke into my home."
"I know."
"They touched my things."
"I know."
"Then you understand why I can't just leave."
"No."
His voice dropped.
"I understand because I did the same thing."
Mara stopped.
"What?"
"When I found the storage unit open, I stayed."
Silence.
"I should have left."
Daniel swallowed.
"I should have called someone."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I thought I could handle it."
The honesty hurt.
"I thought if I found the answers first, nobody could use them against us."
Mara looked at the torn notebook page.
"And?"
"And I was wrong."
A siren passed somewhere far away.
The sound faded quickly.
"Daniel."
"Yeah."
"Did you tell anyone about the storage unit?"
"No."
"Anyone at all?"
"No."
"Then how would Victor know?"
The question sat between them.
Neither of them answered.
Mara looked toward the letter.
Then toward the open drawer.
Then toward the photograph still resting on the table.
The woman behind her father.
The words written on the back.
Ask Victor why.
"Daniel."
"Yeah."
"I think Mom knew he would come."
"Who?"
"Victor."
She walked back toward the table.
"I think she knew exactly who would look for this."
"Why?"
"Because she wrote his name before I ever knew I needed it."
Daniel didn't respond.
"Daniel."
"Yeah."
"I found something."
"What?"
"A picture."
"Of what?"
"My father."
She picked it up.
"And Victor."
A silence followed.
Then another.
Longer.
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know."
"No."
His voice tightened.
"It really doesn't."
"Why?"
"Because Victor wasn't supposed to know Dad after he left."
Mara stared at the photograph.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they stopped working together years before."
"When?"
"Before Dad disappeared."
She felt the pieces shifting again.
"Then why are they in the same picture?"
"I don't know."
She closed her eyes.
The answer was becoming less like a lack of information and more like a warning.
Someone had spent years making sure nobody knew the truth.
And now that truth was forcing itself into the open one broken piece at a time.
"Mara."
"What?"
"Don't go to the church."
"Why?"
"Because if Victor is there, then he knows."
"Knows what?"
"That we found something."
She looked at the letter.
At her father's signature.
At the part of her life she had been told was finished.
"Maybe he knows because he was waiting."
Daniel didn't answer.
That scared her more than anything else.
"Daniel."
"Yeah."
"What are we actually looking for?"
His voice became quiet.
"Something your father left behind."
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
She almost laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
"That is the most honest thing you've said all night."
"I know."
She picked up the letter and folded it carefully.
Not because she was calm.
Because her hands needed something to do.
"Where do we go?"
Daniel hesitated.
"The church is out."
"Yes."
"Your apartment is out."
"Yes."
"The storage unit is out."
"Yes."
They were running out of places.
Mara looked around the room.
A place full of memories.
A place that had suddenly become evidence.
"Then where?"
Daniel breathed slowly.
"Somewhere your father wouldn't expect us to go."
"Where?"
"I think I know."
"Where?"
"The house."
Mara frowned.
"What house?"
"The old one."
Her chest tightened.
"The one we lived in before he disappeared?"
"Yeah."
"Daniel, that place was sold."
"I know."
"Nobody lives there anymore."
"Actually, someone does."
She went still.
"Who?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
And somehow, before he spoke, she already knew.
"Victor Hale."
For a moment, Mara forgot how to breathe.
The old house existed in her memory as a place that belonged to another family.
A family that had disappeared the night her father disappeared.
She had not driven past it in years.
She had avoided the street without admitting she was avoiding it.
"Daniel."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Her voice was quiet now.
"You don't know what you just said."
"I do."
"Victor lives there?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
She closed her eyes.
The answer no longer frustrated her.
It frightened her.
"How did you find that out?"
"I looked into the property records."
"You had time to do that?"
"I started looking after Mom died."
Mara went still.
"How long?"
"Almost two years."
The words hurt more than she expected.
Not because Daniel had searched.
Because he had done it alone.
"You spent two years looking into Dad?"
"Yes."
"And you never told me?"
"No."
"Why?"
His silence answered before he did.
"Because every time I got close to something, I found another reason not to bring you into it."
"You decided for me."
"I did."
The honesty left no room to fight.
May you like
"I was wrong."
Mara looked at the letter in her hand.
