Chapter 5 - The Letter Marissa Never Sent
Alexander flew to Boston that night.
Eli stayed at the estate under Peter’s protection.
For the first time since meeting the boy, Alexander felt physically wrong being away from him.
Rachel joined him on the jet.
“You know the police told you not to interfere.”
“I’m not interfering.”
“You hired three investigators.”
“I’m assisting.”
“You sound like a billionaire who thinks vocabulary changes behavior.”
Alexander looked out the window.
Rachel sighed.
“Do you believe Thomas hurt Avery?”
“I believe Thomas has spent decades destroying evidence.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes.”
Rachel opened her laptop.
“I found something else.”
Alexander turned.
“What?”
“Marissa had a storage unit.”
“Where?”
“Near the old house.”
“Why didn’t we know?”
“It was rented under Anna’s name.”
Alexander stared.
Rachel showed him a scan of the contract.
“Paid annually in cash.”
“Who paid?”
“No record.”
“When was the last payment?”
“Three months ago.”
Alexander’s pulse quickened.
“Marissa.”
“Probably.”
“What’s inside?”
“We don’t know.”
“Get access.”
“I’m working on it.”
Alexander’s phone rang.
Peter.
He answered immediately.
“Is Eli okay?”
“Yes.”
Alexander exhaled.
“Put him on.”
There was a pause.
Then Eli’s voice.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Did you find the doctor?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You said that yesterday.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Grandpa?”
The word hit him.
First time.
Alexander couldn’t speak.
Eli continued.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“You got quiet.”
Alexander swallowed.
“I heard you.”
“I only said it because Peter said maybe I should try.”
In the background Peter protested.
“I absolutely did not—”
Eli giggled.
Alexander smiled despite everything.
“You can call me whatever you want.”
“Even Alexander?”
“Yes.”
“Even Mr. Dirt Thief?”
Alexander laughed.
The sound surprised Rachel.
Eli laughed too.
Then became quiet.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t disappear.”
Alexander’s smile vanished.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
Alexander stared at the dark sky beyond the jet window.
“Promise.”
After the call, Rachel watched him.
“You’re attached.”
“He’s my grandson.”
“You’ve known him four days.”
“Does that matter?”
“No.”
Rachel closed the laptop.
“It’s just dangerous.”
“For him?”
“For you.”
Alexander looked at her.
She softened.
“You built a life where no one could hurt you.”
“I built a life where no one could reach me.”
“That too.”
They landed before midnight.
Boston police had already begun searching for Avery.
His vehicle had been found near a wooded road.
Blood on the seat was confirmed human.
No body.
No phone.
No wallet.
Alexander’s investigator found something the police had initially overlooked.
A torn piece of paper beneath the passenger seat.
Three words.
MERCER STORAGE UNIT.
By morning, Alexander was back on a plane.
Rachel stared at him.
“You understand we just flew here.”
“Yes.”
“And now we’re flying back.”
“Yes.”
“You own phones.”
“Apparently Thomas does too.”
They landed and drove directly to the storage facility.
Detective Brooks met them there.
“You do realize normal people sleep.”
Alexander handed her the paper.
She read it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Avery’s car.”
Her expression changed.
“You entered a police scene?”
“My investigator found it after the scene was released.”
Brooks looked at Rachel.
Rachel said, “Legal.”
Brooks sighed.
The storage manager opened Unit 417.
Inside were six boxes.
One old sewing machine.
A child’s bicycle.
Two suitcases.
And a wooden chest.
Alexander approached the chest.
There was a note taped to the lid.
For Alexander Morgan, if he ever comes.
He froze.
Rachel looked over his shoulder.
“Marissa wrote that.”
Alexander knew.
He opened it.
Inside were letters.
Photographs.
Medical bills.
School reports.
Birthday cards never mailed.
A baby bracelet.
A newspaper clipping about Alexander’s company.
A picture of him speaking at a charity gala.
On the back, Marissa had written:
Funny how a stranger can look familiar.
Alexander sat on the floor.
He lifted another photograph.
Marissa at eight.
Missing front tooth.
Another.
Marissa at sixteen.
Holding a science trophy.
Another.
Marissa with Daniel Turner on their wedding day.
Another.
Marissa holding newborn Eli.
Another.
Marissa beside Sophie in a hospital bed.
Alexander pressed his fist to his mouth.
Detective Brooks turned away to give him privacy.
Rachel found an envelope.
“Alexander.”
He looked up.
It was addressed to him.
The seal was unbroken.
He opened it.
Dear Mr. Morgan,
I don’t know whether you’re my father.
My mother died without giving me a complete answer.
I have spent years telling myself I didn’t care.
That was easier.
Then my daughter got sick.
Suddenly pride became expensive.
If you are my father, I don’t want your money.
I want access to the trust your father supposedly created.
It could save Sophie.
If you aren’t my father, I’ll disappear and never bother you again.
But please, if there is even a chance, answer me.
Marissa.
Alexander lowered the letter.
“What date?”
Rachel checked.
“Eleven months ago.”
Alexander stood.
“Eleven months.”
Brooks watched him.
“She sent this?”
“No.”
Alexander examined the envelope.
No stamp.
No postmark.
“She never mailed it.”
Rachel searched deeper.
“There’s another.”
The second letter was shorter.
Mr. Morgan,
I tried calling your office six times.
Someone named Victor said not to call again.
I don’t know who Victor is.
