Chapter 4 - What My Father Knew
The police report said my father had been driving too fast for wet conditions.
I had read it only once after his death because reading it twice felt unbearable.
Now I read every page.
Arthur sat across from me while rain tapped against the windows.
“There was no evidence of mechanical failure,” he reminded me.
“No evidence they looked for.”
“They did.”
“How carefully?”
Arthur didn't answer.
I called Detective Marcus Hale, retired now, who had handled the accident.
He remembered my father immediately.
“William Mercer,” he said. “Hell of a case.”
“Why?”
“Because your father wasn't supposed to be on that road.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“He changed his route.”
“Why?”
“Never knew.”
Marcus agreed to meet.
He brought his original notebook.
One entry caught my attention:
Victim received repeated calls from unidentified prepaid number before collision.
Those calls had never been traced.
I asked Marcus whether sabotage had been considered.
“Briefly. Nothing supported it.”
“What about brake failure?”
“Brakes were damaged in the crash, but investigators believed impact caused it.”
“Believed?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Evelyn, don't build murder out of uncertainty.”
“I don't want murder. I want truth.”
That distinction became my anchor.
Meanwhile, the Morrison family was imploding.
Diane called me eleven times.
I finally answered.
“You've taken Richard's pension.”
“No.”
“You froze everything!”
“Halcyon froze compensation subject to contractual and legal review.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You always hated us.”
I almost laughed.
“I spent six years trying to make you like me.”
“Well, you fooled us!”
“With what? Kindness?”
“You pretended to be poor.”
“I never said I was poor.”
“You let Brendan pay for things.”
“We were married, Diane.”
She began crying.
Then she became angry again.
“You're going to send Richard to prison.”
“Richard's decisions may send Richard to prison.”
“You're destroying your daughter's family!”
That struck somewhere tender.
“My daughter’s family begins with people who don't pour dirty water over her mother.”
Diane went silent.
I ended the call.
Two days later, Brendan appeared outside Halcyon headquarters while I was leaving.
Jessica was there too.
They began arguing before either saw me.
“You knew!” Brendan shouted.
Jessica shoved him.
“You signed everything!”
“You lied to me!”
“You wanted the title more than you wanted the truth!”
Brendan grabbed her arm.
She slapped him.
Hard.
He staggered sideways.
Security rushed toward them.
Jessica tried to strike him again, but Brendan caught her wrist. They struggled, knocking over a temporary lobby sign.
“Enough!” I shouted.
Both stopped.
Jessica's hair had fallen across her face.
Brendan's cheek was red.
I looked at them and felt exhausted.
“This is what you chose over your marriage?”
Brendan released her immediately.
Jessica looked away.
Security separated them.
Later that evening, Arthur brought me a recovered email from my father's account.
It had been deleted seven years earlier.
Richard, these discrepancies are no longer explainable. Meet me Monday. Bring every vendor file. No excuses. — William
Monday never happened.
My father died Sunday night.
I felt physically sick.
Arthur sat beside me.
“We still don't know that Richard caused the crash.”
“He had motive.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Dad was investigating.”
“Yes.”
“And money moved three weeks earlier.”
“Yes.”
“What was the company?”
“Roadline Services.”
“What did they do?”
Arthur's expression changed.
“Vehicle maintenance.”
I stood so quickly my chair rolled backward.
“Dad's car?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“We are.”
“No, Arthur. Find out.”
He nodded.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At three in the morning, my daughter began kicking.
I sat in the nursery I had built inside the apartment and whispered, “Your grandfather would have loved you.”
Then my phone rang.
Brendan.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Evelyn.”
His voice was shaking.
“What happened?”
“My father called me.”
“So?”
“He knows you found Blackbird.”
I stood.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he say?”
Brendan inhaled.
“He said if you keep digging into your father's accident, you'll regret it.”
My blood went cold.
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Richard?”
“I don't know.”
“Brendan, where is he?”
“I said I don't know!”
Then a crash sounded through his phone.
“Brendan?”
Silence.
Another crash.
Then Brendan shouted, “Dad!”
The call disconnected.
I immediately called security and police.
Twenty minutes later, Arthur phoned.
Richard had gone to Brendan’s condo.
Father and son had fought.
Richard had apparently demanded Brendan surrender copies of old documents.
When Brendan refused, Richard punched him.
Brendan fought back.
A glass coffee table shattered during the struggle.
Neighbors called police after hearing shouting.
Richard fled before officers arrived.
Brendan had a cut above his eyebrow and bruised ribs.
But he was alive.
And he had managed to save one document Richard desperately wanted.
A vehicle maintenance invoice.
Dated four days before my father died.
Vehicle identification number included.
Arthur compared it to archived insurance records.
The VIN belonged to my father's SUV.
And the invoice contained a handwritten authorization.
R. Morrison.
For the first time, I allowed myself to say the possibility aloud.
May you like
“My father may have been murdered.”
Arthur didn't correct me.
