Chapter 3 - What Walter Never Told His Family
We left the church through a side door.
Jonathan called the police before we reached the parking lot.
Noah wanted to go directly home.
I refused.
“If Ryan is at Walter's house, we're not going anywhere near it.”
“He's my father.”
“He's a stranger.”
“He's still my father.”
“And that doesn't make him safe.”
Noah flinched.
I hated myself for the sharpness.
But fear does that to a mother.
It turns every word into a weapon because you don't know what else will protect your child.
Jonathan drove behind us.
David Mercer followed in a separate car despite my telling him not to.
Within fifteen minutes, two patrol cars were parked outside Walter's house.
Our street looked exactly as it always had.
Children's bicycles in one driveway.
A basketball hoop over another garage.
Our recycling bin still sitting beside the curb because Noah had forgotten to bring it in.
Ordinary.
Except Walter's front door was open.
Officer Martinez approached my car.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“No one is inside.”
“What?”
“We cleared the house.”
I held up my phone.
“He said he was here.”
“There are signs somebody entered through the rear workshop.”
Noah looked at me.
“The cabinet.”
Jonathan heard him.
We crossed the street with the officers.
I had been inside Walter's home dozens of times.
After Evelyn died, I brought food.
Noah helped replace lightbulbs.
At Christmas, Walter came to our house for dinner twice.
But I had rarely gone inside the workshop.
That was Walter and Noah's territory.
It smelled like sawdust, machine oil, and coffee.
Tools hung perfectly aligned over the workbench.
A half-finished wooden birdhouse sat near the window.
And against the back wall stood a gray metal cabinet.
The door was open.
Noah stopped.
“I didn't open that.”
Officer Martinez raised a hand.
“Don't touch anything.”
Jonathan walked closer.
“Was it forced?”
The officer examined the lock.
“Doesn't look like it.”
Noah reached into his pocket.
He held up the brass key.
“Then how?”
Nobody answered.
Inside the cabinet were several shelves.
Most were empty.
One held a stack of folders.
Another held an old wooden box.
Jonathan frowned.
“There should be a sealed package here.”
“You've seen it?” I asked.
“No. Walter described it.”
“What's missing?”
“A blue document case.”
Noah looked around.
“Ryan took it?”
“We don't know.”
David Mercer entered behind us.
The moment I saw him, anger returned.
“Did you give Ryan a key?”
“No.”
“How did he get inside?”
“I don't know.”
“You know more than you're telling us.”
David looked at Noah.
“I do.”
“Then start talking.”
He took a long breath.
“Ryan contacted me seven months ago.”
Walter had said six.
Close enough.
“He wanted money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“He owed people.”
“What people?”
“People you don't want knowing your address.”
Noah went pale.
David immediately looked guilty.
“I kept him away from you.”
“You don't get credit for that,” I said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His voice was quiet.
That surprised me.
“I have spent seventeen years knowing exactly what my cowardice cost.”
Noah looked at him.
“You knew about me the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“And you never came.”
“No.”
“Birthday cards?”
“No.”
“Christmas?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
“No.”
Each answer became smaller.
Noah nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
That single word hurt more than shouting would have.
David took a step toward him.
“Noah—”
“Don't.”
David stopped.
Jonathan crouched beside the open cabinet.
“Something's here.”
He pointed to the bottom shelf.
A white envelope had been taped underneath.
Officer Martinez removed it carefully.
On the front:
JONATHAN REED — IF THE BLUE CASE IS TAKEN.
Jonathan stared.
“Walter expected this.”
He opened the envelope with the officer's permission.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Jonathan read silently.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked toward David.
“Walter believed Ryan had copied a key.”
David closed his eyes.
“How?”
“Apparently you brought him here.”
I turned on David.
“You what?”
“Once.”
“You brought Ryan to Walter's house?”
“He insisted on meeting him.”
Jonathan read more.
“Walter says Ryan saw the cabinet.”
David leaned against the workbench.
“I didn't know.”
Noah stared at his grandfather.
“You knew he was dangerous, and you brought him across the street from my house?”
David had no answer.
Good.
There wasn't one.
Jonathan continued reading.
“The blue case contained copies.”
“Copies of what?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Records.”
“What records?”
“Payments Walter made.”
Noah frowned.
“To who?”
Jonathan turned the page.
“Ryan Mercer.”
The room went silent.
My stomach twisted.
“Walter gave Ryan money?”
“No.”
Jonathan read again.
“He paid Ryan to stay away.”
Noah stepped backward.
“No.”
David looked equally shocked.
“I didn't know that.”
Jonathan continued.
“For the last five months, Walter sent Ryan monthly payments.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
I almost couldn't process it.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Walter.
A retired man living quietly across the street.
Paying my son's father not to come near us.
Noah looked sick.
“Why would he do that?”
Jonathan folded the letter.
“Because Ryan threatened to contact you.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if Walter believed the contact would be dangerous.”
Noah's voice rose.
“He could've told us!”
“Yes.”
“He should've told us!”
“Yes.”
“He didn't get to decide that!”
“No.”
Jonathan didn't defend Walter.
That mattered.
People often confuse love with infallibility.
Walter loved Noah.
Walter also made a choice that should not have been his alone.
I understood why.
I still hated it.
Officer Martinez asked, “What was in the blue case?”
“Proof of the payments and correspondence from Ryan.”
“Anything else?”
Jonathan read the final paragraph.
Then looked at me.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A DNA report.”
Noah stared.
“A what?”
David's face changed.
Jonathan noticed.
“So you know.”
David said nothing.
I moved toward him.
“Know what?”
David looked at Noah.
“Ryan questioned whether you were his.”
My vision blurred with anger.
“He abandoned me pregnant and then questioned whether my child was his?”
David spoke quickly.
“I never believed him.”
“I don't care what you believed.”
Noah looked at Jonathan.
“Whose DNA?”
“Walter arranged the test using a discarded cup Ryan left here and a sample David voluntarily provided.”
David nodded reluctantly.
Jonathan continued.
“The test verified that Ryan is David's biological son.”
“I know that.”
“But Walter had another sample.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
Jonathan looked at Noah.
“I don't know whose.”
Noah seemed confused.
Then his face changed.
“Mine?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Walter kept a soda can after you worked here one Saturday.”
I felt violated on Noah's behalf.
“Without permission?”
“Yes.”
“What did the report say?”
“I haven't seen it.”
“Then where is it?”
“In the stolen case.”
Outside, one of the officers called to Martinez.
He went to the workshop door.
“What?”
The officer handed him something.
A cell phone.
“Found it behind the garage.”
David stared.
“That's Ryan's.”
The screen was cracked but still lit.
A recent outgoing message was visible.
Sent twelve minutes earlier.
Recipient:
PATRICIA DAWSON.
Walter's daughter.
Noah looked at me.
Then at Jonathan.
“Why is my father texting Mr. Bennett's daughter?”
The phone vibrated in Martinez's hand.
A new message appeared.
From Patricia.
I HAVE THE ORIGINAL WILL. MEET ME BEFORE THE ATTORNEY FINDS OUT.
Jonathan's face went completely still.
“That’s impossible.”
Then he checked his briefcase.
The folder containing Walter's signed original will was gone.
May you like
Someone at the funeral had taken it.
And Patricia was waiting for Ryan.
