Chapter 5 - My Father’s Locked Office
I didn't go alone.
Dad raised me better than that.
By nine the next morning, Mercer, Emily, and I were driving toward Nashville.
Mom stayed behind.
Hayes did too.
Neither argued.
That bothered me.
Unit 214 belonged to a private storage facility outside the city.
Rebecca Lawson was waiting.
She was sixty-something, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, and completely unsurprised to see me.
“You brought people.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I frowned.
“The message said come alone.”
“I didn't send the message.”
That changed everything.
“Who did?”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
She unlocked Unit 214.
Inside was almost empty.
One table.
One chair.
One steel document box.
And Dad’s old laptop.
Rebecca handed me a key.
“Your father rented this unit ten weeks before he died.”
“Why?”
“To preserve records outside the house.”
“What records?”
She looked at Emily.
“Family records.”
I opened the steel box.
Inside were legal documents establishing the foundation.
Financial reports.
Property records.
And another stack of letters.
Then I found a folder marked:
ELAINE.
I hesitated.
Emily said, “Open it.”
Inside were medical bills.
Not Dad’s.
Mom’s.
Counseling invoices.
Therapy appointments stretching back eleven years.
I looked at Rebecca.
“What is this?”
“Your mother sought help after you left.”
That complicated everything.
Not excused.
Complicated.
Dad had paid for therapy.
Then couples counseling.
Then more therapy.
Mom hadn't simply spent twelve years proudly defending what she'd done.
She had been trying, failing, relapsing into fear, trying again.
I found a letter written by Mom but never mailed.
Sarah,
I changed the recommendation because I was afraid.
Then I lied because I was ashamed.
Then I kept lying because every year made the truth harder to say.
There is no version of this where I am the victim.
I stopped.
Emily read over my shoulder.
Mom had written it eight years earlier.
Another letter.
Six years earlier.
Another.
Three.
One year.
She had tried repeatedly.
Never mailed any.
“Dad kept these?” I asked.
Rebecca nodded.
“He believed eventually she'd send one.”
“She didn't.”
“No.”
I felt anger and grief fighting inside me.
Then Mercer called from behind the laptop.
“Sarah.”
A video was queued on screen.
Not Dad.
Mom.
Recorded three months earlier.
She was sitting in this exact storage unit.
“I don't know if I can do this,” video-Mom said.
Dad’s voice came from behind the camera.
“You can.”
“She'll hate me.”
“She might.”
“She should.”
“Maybe.”
Mom wiped her face.
“But she deserves the choice, Elaine.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the black screen.
Dad had been trying to bring us back together until the end.
Rebecca handed me one final document.
“Your father changed one thing in his estate.”
The foundation wasn't simply mine.
Mom was also named.
Not as director.
As volunteer coordinator.
I laughed softly.
“That manipulative old man.”
Rebecca smiled.
“He knew both of you.”
“He planned to make us work together.”
“He hoped.”
Hope.
Not force.
That mattered.
I walked outside.
Emily followed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
I looked at her.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“Missing your graduation.”
“You didn't know.”
“I should've found another way.”
“So should I.”
We hugged.
Then Mercer emerged.
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“The anonymous messages.”
He held up Dad’s laptop.
“I found copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“The exact messages you've been receiving.”
My skin prickled.
“Dad wrote them?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“They were drafted here two months ago.”
“By whom?”
Mercer turned the laptop.
A login record showed a name.
ROBERT.HAYES.
I stared at it.
Hayes.
Dad’s best friend.
The man who had defended me at the memorial.
The man Dad told me to trust.
“Why would Hayes send anonymous warnings about himself?”
Mercer frowned.
“Maybe he didn't.”
Rebecca suddenly said, “Robert wasn't the only Hayes with access.”
I turned.
“Carol is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then who?”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“Their son.”
I remembered him vaguely.
Thomas Hayes.
Older than me.
He had left Cedar Creek years ago.
“What does Thomas have to do with my family?”
Rebecca looked at the steel box.
“More than James ever wanted you to know.”
My phone rang.
Cedar Creek number.
I answered.
“Sarah?”
Mom.
Her voice was shaking.
“What happened?”
“Someone is in your father's office.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
A crash sounded behind her.
“Mom, get out of the house.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Robert is here.”
I looked at Mercer.
“Hayes?”
Mom whispered:
“He says he finally knows who sent the messages.”
Then another voice came through the phone.
A man's voice.
Younger.
Furious.
“Give me the phone, Elaine.”
May you like
Mom screamed my name.
The call ended.
