Chapter 3 - My Daughter’s Missing Account
I called Sophie back.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
“Call the police,” Rosen said.
I was already moving.
I grabbed Emily’s letter and shoved it inside my coat.
“Walter.”
I stopped at the office door.
“If Ryan has been stealing money, confronting him alone is a bad idea.”
“My granddaughter is in that house.”
“I understand.”
“No. You understand documents. I understand what it sounded like when an eight-year-old girl whispered because her father was outside her bedroom.”
Rosen picked up his phone.
“Then I'm calling.”
I didn't argue.
I ran downstairs.
By the time I reached my car, Rosen was behind me.
“You're not coming.”
“Yes, I am.”
“David—”
“Emily trusted me with this for seven years. I'm not sitting behind a desk now.”
We got in.
I drove.
The trip to Ryan's house normally took twenty-four minutes.
We made it in seventeen.
Every red light felt personal.
I kept calling Sophie.
Nothing.
Then I called Ryan.
He answered immediately.
“Walter.”
“Where is Sophie?”
A pause.
“At home.”
“Put her on.”
“She's upset.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“You're making this worse.”
My grip tightened around the steering wheel.
“What happened in her bedroom?”
Another pause.
Longer.
“I don't know what she's been telling you.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“She found some old things of Emily's. It confused her.”
“What things?”
“Walter, you're seventy-two years old. Don't let a child manipulate you.”
Rosen looked sharply at me.
I nearly drove through a red light.
“Say that again.”
“I'm saying Sophie doesn't understand adult situations.”
“Neither did I, apparently.”
“What does that mean?”
“You tell me.”
Silence.
Then Ryan asked, “Where are you?”
I hung up.
Rosen exhaled.
“He's scared.”
“So am I.”
“Different kind.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Ryan was scared of discovery.
I was scared of arriving too late.
A patrol car was already outside when we reached the house.
Thank God for Rosen.
I pulled into the driveway.
The garage was open.
The silver sports car was gone.
So were the shopping bags.
An officer stepped toward me.
“Sir?”
“Walter Hale. I called about my granddaughter.”
“Mr. Rosen made the call.”
“Where is she?”
The front door opened.
Ryan emerged with another officer.
Alone.
I started toward him.
“Where is Sophie?”
Ryan spread his hands.
“She isn't here.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She left.”
“She is eight.”
“I know how old my daughter is.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the officer.
“You're standing here while he's telling you an eight-year-old disappeared?”
The officer remained calm.
“We're determining what happened.”
Ryan shook his head.
“This is ridiculous. She probably went to a neighbor.”
“Probably?”
I stepped closer.
“Twenty minutes ago she was locked in her bedroom because she was afraid of you.”
“I never touched her.”
“I didn't say you did.”
His face changed.
The officer noticed.
So did Rosen.
I pointed toward the house.
“Her phone?”
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“She dropped it.”
“After the call disconnected?”
Ryan's jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
“Where's the box?”
“What box?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Emily's box.”
Nothing.
No confusion.
Just calculation.
He knew.
Rosen stepped beside me.
“Ryan.”
Ryan finally noticed him.
And whatever color remained in his face disappeared.
“David?”
“It's been a long time.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Helping Walter.”
Ryan stared at him.
Then at me.
“You went to Rosen?”
I didn't answer.
His expression hardened.
“You had no right.”
Rosen's voice became almost gentle.
“That's an interesting choice of words.”
One officer entered the house.
The other radioed Sophie's description.
I couldn't stand still.
I walked toward the sidewalk.
“Sophie!”
Nothing.
I checked the neighboring yards.
Behind fences.
Between houses.
Ryan followed.
“She can't have gone far.”
I turned.
“How long has she been missing?”
“I don't know.”
“Five minutes? Twenty? An hour?”
“I was downstairs.”
“Doing what?”
“Packing.”
“For what?”
He froze.
There it was.
Another mistake.
The officer looked toward the garage.
“Mr. Mercer, were you planning to leave?”
“No.”
“You just said you were packing.”
“For a business trip.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
The officer wrote it down.
I stared into the empty garage.
The sports car had been there that afternoon.
Now it was gone.
“Where's your car?”
Ryan hesitated.
“Being serviced.”
I almost laughed.
“You drove it an hour ago.”
“How would you know?”
Silence.
Ryan's eyes narrowed.
“You followed me.”
I said nothing.
“You followed me to Linden.”
The officer looked up.
“What's Linden?”
Ryan immediately realized his mistake.
“Nothing.”
I stepped closer.
“Room 217.”
His face tightened.
Rosen whispered, “Walter.”
But I couldn't stop.
“Claire.”
That did it.
Ryan went still.
