Chapter 4 - The Brother We Buried
“Hello, Daniel.”
I couldn’t answer.
The man standing behind my father had aged eleven years, but there was no mistaking him.
Thomas Mercer.
My dead uncle.
Except he wasn’t dead.
His hair had turned almost completely gray. Deep lines cut around his eyes. A pale scar ran from his left cheek toward his jaw.
But those eyes were the same.
I remembered them from childhood Christmas dinners.
From fishing trips.
From the photograph displayed beside his closed coffin.
I looked at my father.
“You knew.”
Dad stepped into the office.
“I found out this afternoon.”
Thomas gave a humorless laugh.
“That’s the first lie.”
Mom went rigid.
“Thomas.”
“No, Evelyn. We’re done with lies.”
Dad turned.
“You don’t get to walk into my house after eleven years and lecture anyone.”
Thomas looked around the office.
“Your house?”
That landed harder than he probably intended.
Dad’s face tightened.
I almost laughed.
Apparently everyone in this family believed they owned the same property.
Thomas stepped inside and closed the door.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I still held Addendum B.
Thomas noticed.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mom.”
He looked at her.
“You kept the original?”
“I kept everything.”
“You were supposed to destroy it.”
“And apparently I was right not to.”
Dad’s eyes moved between them.
“What document?”
Thomas ignored him.
I didn’t.
“This.”
I held it up.
Dad reached for it.
I pulled it back.
“Not yet.”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
I had never spoken to him that way before.
Not when I was sixteen.
Not when I was thirty.
Not even when his company collapsed.
Something had changed.
Maybe it was seeing Claire with that bruise.
Maybe it was discovering that almost every important story my family had told me contained another story underneath.
Whatever it was, I was finished obeying simply because my father expected it.
I turned to Thomas.
“You have about thirty seconds to explain why I attended your funeral.”
Dad scoffed.
“Daniel, this isn’t—”
“Quiet.”
The word came out before I thought about it.
Dad stared at me.
Thomas almost smiled.
Then he saw my expression and didn’t.
“I disappeared because people were looking for me.”
“Federal investigators?”
“Among others.”
“Were you a criminal?”
Thomas paused.
“Yes.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Dad said, “Don’t be dramatic.”
Thomas turned toward him.
“I moved money I knew I shouldn’t move. I signed documents I knew were false. I helped create companies designed to hide where investments came from.”
He looked back at me.
“So yes. I broke the law.”
“Did Dad?”
Silence.
Dad stepped forward.
“Watch yourself.”
Thomas didn’t even look at him.
“Yes.”
Dad’s face changed.
“You son of a—”
“You wanted honesty.”
“I wanted you gone.”
“You got that for eleven years.”
Dad grabbed Thomas by the jacket.
Mom screamed his name.
I moved between them.
“Stop.”
Dad released him.
Thomas straightened his coat.
The entire scene felt impossible.
My father and his supposedly dead brother stood three feet apart in an office inside a mansion I owned because my father had nearly lost it.
And somehow the craziest thing that had happened forty-eight hours earlier was still my sister throwing a shoe at my pregnant wife.
“Tell me what Dad did,” I said.
Thomas looked at him.
Dad answered first.
“Nothing.”
Thomas laughed.
“Robert.”
“I made investments.”
“You laundered money.”
Dad lunged again.
This time I caught his arm.
“Enough!”
The room went silent.
I pointed toward a chair.
“Sit down.”
Dad stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit down or leave.”
“This is my office.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“It’s an office in my house.”
That did it.
He sat.
Not because he accepted my authority.
Because he understood I finally did.
Thomas remained standing.
“Your father and I started a private investment operation twenty years ago.”
“What kind?”
“Small businesses. Property. Construction. Restaurants. Anything that needed capital.”
“That sounds legal.”
“It was.”
“At first?”
“At first.”
Thomas walked toward the window.
“Then Robert met Victor Hale.”
Dad looked down.
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is Victor Hale?”
