PART 4

I had collapsed against the nurses’ station.

My mother had told me she would handle everything.

Funeral arrangements.

Insurance.

Paperwork.

Everything.

I had never seen the body.

I had never seen the death certificate.

I had never attended a funeral.

Because my mother told me Caleb’s family didn’t want me there.

I looked at Danny.

“Caleb might not be dead.”

He didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

For the first time in four years, a possibility entered the room that was more terrifying than grief.

Hope.

Danny whispered:

“We need to find him.”

And somewhere across town, inside an old house I had once called home, a phone began ringing.

My father answered it.

The person on the other end said only six words.

“Tori knows about the baby.”

My father’s face went completely white.

And for the first time in four years, he whispered a name nobody in my family was supposed to say again.

“Caleb.”

My father’s voice was barely audible through the old house.

“Caleb.”

The man on the other end of the phone said nothing.

My father looked toward the hallway as though he expected someone to be standing there.

Then he whispered, “How much does she know?”

A pause.

My father’s jaw tightened.

“No. You don’t understand.”

Another pause.

“She can’t find him.”

He hung up.

For almost a full minute, he stood completely still.

Then he walked to the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and removed a small black box.

Inside was a key.

And beneath the key was a photograph.

A photograph of Caleb.

Alive.

Taken only six months earlier.

My father stared at it with shaking hands.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

My mother stood in the doorway.

“You called him, didn’t you?” she asked.

My father didn’t answer.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“I didn’t know she would come back.”

“She didn’t come back.”

My mother walked toward the desk.

“She was brought back.”

My father looked at her.

“By Danny?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

My mother stared at the photograph.

“June.”

My father’s face hardened.

“June is dying.”

“She is still talking.”

My mother reached for the photograph.

My father pulled it away.

For the first time in years, he raised his voice.

“This has gone too far.”

My mother looked at him.

“No.”

She spoke quietly.

“It went too far four years ago.”

I didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did Danny.

We sat at the small motel table while my daughter slept in the next room.

The email was still open on his laptop.

I kept reading the same sentence.

If Victoria ever comes back, tell her the father is deceased and there is nothing more to discuss.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

My mother had lied about Caleb.

She had lied about the mortgage.

She had lied about my grandmother.

She had lied about my disappearance.

But why?

What was she protecting?

And why had my father apparently been involved?

At 3:17 in the morning, Danny finally closed the laptop.

“We should leave.”

I looked at him.

“Where?”

“To see Grandma.”

“She’ll be asleep.”

“She may not have another day.”

That sentence made my stomach drop.

We drove to my grandmother’s house just before sunrise.

It was a small white house at the end of a quiet street.

The same place I remembered from childhood.

The porch swing.

The cracked flowerpot.

The wind chime that never seemed to stop moving.

When I knocked, there was no answer.

Danny knocked again.

Then the door opened.

A woman I didn’t recognize stood there.

She was probably in her sixties.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Victoria Ives,” I said.

The woman’s expression changed instantly.

She stepped aside.

“Your grandmother has been waiting.”

I walked inside.

The house smelled exactly the same.

Lavender.

Old books.

Cinnamon.

For one painful second, I was eight years old again.

Then I saw Grandma June.

She was sitting beside the window in a wheelchair.

She looked smaller than I remembered.

Much smaller.

But her eyes were exactly the same.

Sharp.

Warm.

Tired.

She looked at me.

And smiled.

“There you are.”

I broke.

I crossed the room and knelt beside her.

She wrapped both arms around my neck.

I cried against her shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

She pulled back.

“Never.”

“Mom said you didn’t answer my letters.”

“I answered every one.”

My heart cracked.

“Where are they?”

She looked toward the woman standing by the kitchen.

“Mary, would you bring the box?”

Mary nodded.

She disappeared into the other room.

A moment later, she returned carrying a cardboard box.

She placed it on the table.

Grandma looked at me.

“Open it.”

Inside were envelopes.

Dozens of them.

All addressed to me.

Some had been returned.

Some had never been mailed.

Some had been opened.

I picked up the first one.

The date was four years ago.

Three weeks after Caleb’s supposed death.

My hands shook.

“Why didn’t I receive these?”

Grandma’s eyes filled with tears.

“Your mother intercepted them.”

Danny looked at me.

I opened another letter.

Then another.

Every one had the same theme.

Grandma asking where I was.

Begging me to call.

Telling me she loved me.

Then I found a different envelope.

It was much thicker.

On the front were three words:

About Caleb Mercer.

My heart stopped.

I looked at Grandma.

“What is this?”

She took a breath.

“The truth.”

I opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Caleb was standing beside a man I didn’t recognize.

On the back was a date.

Two months after his funeral.

I stared at it.

“That’s impossible.”

Grandma nodded.

“I know.”

Danny stepped closer.

“Who is the man?”

Grandma looked at him.

“His name is Robert Hale.”

“Who is he?”

“He was Caleb’s attorney.”

I looked up.

“Caleb had an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Grandma hesitated.

“Because Caleb knew something was going to happen.”

My throat tightened.

“What?”

Grandma looked toward the window.

“Your father had been pressuring him.”

“For what?”

“To sign something.”

“What?”

She looked directly at me.

“Ownership papers.”

I remembered the document from the motel.

