Chapter 4 - MY WIFE HAD BEEN WATCHING THEMI didn't sleep.
At sunrise, I sat alone in the kitchen staring at Emily's coffee mug.
It still had a faint lipstick mark along the rim.
Three days earlier, we had argued because she kept buying expensive coffee beans and insisting she could taste the difference.
I would have given everything I owned to have that argument again.
At 7:15 a.m., Detective Brooks called.
“Come to the station.”
“Did you identify the man?”
“Possibly.”
“Who?”
“Come in.”
My neighbor Karen watched Lily.
I hated leaving her, but Brooks didn't want her anywhere near the station during interviews.
When I arrived, he wasn't alone.
A woman in a gray blazer sat beside him.
“Special Agent Elena Ruiz,” she introduced herself. “FBI financial crimes.”
That got my attention.
“Why is the FBI involved?”
Ruiz opened a folder.
“Mercer Property Group has been on our radar for approximately eleven months.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“Loan fraud, identity fraud, suspected money laundering.”
“Diane?”
“We hadn't identified her as the central actor.”
“Until Emily?”
Ruiz nodded.
“Your wife appears to have independently uncovered part of the operation.”
She slid a photograph across the table.
The man in it was bald, late fifties, wearing glasses.
“Recognize him?”
“No.”
“Dr. Leonard Voss.”
The name meant nothing.
“Who is he?”
“A physician whose license was suspended two years ago.”
I remembered the recorder.
She wasn't supposed to wake up.
My stomach turned.
“What does he have to do with Emily?”
“We're investigating.”
“Don't do that.”
Ruiz blinked.
“Do what?”
“Use careful language because you think I'll fall apart.”
Brooks leaned forward.
“Nathan.”
“My wife is dead. My daughter heard part of it. Somebody illegally moved Emily's body into my living room and tried to bury her before I got home. I am already past falling apart.”
Nobody spoke.
I pointed to Voss's photograph.
“Tell me.”
Ruiz exhaled.
“Voss has worked unofficially for Diane Mercer on several property deals involving assisted-living facilities.”
“Unofficially?”
“He provided medical consulting services.”
“With no license?”
“Yes.”
My thoughts raced.
“Was he at my house?”
“We're working to establish that.”
“The recording establishes it.”
“It establishes an unidentified male voice.”
“It was him.”
“Maybe. Voice comparison takes time.”
Brooks pulled out another document.
“The preliminary autopsy found an unusually high concentration of a sedative in Emily's system.”
I felt sick.
“What sedative?”
“Zolpidem.”
“Sleeping medication?”
“Yes.”
“Emily didn't take sleeping pills.”
“None prescribed to her?”
“No.”
“Could she have taken someone else's?”
“No.”
Brooks continued.
“The level alone may not have been fatal. But combined with head trauma…”
I stared at him.
“You're saying somebody drugged her.”
“We're saying there is evidence she had medication in her body that needs explanation.”
“Then she fell?”
Ruiz spoke.
“Possibly.”
The recording echoed in my head.
She wasn't supposed to wake up.
“What happened Wednesday night?”
“We're reconstructing it.”
I stood.
“Nathan,” Brooks said.
“I need air.”
I walked outside.
For ten minutes I sat on a bench outside police headquarters and stared at people going to work.
The normalcy was offensive.
Cars moved.
Coffee shops opened.
People complained about traffic.
My wife had been alive seventy-two hours earlier.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman whispered.
“Is this Nathan Cole?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Marissa Shaw.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“The police are looking for you.”
“I know.”
“Emily is dead.”
Her breathing caught.
“I heard.”
“What did you find?”
“I can't discuss it by phone.”
“Then meet me.”
“No.”
“Marissa.”
“Listen to me. Emily knew this could happen.”
My throat tightened.
“She knew someone might kill her?”
“No. She knew her mother might destroy evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Mercer Property Group isn't just in debt.”
A car passed.
I turned away from the street.
“What is it?”
“It's collapsing.”
“How bad?”
“More than twelve million dollars in questionable liabilities.”
“Twelve million?”
“And somebody has been using forged guarantors to keep the loans alive.”
“Emily?”
“Emily was one of them.”
“One?”
“Your name appears too.”
I stopped breathing.
“My name?”
“Approximately $3.4 million in guarantees.”
“I've never guaranteed anything for Diane.”
“I know.”
My mouth went dry.
“How?”
“Electronic signatures. Copied documents. Tax records.”
“Where did she get my tax records?”
Marissa didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Emily's family had once helped us apply for a mortgage.
We'd given Diane's accountant financial documents.
Years ago.
I felt stupid.
“What did Emily send you Wednesday?”
Silence.
“You know about that?”
“She told Diane she sent something.”
Marissa's voice lowered.
“She sent me a complete export from Mercer Property Group's internal accounting server.”
My heart slammed.
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“Then give it to police.”
“I will.”
“Why haven't you?”
“Because a man followed me home Thursday.”
I looked around automatically.
“Call the FBI.”
“I didn't know who to trust.”