Not angry.
Terrified.
“Who told you that name?”
“My daughter.”
“Emily never—”
He stopped.
Too late.
I felt something cold settle inside me.
“You were going to say Emily never knew.”
Ryan looked away.
The officer interrupted.
“Let's focus on finding Sophie.”
He was right.
Whatever Ryan had done could wait.
Sophie couldn't.
Then a small voice called from across the street.
“Mr. Hale?”
A woman stood in the doorway of a neighboring house.
Mrs. Patterson.
I remembered her from one of Sophie's birthdays.
I hurried across.
“Have you seen Sophie?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“She ran through my backyard.”
“Was anyone with her?”
“No.”
“Which direction?”
Mrs. Patterson pointed behind her house.
“Toward the walking trail.”
I ran.
Rosen followed.
Behind the houses was a narrow paved path cutting through a strip of trees.
“Sophie!”
No answer.
We went left.
Nothing.
Then I saw something yellow near a bench.
Fabric.
I picked it up.
A torn piece of Sophie's shirt.
My chest tightened.
“David.”
He saw it.
We moved faster.
The trail divided.
One path led toward a playground.
The other toward an elementary school.
I looked down.
A pink hair tie lay near the school path.
“Sophie!”
This time, an answer.
“Grandpa!”
Faint.
Ahead.
I ran harder than I had run in twenty years.
We found her behind a maintenance shed near the school baseball field.
She was curled against the wall.
Barefoot.
Crying.
Holding a small metal box against her chest.
“Sophie.”
She looked up.
Then ran straight into me.
I dropped to my knees.
Her arms locked around my neck.
“I knew you'd come.”
“I'll always come.”
She sobbed into my shoulder.
Rosen turned away, giving us privacy.
I checked her arms.
Her face.
Her feet.
No obvious injuries.
“Did your father hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“Did anyone?”
Another shake.
“Why did you run?”
“He wanted the box.”
She held it tighter.
“What is it?”
“Mom's.”
“How did you get it?”
Sophie wiped her face.
“It was in the wall.”
I stared at her.
“What wall?”
“My closet.”
“How did you know?”
“Mom showed me.”
That was impossible.
“You were one when your mother died.”
Sophie shook her head.
“No.”
I thought she misunderstood.
“Yes, sweetheart. You were very little.”
“No. Mom didn't show me.”
She looked at the box.
“She showed me on the video.”
I stopped breathing.
“What video?”
“The one in the box.”
Rosen turned back.
“Sophie, have you watched it?”
“Some.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“You've had this for a year?”
“No. I found the key last year.”
“Where?”
She reached into her pocket.
A tiny brass key.
“Inside my stuffed rabbit.”
Emily had given Sophie that rabbit.
She slept with it every night.
I felt sick.
Emily had planned all of this.
A key.
A hidden box.
An attorney.
A letter.
She had known she might not have time.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Sophie looked frightened.
“Is Dad coming?”
“Police are.”
“I don't want Dad to take it.”
“He won't.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I carried her back toward the houses.
Rosen carried the box.
When we reached the driveway, Ryan saw it.
He lunged forward.
“Give me that.”
The officer blocked him.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“That's mine.”
Sophie buried her face against me.
I looked at Ryan.
“You said you didn't know what box I was talking about.”
He said nothing.
The officer held out his hand.
“Mr. Rosen, I'll need to see what's inside.”
Rosen looked at me.
I nodded.
We went into the dining room.
Sophie sat beside me.
Ryan was required to remain several feet away.
The officer placed the metal box on the table.
Sophie handed me the key.
“Grandpa should open it.”
I inserted it.
The lock clicked.
Inside were bank statements.
Dozens.
A USB drive.
Three photographs.
A small notebook.
And a sealed envelope marked:
FOR SOPHIE, WHEN SHE IS OLD ENOUGH.
Ryan suddenly stepped forward.
“You can't read that.”
The officer stopped him.
“Back up.”
“Emily's personal documents aren't Walter's business.”
“They became my business when you drained Sophie's account.”
Ryan stared at me.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
I picked up the first statement.
Northstar Holdings.
Transfers.
$25,000.
$38,000.
$61,000.
Again and again.
Then I saw the source account.
It wasn't Sophie's custodial account.
It was another account in Emily's name.
The balance at the top was staggering.
$1,184,206.41.
I looked at Rosen.
“You said there was more than one.”
He nodded slowly.
“This must be the other.”
Ryan sat down.
His confidence was disappearing.
I turned pages.
The transfers continued.
Northstar.
Northstar.
Northstar.
Then, six weeks before Emily died, they stopped.
A handwritten note appeared beside the final transfer.
