For several seconds, nobody in the safe house spoke.
The image on the screen remained frozen.
Susan stood beside the black vehicle.
Derek was behind her.
And in the background, partially illuminated by the airport security lights, stood Martin Hale.
The man Dad had identified from the old photograph.
The man whose death had been documented twelve years earlier.
The man whose handwriting appeared in the torn note found near the bank.
Dad stared at the screen as though someone had struck him.
“That isn't possible.”
Agent Jenkins enlarged the image.
Martin's face became clearer.
Older, thinner, and with more gray in his hair, but unmistakable.
Dad moved closer.
“I buried him.”
Jenkins looked at him.
“You attended the funeral?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know he was dead?”
Dad's expression hardened.
“His family told me.”
Mom stepped closer to the screen.
“Could they have lied?”
Dad didn't answer.
I watched him carefully.
For the first time since he had returned, my father looked uncertain.
Not afraid.
Not defeated.
Uncertain.
Jenkins received another update through her earpiece.
“The vehicle left the airport area twelve minutes ago.”
“Do we have the plate?”
“Yes.”
“Run it.”
She waited.
Then her face changed.
“It's registered to a holding company.”
Dad asked, “Which one?”
Jenkins looked at the screen.
“Harrow Consulting.”
The name made the room go silent again.
The same company that had appeared in the old financial records.
The same company that had been created using the identity of a dead man.
Dad stepped back.
“They've been using it all these years.”
Jenkins nodded.
“And Martin Hale is still connected to it.”
Mom looked at Dad.
“Then why did everyone think he was dead?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.”
A federal analyst entered the room carrying a laptop.
“We traced the vehicle's route.”
He placed a map on the table.
“It traveled north for twenty-eight minutes, then stopped at an industrial property.”
Jenkins studied the location.
“Who owns it?”
“Harrow Consulting.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“It was never dissolved.”
“No,” the analyst said. “It changed ownership several times.”
“Who owns it now?”
The analyst hesitated.
“An estate.”
“Whose?”
“Martin Hale's.”
Dad looked at Mom.
The answer seemed to settle something inside him.
“My God.”
“What?” I asked.
Dad pointed toward the map.
“Martin didn't disappear.”
“He built the network.”
Mom looked confused.
“But why would he fake his own death?”
“To make sure nobody could trace the money back to him.”
Jenkins shook her head.
“Then why would he let himself appear on camera?”
Dad stared at her.
“Because he wants us to see him.”
The realization made my stomach tighten.
“He wants us to know he's alive.”
Jenkins nodded.
“Which means this could be a message.”
Dad looked at me.
“Or a trap.”
Before anyone could say more, Jenkins' phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
“Where?”
She listened.
Then she looked at Dad.
“Derek is gone.”
Mom stood.
“What do you mean gone?”
“The officers lost him.”
Dad's face hardened.
“Explain.”
“They had visual contact with the vehicle. Then it entered an underground service tunnel. The cameras went dark.”
“Was Susan with him?”
“Yes.”
“And Martin?”
“We don't know.”
Dad looked at the map.
“Take me there.”
Jenkins shook her head.
“No.”
“I know that property.”
“You haven't been there in thirteen years.”
“I built the original financial model for that company.”
“That doesn't make you operational.”
Dad's voice became quieter.
“It makes me the person most likely to recognize what they are hiding.”
Jenkins considered him.
Then she looked at Mom.
“You stay here.”
Mom immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Rachel—”
“My daughter stays with me.”
Dad looked at both of us.
Then he nodded.
“That's how it should be.”
The federal team left.
We remained behind with two agents.
For nearly an hour, nobody knew what was happening.
I sat beside Mom.
She kept looking at the clock.
Dad's photograph remained on the table.
I picked it up.
“You really knew Martin?”
Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“What was he like?”
Dad had once described him as disciplined, brilliant, and patient.
But now I wondered whether those words had always been wrong.
“He was the man I trusted most professionally.”
Mom stared at the photograph.
“Then he knew everything.”
Dad nodded.
“He knew where the money moved. He knew who had access to the files. He knew about the investigation.”
“And he knew about me.”
“Yes.”
I looked down.
That made the threat against me feel more personal.
Someone had known I existed before I was old enough to understand any of this.
Mom squeezed my hand.
Then her phone vibrated.
She looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
She didn't answer.
It rang again.
Then a message appeared.
“Rachel, ask Thomas what happened the night he disappeared.”
Mom's face went pale.
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom?”
She handed me the phone.
I read the message again.
Then another message appeared.
“You deserve the truth too.”
I looked toward the agents.
One immediately took the phone.
They traced the number.
It had already been disconnected.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
Dad standing beside a river.
Thirteen years earlier.
The timestamp showed the night he disappeared.
Mom covered her mouth.
I stared at the image.
Dad wasn't alone.
A woman stood beside him.
Her face was partially hidden.
But I recognized the posture.
Susan.
The photograph had been taken minutes before Dad's car was found.
That meant Susan had been there.
Mom looked at me.
“Thomas never told me this.”
I felt the pieces shifting.
Maybe Dad hadn't simply been attacked.
Maybe he had met Susan willingly.
Maybe he had trusted her.
Maybe she had been the person who warned him.
Or maybe she had been the person who betrayed him.
Then the phone rang again.
This time, a voice came through.
A woman's voice.
Calm.
Soft.
Familiar.
“Rachel.”
Mom froze.
I recognized the voice from her description.
Susan.
“You have something that belongs to me,” the voice said.
Mom looked at me.
“What?”
“The evidence.”
Mom said nothing.
Susan continued.
“Give it back, and Thomas lives.”
My heart stopped.
Dad was already gone with the federal team.
The woman on the phone knew exactly where he was.
Mom's voice shook.
“You have my husband.”
“No.”
Susan laughed softly.
“Your husband is chasing the wrong man.”
The call ended.
One of the agents immediately tried to trace it.
Nothing.
Then a message arrived.
A location.
An abandoned railway station.
And a final sentence.
“Come alone, Rachel.”
Mom stood.
I grabbed her arm.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“She has Dad.”
“We don't know that.”
“I do.”
She reached for her coat.
I shook my head.
“You can't go.”
Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“I spent thirteen years believing your father was dead.”
She picked up her keys.
“I won't lose him twice.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: My Mother Went to the Railway Station Alone, but the Person Waiting for Her Was Not Susan and Knew the Truth About My Father
I Stayed Home With a Fake Stomachache, Then Saw My Aunt Enter Our Apartment With a Spare Key and Something She Was Desperate to Hide
Part 9 of 12