The property company.

My name.

I felt sick.

“What did Caleb own?”

Grandma shook her head.

“Not what.”

She reached for my hand.

“Who.”

I didn’t understand.

She continued.

“Caleb discovered that your father had been moving money through several companies.”

Danny stepped forward.

“How much?”

Grandma looked at him.

“More than your sister ever sent.”

I felt the room spinning.

“How much?”

“Millions.”

Nobody spoke.

Then Grandma said something I would never forget.

“Your father wasn’t poor, Tori.”

I stared at her.

“He was pretending.”

The room went silent.

I remembered every phone call.

Every emergency.

Every time my mother cried because the electricity bill was due.

Every time my father said the truck was about to be repossessed.

Every time they told me the roof was leaking.

I had believed them.

Because I was their daughter.

Grandma squeezed my hand.

“Your father owned three rental properties.”

I stared at her.

“Three?”

“Five, eventually.”

Danny whispered, “Mom never mentioned those.”

“Because she wasn’t supposed to.”

Grandma continued.

“Caleb found them.”

My chest tightened.

“And then?”

“He confronted your father.”

“What happened?”

Grandma’s expression changed.

“He disappeared.”

The word echoed through the room.

I couldn’t speak.

Danny asked the question for me.

“Did Caleb really die?”

Grandma didn’t answer.

She looked at me.

“No.”

My entire body went cold.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

“What?”

“Caleb was alive when your mother told you he died.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw him.”

“When?”

Grandma’s eyes filled with tears.

“The night before you were told.”

I stared at her.

“What happened?”

“Caleb came to me.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me he loved you.”

My eyes filled.

“He said he was afraid.”

“Of my father?”

Grandma nodded.

“He said your father had threatened him.”

“What kind of threat?”

“He said if he didn’t sign over certain assets, you and the baby would suffer.”

My hands began trembling.

“What assets?”

Grandma looked at Danny.

“Your father’s biggest property.”

Danny frowned.

“The Asheville property?”

I froze.

“What Asheville property?”

Danny looked at me.

“I didn’t know about that.”

Grandma sighed.

“Your father owned land outside Asheville.”

My heart began pounding.

“How much?”

“Almost twenty acres.”

I stared at her.

“Where?”

She gave me an address.

I knew it.

I had driven past that area dozens of times.

My house was only a few miles away.

I whispered, “That’s impossible.”

Grandma shook her head.

“No.”

She pointed toward me.

“It was transferred into your name.”

I couldn’t move.

“When?”

“Four years ago.”

The exact time I stopped sending money.

The exact time my family told everyone I had disappeared.

I looked at Danny.

“Why would they transfer it to me?”

“Because Caleb had already discovered the fraud,” Grandma said.

“Your father needed someone else to hold the property.”

I felt sick.

“So they used my name.”

“Yes.”

“But why tell everyone I disappeared?”

Grandma’s eyes hardened.

“Because if anyone investigated the property, your father needed you to look like a runaway daughter who had vanished.”

Danny suddenly stood.

“Wait.”

He pulled out his phone.

“What address did you say?”

Grandma repeated it.

Danny typed quickly.

Then he looked at me.

“Tori.”

“What?”

“That property isn’t empty.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

He turned his phone toward me.

It showed an online property record.

The owner was listed as:

Victoria Ives.

But beneath it was something else.

Current occupant: Unknown.

Danny zoomed in.

There was a photograph from a nearby security camera.

It showed a man entering a gate.

The image was blurry.

But not blurry enough.

I recognized the posture.

The dark hair.

The way he carried his shoulders.

My hand flew to my mouth.

“No.”

Danny stared at me.

“Do you know him?”

I couldn’t answer.

Because I did.

I knew him better than anyone.

I had watched him walk through our apartment barefoot.

I had watched him dance badly while cooking dinner.

I had watched him sleep with one hand resting protectively over my pregnant stomach.

I had memorized the shape of his shoulders.

The man in the photograph was Caleb.

Alive.

My husband.

My daughter’s father.

The man my mother told me had died.

I started crying.

Not quietly.

Not gracefully.

I cried so hard that my grandmother reached for me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I shook my head.

“Why?”

She looked at me.

“Because you deserve the truth.”

I wiped my face.

“Then tell me everything.”

Grandma nodded.

“There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

She reached beneath her blanket.

From a small pocket, she removed a brass key.

She placed it in my hand.

“This belongs to Caleb.”

I stared at it.

“What does it open?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how did you get it?”

“He gave it to me.”

“When?”

“Four years ago.”

I looked at Danny.

Grandma continued.

“He told me that if anything happened to him, I was to give this to you when you were ready.”

I closed my fingers around the key.

“What did he say?”

Grandma’s voice became barely a whisper.

“He said you would know where to use it.”

I looked at the key.

There was a tiny engraving on it.

A number.

Danny suddenly went pale.

“What?”

He pointed at it.

“That’s not a key for a house.”

I looked at him.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen those.”

“Where?”

“At the old Dayton train station.”

I frowned.

“There are storage lockers there.”

Grandma closed her eyes.

“Then you know where to go.”

An hour later, Danny and I stood inside the abandoned section of Dayton station.

The old storage lockers were still there.

Most had been removed.

Only a handful remained.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…