Chapter 5 - The Woman We Buried
I did not go alone.
For once, I ignored my mother's instructions.
Dad insisted on coming.
Daniel did too.
Eleanor stayed behind because if someone was watching us, four people disappearing together would be obvious.
The address led to an old office building twenty miles outside the city.
Suite 204.
No company name.
The door was unlocked.
I entered first.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
Then a lamp switched on.
My mother sat behind a desk.
Alive.
For fourteen months I had imagined what I would say if miracles were real.
I thought I would scream.
Instead, I crossed the room and held her.
She felt smaller.
Thinner.
Real.
Then Dad entered.
Mom looked over my shoulder.
“Robert.”
He stopped.
Twenty-eight years of marriage.
Fourteen months of grief.
No sentence could hold that.
Dad approached her.
Then slapped his palm against the desk.
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“I talked to your grave.”
Tears filled Mom's eyes.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Eleanor told me.”
That hurt him more.
He turned away.
Daniel entered last.
Mom's expression hardened.
“You shouldn't have brought him.”
“He's involved whether you like it or not.”
“Claire—”
“No more deciding what I can handle.”
Mom studied me.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
She opened a safe.
Inside were folders labeled M-17, M-18, M-19, M-20.
The missing Mercer files.
“Michael Mercer created these.”
“What do they prove?”
“That Charles Whitmore wasn't the only person stealing.”
Daniel stiffened.
“Who else?”
Mom placed a photograph on the desk.
Michael Mercer stood beside Charles Whitmore.
And a third man.
I recognized him.
Dad did too.
“Uncle Stephen?”
Stephen Bennett.
Dad's older brother.
My favorite uncle.
The man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who paid for my first semester of college when Dad's investments crashed.
The man who had hugged me that morning and told me Mom would be proud.
“He worked with Mercer?” I asked.
Mom nodded.
“Stephen introduced Michael to Charles.”
Dad shook his head.
“My brother was a teacher.”
“Later.”
Mom opened M-17.
Inside were records showing that Stephen had served as an intermediary between Michael Mercer and Charles Whitmore.
Then the money began disappearing.
Michael discovered it.
He threatened to report them.
“What happened?”
“Stephen panicked.”
Dad looked ill.
“Did he kill Michael?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop saying you don't know!”
Mom flinched.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Laura, please.”
“I know Stephen arranged a meeting with Michael the night Michael disappeared. I know Charles was there. I know Michael never came home.”
“And you kept this from me?”
“I found out years later.”
“What does Claire have to do with it?”
Mom looked at me.
There it was.
The secret.
“When you were born, Michael came to the hospital because I called him.”
“Why?”
“Because I'd discovered something.”
She opened another folder.
A DNA report.
Dad stared.
Mom pushed it toward him.
“No.”
“Robert—”
“No.”
My heart pounded.
“Am I Michael's daughter?”
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
Dad picked up the report.
Then sat down.
“What is it?”
Mom answered.
“Michael was Robert's half brother. Their father had another family before marrying Robert's mother.”
Dad looked devastated but kept reading.
“So?”
“When Claire was born, doctors discovered a rare blood incompatibility. Robert wasn't there. Michael was tested because he was family.”
I understood.
“He donated blood?”
“Yes.”
“That saved me?”
“Yes.”
“But why would that make him disappear?”
“Because the test revealed the family connection.”
Michael learned that Robert Bennett was his half brother.
And suddenly he had a legal connection to the Bennett family.
More importantly, he trusted Mom enough to tell her where he had hidden evidence against Charles and Stephen.
“He planned to expose them,” Mom said.
“But first he wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Why me?”
“Because Stephen had discovered Michael visited the hospital.”
Dad whispered, “He thought Michael told us.”
“Yes.”
“So Stephen targeted our family.”
“For years.”
My childhood suddenly felt different.
Dad's failed investments.
Mom losing jobs.
Anonymous complaints.
The break-in when I was eleven.
Things we had called bad luck.
Maybe they weren't.
Mom opened M-20.
“The money transferred six weeks ago wasn't stolen.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What?”
“It was bait.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
We stared at her.
Mom had created the $480,000 transfer.
She used Daniel's name.
Mine.
Dad's forged authorization.
“Why?”
“To force the person controlling the old Mercer network to react.”
“You framed us?”
“Temporarily.”
“Mom!”
“I needed proof.”
“And did you get it?”
“Yes.”
She placed a small recorder on the desk.
“Someone accessed the account forty-three minutes after the transfer.”
“Stephen?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mom looked at Daniel.
“Your mother.”
Daniel recoiled.
“Eleanor?”
“She accessed it.”
I thought about the dress.
Her fear.
Her warnings.
“She said she was helping you.”
“She was.”
“Then why access the money?”
“Because I told her to.”
Nothing made sense.
Mom pressed play.
Eleanor's recorded voice filled the room.
“The transfer worked. He called me.”
Then Mom's voice:
“Did he identify himself?”
“No. But he wants M-17.”
“Where?”
“The wedding.”
I stared at Mom.
“The wedding?”
She nodded.
“The person behind all of this knew Eleanor had M-17.”
“But she didn't.”
“No.”
“So Eleanor destroyed my dress…”
“To stop you from attending.”
I felt my anger return.
“She could have told me.”
“We didn't know who was compromised.”
“Daniel?”
“Possibly.”
Dad?
Possibly.
Even me?
Mom didn't answer.
Then Daniel asked the question none of us had considered.
“If the person wanted M-17 at the wedding, where were they expecting to find it?”
Mom looked at me.
“On you.”
I laughed.
“I didn't have it.”
“You did.”
My laughter stopped.
“The blue fabric sewn into your dress.”
My mother's handkerchief.
Mom had given it to me months before her supposed death.
She knew I wanted it incorporated into my wedding gown.
“What was inside it?”
“A micro-SD card.”
My ruined wedding dress was still at the hotel.
Eleanor had poured garbage over it.
But she hadn't destroyed it.
Someone had wanted me to wear that dress.
Someone else had wanted to stop me.
I grabbed my phone.
Jenna was still at the hotel.
I called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then a message appeared.
It came from Jenna's phone.
I FOUND SOMETHING INSIDE YOUR DRESS.
A photograph followed.
The blue fabric had been cut open.
Beside it lay a tiny black memory card.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
CLAIRE, SOMEONE JUST CAME INTO THE ROOM.