“A man with money that needed somewhere to go.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he didn’t care whether businesses made profits. He cared whether the money came back looking legitimate.”
I understood.
“And you helped him.”
“Yes.”
“Dad?”
Thomas looked at my father.
“Your father brought him in.”
Dad finally spoke.
“I didn’t know what Hale was doing.”
Thomas turned.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew.”
Dad slammed his palm against the desk.
“I knew after we were already involved!”
Mom flinched.
That was enough.
Dad realized it too.
He looked at me.
“Daniel, listen to me.”
“No.”
“I was trying to save the company.”
“You were laundering money?”
“I was moving investments.”
“Don’t insult me.”
His face reddened.
“You think business is clean? You think every dollar comes with a certificate saying where it was born?”
“My business does.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“Because you had the luxury of starting clean.”
I looked at Thomas.
He looked away.
Something about that bothered me.
“Did I?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
“Thomas.”
“The money I invested in your company was clean.”
“Mom said that.”
“It was.”
“How?”
“I had legitimate assets.”
“Prove it.”
“I can.”
“Then do it.”
“I will.”
Dad leaned back.
“Ask him why he disappeared before he could.”
I turned.
Thomas’s expression hardened.
Dad smiled without humor.
“Go ahead, Tommy. Tell him.”
Thomas said nothing.
Dad continued.
“Tell Daniel why your coffin had to stay closed.”
Mom whispered, “Robert.”
“No. He wants truth.”
Dad looked directly at me.
“There was a body.”
My stomach turned.
“What?”
“At Thomas’s funeral.”
I looked at my uncle.
“There was a body in your coffin?”
Thomas nodded once.
“Whose?”
Silence.
“Whose body?”
“A man named Eric Dawson.”
I had never heard the name.
“How did he die?”
Thomas looked at Dad.
“Boating accident.”
“The accident you supposedly died in?”
“Yes.”
“And you used his body?”
“It wasn’t planned.”
I stared at him.
“That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No.”
“Did Eric have a family?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
“They thought they buried you?”
“No. They knew Eric died.”
“How?”
“Authorities eventually identified him privately.”
“Then how did everyone else believe you were dead?”
“Because the public record was manipulated before identification.”
“By who?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
Dad did.
“Victor Hale.”
I felt sick.
This wasn’t family drama anymore.
This was something else.
Something that had existed before Claire entered my life.
Before my company.
Before I bought the mansion.
“Why come back now?”
Thomas looked at the papers in my hand.
“Because you listed the house.”
“That’s what Mom said.”
“The property address appearing publicly was enough.”
“For what?”
“To wake up people who have been waiting for movement connected to the Mercer accounts.”
“What accounts?”
Thomas walked to Dad’s desk.
Dad stood.
“Don’t.”
Thomas ignored him.
He crouched beside a built-in cabinet.
Then knocked against the wood.
Once.
Twice.
The second knock sounded hollow.
I looked at Mom.
She looked genuinely confused.
Dad didn’t.
Thomas noticed.
“There.”
He ran his fingers along the panel.
Dad stepped toward him.
“I said don’t.”
I blocked Dad.
“What’s behind it?”
“Nothing.”
Thomas pressed a hidden latch.
A narrow wooden panel released.
Mom gasped.
Behind it was a steel door.
A safe.
Not the wall safe Mom had opened earlier.
A second safe.
Dad looked furious.
I stared at him.
“What’s inside?”
“Old business records.”
Thomas laughed.
“Then open it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
I stepped closer.
“The house belongs to me.”
“The contents don’t.”
“Fine. Then take them out.”
Dad said nothing.
Thomas looked at me.
“That safe was installed twenty years ago.”
“You knew?”
“I helped install it.”
“What’s inside?”
“Originally? Account ledgers.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad said, “He’s lying.”
Thomas looked at him.
“Open it.”
Dad refused.
I pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Michael.”
“Your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“To find out what I legally do when someone refuses to remove a hidden safe from my property.”
Dad’s face changed.
“Don’t involve outsiders.”
That sentence told me more than anything else.