“I am currently standing outside an FBI interview room.”
Silence.
“Marissa?”
“You have the FBI?”
“Yes.”
“I'll send a location.”
Twenty minutes later Ruiz, Brooks and I drove to a self-storage facility on the edge of Charlotte.
Marissa Shaw emerged from behind a row of units.
She was fortyish, exhausted, and carrying a laptop bag.
“I haven't been home,” she said.
Ruiz showed identification.
Marissa almost cried with relief.
Inside the storage unit was a metal lockbox.
It contained two encrypted drives.
Marissa handed them over.
“Emily found everything.”
“What does everything mean?” Ruiz asked.
“False leases. Inflated property valuations. Fake tenant income. Loans secured against buildings the company doesn't fully own.”
“And the forged guarantors?”
“Dozens.”
“Why Emily?”
“Her credit was clean. Her inheritance made her useful.”
My stomach turned.
Marissa looked at me.
“She found something else.”
“What?”
“Payments to Dr. Voss.”
Brooks became still.
“How many?”
“Monthly.”
“For what?”
“Listed as consulting.”
Ruiz asked, “Any connection to Wednesday?”
Marissa opened her laptop.
“Emily sent me a message at 6:43 p.m.”
She displayed it.
Mom is coming over with Scott. She says she wants to settle everything tonight. If I don't call you by 9, send the files to Nathan.
My jaw clenched.
“Did she call?”
“No.”
“Did you send them?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Your email bounced.”
“What?”
“Your account had been set to reject my address.”
I remembered the missing police calls.
“Somebody got into my accounts.”
Marissa nodded.
“Emily suspected that.”
She opened another message.
This one arrived at 7:18 p.m.
Voss is with them. I don't know why.
Then 7:31.
Lily is upstairs. Nathan is in Denver. I'm going to record everything.
The final message arrived at 8:02.
Three words.
Something feels wrong.
Nothing after that.
Ruiz took custody of the drives.
I stepped outside.
Marissa followed.
“She loved you,” she said.
I stared across the rows of storage units.
“Then why didn't she tell me?”
“Because Diane had forged your signature too.”
I looked at her.
“She thought if you knew, you'd confront them.”
“She was right.”
“And she believed that could put you at risk.”
I laughed once, without humor.
“Instead she's dead.”
Marissa looked down.
“There's one more thing.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Emily told me something about her father's death.”
“Her dad?”
“She'd started comparing his medical records with Mercer company transactions.”
“Why?”
“Because Dr. Voss received his first large payment two days before Thomas Mercer died.”
Everything around me seemed to disappear.
Emily's father had supposedly died from a sudden cardiac event.
Diane had handled the funeral.
Quickly.
Just like Emily's.
“How large?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
I stared at Marissa.
“And after?”
“Another fifty thousand.”
Before I could answer, Brooks rushed from the storage unit holding his phone.
“Nathan.”
His expression alarmed me.
“What?”
“Karen called emergency dispatch.”
My blood froze.
“Why?”
“Someone just tried to pick Lily up from your house.”
I was already running toward the car.
“Who?”
Brooks followed.
“She wouldn't go.”
“WHO?”
He grabbed the passenger door.
“Your mother-in-law.”
The drive home took seventeen minutes.
It felt like seventeen hours.
When we turned onto my street, three police vehicles surrounded the house.
Karen stood on the porch.
Lily was behind her.
Safe.
I jumped from the car and ran.
Lily slammed into me.
“Daddy!”
“I've got you.”
Across the lawn, an officer was speaking to Diane.
She wasn't handcuffed.
She was furious.
“She's my granddaughter!”
“You were told to stay away,” I shouted.
Diane turned.
“I came to comfort her.”
“You came to manipulate her.”
“She's grieving.”
“So am I.”
“You don't know what happened!”
I walked closer.
“Maybe not.”
Her eyes flickered.
“But I know about Voss.”
For one second, Diane Mercer stopped pretending.
Fear crossed her face.
Pure fear.
Then she recovered.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Emily knew.”
Diane said nothing.
“She knew about Dad too.”
That landed harder.
Her face changed.
Behind her, Scott's car suddenly appeared at the end of the street.
He saw the police.
Then instead of stopping—
he accelerated past the house.
Brooks shouted into his radio.
Officers ran for their vehicles.
I watched Scott disappear around the corner.
Diane closed her eyes.
And whispered something I almost didn't hear.
“Idiot.”
Brooks heard it.
“So your son has something to run from?”
Diane looked at him.
“No.”
A radio crackled.
Officer in pursuit.
Another voice.
Vehicle heading south.
Then another.
Possible collision.
I held Lily tighter.
Five minutes later, Brooks received the call.
Scott had crashed near an interstate entrance.
He was alive.
And police had found something in his trunk.
Not money.
Not drugs.
A cardboard file box containing documents.
Dozens of them.
And on top sat a sealed envelope.
May you like
Written across the front in Emily's handwriting were four words:
FOR NATHAN — ORIGINALS INSIDE.
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