Maybe you told him to say it.
If so, fine.
But someday my son may come looking.
If he does, please don’t punish him for my mistakes.
Alexander looked at Rachel.
“Victor?”
“I’m checking staff records.”
Peter called.
“Alexander.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
“Eli?”
“He’s fine.”
“What problem?”
“A man named Victor Dane worked for your family office for fourteen years.”
Alexander remembered him.
Quiet.
Efficient.
Dismissed two years earlier for mishandling expenses.
“Where is he now?”
“No idea.”
“Find him.”
“I already did.”
Alexander waited.
Peter continued.
“He owns a gray sedan.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
Brooks heard.
“Send me the information.”
Peter emailed it.
Brooks stepped aside to make a call.
Alexander returned to the chest.
At the bottom lay Sophie’s medical records.
He opened them.
Recommended corrective surgery.
Projected success rate: high.
Estimated deposit required.
Eighty-two thousand dollars.
Alexander stared at the number.
Eighty-two thousand.
He had once spent ninety thousand dollars renovating a wine cellar he rarely entered.
His granddaughter may have died waiting for less.
Rachel quietly said, “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Turn every purchase you ever made into a weapon against yourself.”
“She needed eighty-two thousand dollars.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
“I should have found Anna.”
“You tried.”
“Once.”
“You were twenty-two.”
“I had twenty-three years after that.”
Rachel had no answer.
Brooks returned.
“We found Victor Dane.”
“Where?”
“His apartment.”
Alexander stood.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Talk to him.”
“We are.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Detective—”
“No.”
Alexander stared.
Brooks did not care.
“You are a witness, possible family member, and very angry billionaire. You are not attending an interview.”
Rachel nodded.
“She’s right.”
Alexander glared at her.
“I hate when you do that.”
“I know.”
Two hours later, Brooks called.
Victor had admitted intercepting calls from Marissa.
“Why?” Alexander demanded.
“He was paid.”
“By Thomas?”
“He claims yes.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Alexander almost laughed from disbelief.
“My daughter lost access to me for fifty thousand dollars.”
“Victor says he didn’t know who she really was.”
“Convenient.”
“He also says Thomas brought medication to Marissa.”
Alexander went still.
“What medication?”
“We’re checking.”
“And Avery?”
“Victor claims he knows nothing.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
That afternoon, police obtained a warrant for a property linked to Thomas.
He wasn’t there.
But they found documents.
Copies of Marissa’s medical files.
Copies of Sophie’s surgical estimate.
Copies of Alexander’s schedule.
Photographs of Eli.
And one photograph of Dr. Avery tied to a chair.
Alive.
Alexander stared at the image Brooks showed him.
“Where was this taken?”
“We don’t know.”
“Metadata?”
“Stripped.”
“Background?”
“Generic.”
Alexander enlarged it.
Avery sat against a concrete wall.
Behind him was a painted number.
Alexander stared.
Rachel noticed.
“What?”
Alexander pointed.
“Thomas used numbered properties.”
Peter had once mentioned that Margaret Morgan kept old industrial buildings through shell companies.
They searched.
Property 19 belonged to a defunct Morgan subsidiary outside the city.
Police mobilized.
Alexander was ordered to stay behind.
He ignored the order.
By the time he arrived, patrol cars surrounded an abandoned textile warehouse.
Brooks met him outside.
“If you cross that tape, I will personally arrest you.”
“Is Avery inside?”
“We don’t know yet.”
A team entered.
Minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Alexander paced.
A stretcher emerged.
Dr. Avery.
Alive.
Barely.
Alexander exhaled.
Brooks looked almost relieved.
Then another officer approached her.
He whispered something.
Her expression changed.
“What?” Alexander asked.
Brooks didn’t answer.
“What did they find?”
She looked at him.
“A room upstairs.”
“And?”
“Records.”
“What records?”
“Your family’s.”
Alexander stared.
Brooks continued.
“Payments. Sealed files. Surveillance.”
Rachel stepped closer.
“Anything about Marissa?”
“Yes.”
Alexander’s heart pounded.
Brooks held up an evidence bag.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
“It has her name on it.”
“When?”
“Dated three days before she died.”
Alexander reached for it.
Brooks pulled it back.
“Evidence.”
“What’s on it?”
“We haven’t listened.”
“Then listen.”
They did.
In Brooks’s car.
Marissa’s voice came through weakly.
“If anything happens to me, Thomas Vale did not act alone.”
Alexander gripped the seat.
Marissa coughed.
“There is someone inside Alexander Morgan’s house helping him.”
Alexander looked up.
Rachel froze.
The recording continued.
“I don’t know his name. But Thomas calls him P.”
Peter.
Alexander’s face changed.
The recording crackled.
Then Marissa whispered one final sentence.
“He said the boy would be safest if Alexander never knew he existed.”
Alexander slowly turned toward the estate in the distance.
Peter was there.
Alone with Eli.
He grabbed his phone.
No signal.
Rachel’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her face went white.
“What?”
She looked at Alexander.
“The estate alarm just went offline.”
Alexander was already running toward the car.
Rachel shouted after him.
“Alexander!”
He opened the door.
Then his phone finally connected.
A voicemail appeared.
From Eli.
Six seconds long.
Alexander pressed play.
Eli was whispering.
“Grandpa… Peter told me to hide.”
A door creaked in the background.
Then another man’s voice said:
May you like
“Eli?”
The recording ended.
