Chapter 4 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Then I locked the doors.
Sophie was singing softly to herself in the back seat.
The ordinary sound made the photograph feel even more unreal.
I called my attorney, Daniel Reed.
He answered immediately.
“Emma?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“What happened?”
I told him.
Not everything.
Just enough.
The photograph.
The message.
Marcus Hale.
Silence.
Then Daniel said, “Do not go anywhere alone.”
“I’m in my car.”
“Where?”
“Outside the house.”
“Drive to my office.”
“What about the audit?”
“Already underway.”
“Daniel, someone knows I bought the debt.”
“That transaction isn’t public.”
“I know.”
“Then whoever sent the message has access to the lender, Ryan, or you.”
“Or the company.”
“Possibly.”
I looked toward the house.
Ryan stood behind an upstairs window.
Watching me.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“Leave now.”
I started the engine.
Ryan ran outside.
I pulled away before he reached the car.
For the first time since morning, I allowed myself to breathe.
I drove across town.
Daniel’s office occupied the top floor of a brick building near the courthouse.
He met me downstairs.
“You brought Sophie?”
“I wasn’t leaving her.”
“Good.”
His assistant gave Sophie crayons and juice in the conference room.
Daniel closed the door.
“Show me.”
I handed him the phone.
He studied the photograph.
“Do you recognize the third man?”
“No.”
“Marcus?”
“I’ve never seen Marcus.”
Daniel searched online.
Within minutes he found an old article.
MARCUS HALE, 31, PRESUMED DEAD AFTER BOATING ACCIDENT.
There was a photograph.
I stared.
Same man.
Older in my phone photograph.
But unmistakable.
Marcus was alive.
“What the hell?” Daniel whispered.
I sat back.
“Ryan knew.”
“Apparently.”
“His parents thought Marcus was dead.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should stop assuming anyone is telling you the full truth.”
I looked through the article.
No body recovered.
Boat found overturned.
Search suspended after eight days.
Marcus’s business interests transferred through agreements executed shortly before his disappearance.
“Who received them?” I asked.
Daniel read.
“Ryan Morgan.”
I closed my eyes.
Ryan had not built his company.
He inherited it after his partner vanished.
Daniel kept reading.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“The transfer document was witnessed by George Morgan.”
Ryan’s father.
The man who had spent the morning throwing my belongings outside.
I felt sick.
George knew more than he admitted.
My phone rang.
Ryan.
I declined it.
He called again.
Then again.
Daniel said, “Don’t answer.”
The fourth call came from Linda.
I answered.
“Emma?”
Her voice shook.
“What?”
“Ryan left.”
“So?”
“He took the lockbox.”
“The empty one?”
“It wasn’t empty.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Linda.”
“I swear.”
“Then why are you calling?”
She started crying.
“Because George just told me something.”
“What?”
A pause.
“Marcus came to our house last year.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“You saw him?”
“No. George did.”
“What did Marcus want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is George?”
“He’s gone too.”
Daniel motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
I did.
“Linda,” he said, “this is Daniel Reed. Do you know where either of them went?”
“No.”
“Did George take anything?”
“His old briefcase.”
I asked, “What’s in it?”
“I don’t know.”
She was still crying.
“Emma, I thought Ryan was just cheating. I thought today was about the divorce.”
“So did I.”
“I didn’t know.”
I believed that part.
Maybe.
Then Linda whispered, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Before George left, he said if Marcus contacted you, you should not believe him.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said Marcus is dangerous.”
Daniel and I exchanged a look.
“What did Ryan say about him?” I asked.
“Nothing. He told us Marcus was dead.”
“Yet George saw him last year.”
“Yes.”
“Linda, your family has been lying to me for eight years.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
I ended the call.
Daniel paced.
“We need the police.”
“With what? A photo of a supposedly dead man?”
“And a threatening message.”
“It’s not technically a threat.”
“Where someone is buried?”
I stared at the screen.
Maybe Marcus had sent it.
Maybe someone wanted me to think he had.
My laptop chimed.
Email.
The sender was NORTH RIVER CAPITAL.
Subject:
CONFIDENTIAL DISCLOSURE — MORGAN DEVELOPMENT.
Daniel leaned beside me.
I opened it.
Attached were documents recovered during the audit.
One spreadsheet.
One scanned contract.
One audio file.
I clicked the spreadsheet first.
Payments.
Hundreds.
Some familiar.
Some not.
Westfield Consulting.
North Coast Supply.
Hale Recovery.
“Hale?” Daniel said.
I nodded.
We opened the contract.
It was dated eleven years earlier.
Signed by Marcus Hale.
Signed by Ryan Morgan.
But the signature lines looked different.
Marcus’s signature was shaky.
Ryan’s was clean.
At the bottom was a handwritten clause.
Upon default, all equity transfers revert to original ownership.
Daniel stared.
“If Marcus is alive…”
“He may still have a claim.”
“To the company.”
“Yes.”
I clicked the audio file.
Static.
Then Ryan’s voice.
“You were supposed to stay dead.”
A second man answered.
“You were supposed to pay me.”
Ryan again.
“I paid enough.”
“No.”
The other man’s voice was calm.
“You paid Vanessa. You paid your father. You paid everyone except me.”
Daniel froze the recording.
“Your father.”
George.
I pressed play.
Ryan said, “Emma can’t know.”
The man laughed.
“She already knows more than you think.”
My pulse raced.
Then the final sentence came.
“If she buys the note, everything changes.”
The recording ended.
Daniel stared at me.
“This conversation happened before you bought the debt.”
“How could Marcus know?”
“I don’t know.”
Another email arrived.
Not North River.
Unknown sender.
One line.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL REED.
I stared at Daniel.
He saw my face.
“What?”
I turned the screen toward him.
His expression changed.
Then someone knocked on the conference-room door.
Three slow knocks.
Daniel stood.
His assistant had gone to lunch.
We were supposed to be alone.
Another knock.
Then a man’s voice came through the door.
“Emma Morgan?”
Daniel reached for his phone.
The handle began turning.
May you like
And from the other side, the stranger said:
“Marcus Hale sent me.”