“Why?”
“This is family business.”
“No. Yesterday was family business. This sounds like evidence.”
Dad stepped toward me.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Then explain it.”
He lowered his voice.
“Some doors should stay closed.”
Thomas laughed quietly.
“You used to say the same thing about accounts.”
Dad turned on him.
“And look what happened when you opened your mouth.”
Thomas’s expression went still.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
For the first time, Thomas looked afraid.
Not guilty.
Afraid.
I noticed.
“So Victor Hale is alive?”
Thomas looked at me.
“As far as I know.”
“And dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know you’re alive?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad said nothing.
I looked at him.
“Do you?”
“No.”
Too fast.
Thomas heard it too.
“You talked to him.”
Dad stared at his brother.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You talked to Hale.”
“No.”
“Robert.”
Dad walked toward the door.
“We’re done.”
Thomas grabbed his arm.
Dad spun.
“Get your hand off me.”
“When?”
Thomas demanded.
“Get off.”
“When did you talk to him?”
Dad shoved him.
Thomas stumbled against the desk.
Mom shouted.
Then my phone rang.
Claire.
Everything else stopped mattering.
I answered immediately.
“Claire?”
She was breathing fast.
“Daniel, where are you?”
“At my parents’. What happened?”
“Someone’s outside.”
My blood went cold.
“What do you mean?”
“A car.”
“What kind?”
“Black SUV. It’s been across the street for ten minutes.”
Thomas was suddenly watching me.
“Lock the doors.”
“They’re locked.”
“Call the police.”
“I already did.”
“Good. Stay away from the windows.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“The man got out.”
I was already moving toward the office door.
“Go upstairs. Lock yourself in the bedroom.”
“He’s not coming toward the house.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He walked to our mailbox.”
“Claire, get upstairs.”
“He put something inside.”
“Do not touch it.”
She went silent.
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
“Promise me you won’t go outside.”
“I promise.”
“I’m coming home.”
I ended the call.
Thomas stepped toward me.
“What kind of SUV?”
“Black.”
“Plate?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“What did the man look like?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad had gone pale.
I saw it.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I said no.”
Thomas grabbed his coat.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“If Hale knows where you live—”
“You’re not coming near my pregnant wife until I understand who you are.”
His face tightened.
Fair.
Mom followed me into the hallway.
“Daniel, please be careful.”
Melissa appeared at the top of the staircase.
“What is going on?”
Nobody answered.
She looked at Thomas.
Then froze.
Her mouth opened.
She had been fifteen when he disappeared.
“Uncle Thomas?”
He looked up.
“Hi, Melissa.”
She screamed.
I didn’t stay.
I drove home faster than I should have.
Two police vehicles were parked outside.
The black SUV was gone.
Claire stood inside the doorway talking to an officer.
I ran to her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
For several seconds, I didn’t care about houses, hidden safes, dead uncles or missing documents.
Only her.
Only our daughter.
An officer approached.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“We checked the mailbox.”
“And?”
“There was an envelope.”
My stomach tightened.
“Anything dangerous?”
“Not physically.”
He handed me a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
I stared at it.
It showed me.
Nineteen years old.
Standing beside my wrecked car on the night of the accident.
I was unconscious.
Thomas was beside me.
But he wasn’t alone.
A second man stood near the road.
Dad.
On the back of the photograph were six words.
ASK ROBERT WHO HIT YOUR CAR.
Claire read them.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One image arrived.
I opened it.
A photograph taken less than a minute earlier.
My parents’ mansion.
The front door stood open.
Thomas was outside.
Mom was behind him.
And Dad was being forced into a black SUV.
Then a second message appeared.
DON’T CALL THE POLICE.
A third message followed.
OPEN THE SAFE.
I stared at the screen.
Then one final photograph loaded.
It showed the inside of Dad’s hidden safe.
A single red folder sat on the shelf.
My name was written across it.
May you like
And beneath my name were three words that made Claire grip my arm.
ACCIDENT — DANIEL MERCER.