RYAN DOES NOT KNOW I MOVED THE REST.
I turned the page.
A second statement showed a transfer of $742,000.
But not to Northstar.
To a trust.
SOPHIA EMILY MERCER PROTECTIVE TRUST.
Trustee:
David Rosen.
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
His face showed genuine confusion.
“No.”
“Your name is right there.”
“I never established this trust.”
Ryan suddenly laughed.
It was quiet.
Bitter.
“Now you're starting to understand.”
Rosen grabbed the statement.
“This signature isn't mine.”
The officer leaned closer.
“You're saying it's forged?”
“Yes.”
Ryan leaned back.
“Ask him where the seven hundred forty-two thousand went.”
Rosen stared at him.
“I don't know.”
“Convenient.”
I turned toward Ryan.
“You've been stealing from Sophie.”
“Have I?”
“You drained her custodial account.”
“Prove it.”
“The bank will.”
Ryan smiled.
For the first time since I'd arrived, he seemed less afraid.
That worried me.
I opened the notebook.
Emily's handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
Amounts.
Initials.
R.M.
C.V.
N.H.
Then one entry had been underlined.
September 14.
Claire says Ryan thinks Northstar is his. He still doesn't know who actually created it.
I looked up.
Ryan's smile vanished.
I continued.
September 19.
Confirmed the second account. The signatures are wrong.
September 21.
Someone has been moving money using both our names.
September 23.
Ryan confronted Claire.
He thinks she betrayed him.
September 24.
Claire called me.
She is afraid too.
I stopped.
Claire wasn't necessarily Ryan's partner.
Maybe she had been investigating him.
Or maybe Emily had discovered something larger.
Sophie touched my arm.
“The video.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What?”
“Mom explains it.”
She pointed to the USB drive.
Ryan stood.
“No.”
The officer stepped in front of him.
“Sit down.”
“You don't understand.”
“Sit.”
Ryan didn't.
He looked at Sophie.
“Sophie, your mother was sick.”
She shrank toward me.
“Don't.”
“She was taking medication. She didn't always understand what was happening.”
“Stop talking to her.”
Ryan ignored me.
“Your mother made mistakes.”
Sophie covered her ears.
I stood.
“Enough.”
The officer moved Ryan into the living room.
Rosen found my laptop bag in the car.
We inserted the USB.
There were six video files.
Each dated during the final months of Emily's life.
The last file had a title.
FOR DAD AND SOPHIE.
I clicked it.
Emily appeared.
My daughter.
Alive.
Thin.
Pale.
But alive.
I forgot how to breathe.
“Hi, Dad.”
Her voice filled the room.
My eyes closed.
Seven years disappeared.
“I'm sorry.”
I reached for Sophie's hand.
On-screen, Emily continued.
“If you're watching this, then I wasn't able to fix everything myself.”
She coughed.
“First, Sophie is safe as long as nobody finds the second account.”
I looked at Rosen.
He looked equally confused.
“Ryan isn't the only person I was worried about.”
From the living room came movement.
Ryan shouted.
“Turn it off!”
The officer ordered him back.
Emily continued.
“Dad, you're probably angry with Ryan.”
I stared at the screen.
“You should be.”
Then she said something I didn't expect.
“But Ryan didn't create Northstar.”
Rosen leaned forward.
Emily looked directly into the camera.
“He thinks he did.”
My skin prickled.
“That is what makes this dangerous.”
She held up a document.
“Someone used Ryan's gambling debts to recruit him. He moved money. He lied to me. He betrayed our family.”
Ryan had stopped shouting.
“But the person behind Northstar knew things Ryan couldn't possibly know.”
Emily paused.
“Things about Mom's estate.”
My wife's estate.
My heart pounded.
“Things about your company.”
My mouth went dry.
“And things about Sophie's trust before Sophie was even born.”
The video flickered.
Then Emily leaned closer.
“I discovered the name two days ago.”
A loud knock hit the front door.
Everyone froze.
Another knock.
Three slow strikes.
The officer moved toward the entrance.
Ryan suddenly shouted from the living room.
“Don't open that door!”
The officer looked back.
“Why?”
Ryan's face had gone white.
Emily's video continued behind us.
“I need you to remember one thing, Dad. If Claire ever comes to you, listen to her.”
The knocking stopped.
Then a woman's voice came through the front door.
“Walter Hale?”
I recognized it immediately.
The woman from room 217.
Claire.
She spoke again.
“Walter, don't let Ryan see what's in my hand.”
The officer reached for the door.
Ryan lunged from the living room.
“NO!”
The lock turned.
The door began to open.
May you like
Claire stood on the other side holding a photograph of my daughter.
And someone had written my name across Emily's face.
