Chapter 3 - The Man Behind the Door
I called back immediately.
Disconnected.
Nathan traced the number.
Burner phone.
Last signal: Queens.
I left the boys with Rebecca under security protection and drove back toward Manhattan while Nathan worked.
He called ten minutes later.
"We found something."
"What?"
"Dr. Adrian Mercer."
The psychiatrist.
"He's connected to your mother."
"How?"
"His private clinic received three payments totaling $420,000 from a shell company."
"Whose shell company?"
"Daniel's."
My grip tightened around the steering wheel.
I called Daniel.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I returned to the mansion.
Daniel was gone.
Vivian sat alone in the dining room.
The champagne had been cleared.
She looked strangely calm.
"Where's Daniel?"
"I don't know."
"Mercer."
Her expression flickered.
"What about him?"
"You paid him."
"I've paid many doctors."
"To declare Claire insane?"
She leaned back.
"Claire needed help."
"No. You needed control."
I placed Claire's recorded video on the television.
Vivian watched herself become the villain in her own house.
Yet she didn't break.
Instead, she said, "You think she was innocent?"
"Yes."
"Then you never knew your wife."
I stopped.
Vivian smiled faintly.
"Claire was investigating you."
"What?"
"Your companies. Your accounts. Your partners."
"Why?"
"Ask her."
"Where is she?"
"Perhaps she found what she was looking for."
This was another manipulation.
I knew that.
Still, doubt is powerful because it doesn't need proof.
Only space.
Nathan entered.
"We found Mercer."
He showed me an address.
An abandoned private clinic in Queens.
I left immediately.
Police were notified this time.
I wasn't making another mistake.
The clinic looked empty.
But a light burned upstairs.
Nathan and I entered with two officers.
A hallway.
Locked rooms.
Old medical equipment.
Then we found Mercer's office.
Empty.
On his desk sat Claire's photograph.
Beside it were psychiatric evaluation forms.
All unsigned.
Diagnosis:
PARANOID DELUSIONAL DISORDER.
I wanted to tear the room apart.
Instead, I photographed everything.
Nathan opened a cabinet.
Inside were recordings.
Claire.
Hours of them.
She sat across from Mercer.
"I'm not paranoid," she said in one.
"Your mother-in-law believes otherwise."
"She's stealing from my husband."
"Do you have evidence?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Claire looked toward the camera.
"I hid it."
Mercer leaned forward.
"Where?"
Claire smiled.
"Somewhere Vivian will never look."
The recording ended.
Nathan turned.
"What evidence?"
"I don't know."
A sound came from the hallway.
We followed it.
A door at the end stood slightly open.
Inside was a chair.
Rope lay on the floor.
Fresh blood marked one armrest.
My heart stopped.
"Claire!"
No answer.
Then Nathan noticed a security camera.
We pulled the recording.
Claire had been there.
Two hours earlier.
Alive.
A man entered.
Baseball cap.
Jacket.
His face hidden.
He untied Claire.
She stood voluntarily.
They spoke.
No audio.
Then Claire followed him out.
Not kidnapped.
Not dragged.
Followed.
Nathan froze the image.
The man turned slightly.
A scar crossed his left hand.
I knew that scar.
Daniel had gotten it at sixteen when we crashed a motorcycle our father had forbidden us to ride.
My brother had Claire.
I called him.
This time he answered.
"Where are you?"
"You shouldn't have gone to Mercer."
"Where is my wife?"
"I'm trying to keep her alive."
"From who?"
Silence.
"Daniel."
"Mom isn't the biggest problem."
The line went dead.
Nathan looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
I didn't know.
But Claire's warning returned.
DON'T TRUST YOUR BROTHER.
We traced Daniel's phone.
Warehouse district near the East River.
By the time we arrived, his car was there.
The warehouse door was unlocked.
Inside, rows of storage crates stretched into darkness.
"Daniel!"
Nothing.
Then Claire's voice.
"Ethan?"
I ran.
She stepped from behind a partition.
Alive.
For five years I had imagined our reunion.
None of those fantasies prepared me.
She looked thinner.
Tired.
Stronger somehow.
I stopped several feet away.
I didn't touch her.
I wasn't sure I still had that right.
"Claire."
Her eyes filled.
"You finally came home."
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"Not now."
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay."
"Where's Daniel?"
"Looking for something."
"What?"
"The evidence."
Claire walked toward a metal case.
Inside were financial records.
Transfers.
Properties.
False companies.
"Your mother wasn't just stealing from you," Claire said. "She was laundering money through your businesses."
I stared at her.
"For who?"
"That's what I couldn't prove."
A gunshot echoed somewhere in the warehouse.
Claire flinched.
I moved in front of her.
Nathan drew his weapon.
"Stay here."
We found Daniel near the rear loading dock.
He wasn't shot.
The bullet had struck the wall beside him.
A man ran through an exit.
Police pursued him.
Daniel held a folder.
"I found it."
"What?"
"Mom's ledger."
Claire stepped forward.
"Give it to me."
Daniel hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Inside were names.
Politicians.
Executives.
Accountants.
And one name I recognized immediately.
Victor Cole.
My father.
Dead twelve years.
I looked at Daniel.
"What is this?"
"Mom didn't build the system," he said.
"Dad did."
Claire opened another page.
A transfer had been made three weeks earlier.
The exact day she disappeared from Rebecca's apartment.
Recipient:
ADRIAN MERCER.
Another payment appeared below it.
Authorized by:
DANIEL COLE.
Claire looked at my brother.
Daniel went white.
"I didn't authorize that."
Then my phone rang.
Vivian.
I answered.
"You found the ledger," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because Daniel was always terrible at keeping secrets."
Daniel stared at me.
Vivian continued.
"Bring it home."
"No."
"Then ask Claire why she never told you who gave her the first key."
I looked at my wife.
Her face changed.
"Claire?"
May you like
She whispered one word.
"Your father."
