Chapter 5 - THE RECORDING MY FATHER LEFT BEHIND
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I looked at the watch again.
My father had worn that thing for twenty years.
It had a scratched steel band, a cracked crystal, and a crown he'd replaced himself.
It wasn't a recording device.
I looked at Nathan.
“What are you talking about?”
He seemed almost relieved that I'd challenged him.
“Elliot said your father hid a recording with the watch. Not that the watch recorded it.”
“Where?”
“He wouldn't explain.”
I examined the velvet box.
The lining was slightly loose.
Dad had loved hiding small things in ordinary objects.
Birthday money in cookbooks.
Spare keys inside labeled jars.
A handwritten anniversary note in the pocket of Mom's winter coat.
I lifted the fabric.
Beneath it was a thin memory card taped to the cardboard base.
Nathan let out a breath.
“I didn't know it was there.”
I believed him.
At least about that.
I placed the memory card on my table.
Then I stepped away.
“I'm calling Ruiz.”
Nathan nodded.
“Good.”
I didn't listen to it.
I wanted to.
Every part of me wanted one more chance to hear my father's voice.
But if this was evidence, I wasn't going to risk damaging it.
The next morning, Detective Ruiz arranged for the memory card to be copied and preserved.
She told me it contained an audio file made shortly before Dad's stroke.
She couldn't share the full recording immediately while the investigation was active.
But she asked whether I would recognize voices.
I listened to a short excerpt.
Dad spoke first.
“Diane, I need the truth about those transfers.”
Then my mother's voice.
“We were trying to save Kendall.”
“By putting the house at risk?”
“She would have lost everything.”
Dad sounded tired.
“What exactly did Elliot tell you?”
A long pause.
Then my mother said, “He said Sloan would never agree.”
I gripped the arms of my chair.
Dad answered.
“Then Sloan doesn't sign.”
Another pause.
Then a third voice.
Male.
Calm.
I knew it immediately.
Elliot Vale.
“Mr. Mercer, this can still be handled without involving your daughter.”
Dad's voice hardened.
“My daughter owns an interest in that property. You don't get to erase her because your paperwork would be easier.”
The excerpt ended.
I stared at Ruiz.
“What happened after that?”
“We're still verifying the recording and the circumstances around it.”
“Was Elliot there when Dad had his stroke?”
“I can't answer that yet.”
“Did Mom know he recorded them?”
“We haven't established that.”
I felt anger rise.
Not at Ruiz.
At the years of decisions made around me.
At everyone who thought protecting me meant keeping me ignorant.
At noon, Kendall finally called.
I almost ignored it.
But I wanted to hear her voice without a room full of guests around us.
She sounded exhausted.
“Sloan.”
“What?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are.”
“Not like this.”
I looked at the old photograph of us on my refrigerator.
Kendall was nine.
I was thirteen.
Dad stood between us with his arms around our shoulders.
We had just painted the garage door.
All three of us had blue paint on our faces.
Once, my sister had been my favorite person.
That was what made this hurt.
“What did you throw at me?”
Silence.
“Kendall.”
“I didn't know it would hurt you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She began crying.
“I thought it was a harmless cleaning mixture.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Who told you that?”
“Mom.”
There it was.
The answer I'd expected.
But Kendall continued.
“She said it would wash off. That you'd get upset, leave the wedding, and finally stop making everything difficult.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why did she need me gone?”
“She said you were going to humiliate me during the toast.”
“By saying Dad would have cried?”
“I didn't know what you were planning.”
“Kendall, you approved my speech.”
She went quiet.
Then she whispered, “Elliot said you were going to accuse me of stealing.”
“Did you steal?”
“No.”
I heard something in her voice.
Fear.
Not outrage.
“Kendall, what did you do?”
She breathed shakily.
“I signed things I didn't understand.”
“For Elliot?”
“For Mom.”
I sat down.
“What things?”
“Loan guarantees. Property papers. I thought Dad knew.”
“Did he?”
“He found out.”
My eyes filled.
“And you still let Mom tell me he had debts?”
“I thought he did.”
“That's not an answer.”
She began crying harder.
“I know.”
Then she said something I wasn't prepared for.
“Elliot told me if the final document wasn't signed, Nathan could lose his job.”
I stared at the wall.
“Nathan's job?”
“His company manages two properties that Harbor Ridge controls. Elliot said he'd cancel the contracts. Nathan didn't know.”
“Why would you believe him?”
“Because he'd already done it to someone else.”
I felt cold.
Kendall continued.
“Mom said you were refusing to cooperate. I thought if you left the wedding angry, she'd have a few days to fix everything.”
“You thought humiliating me would fix a property dispute?”
“I didn't think.”
Her voice cracked.
“I haven't been thinking clearly for a long time.”
I wanted to comfort her.
That frightened me.
Because I had spent most of my life comforting Kendall after she'd hurt me.
Not this time.
“Tell the detective.”
“Sloan—”
“Everything.”
She whispered, “Mom said she'd take care of it.”
I closed my eyes.
“That is exactly the problem.”
On the third morning after the wedding, police arrived at Kendall and Nathan's townhouse before sunrise.
I learned about it from Nathan later.
Detective Ruiz and another investigator had obtained a warrant to search for the container, the glass, and related communications.
Kendall answered the door in her robe.
My mother was staying in the guest bedroom.
The officers found the missing coupe wrapped in a white linen napkin inside a garment bag.
They also recovered a small bottle with a blue cap from a locked cosmetics case.
The preliminary analysis of residue from the glass indicated an alkaline cleaning agent.
Not champagne.
Not an ordinary cocktail.
And not something that belonged anywhere near a person's face.
When Ruiz called me, I sat down on the edge of my bed.
“Are they arresting Kendall?”
“Not at this moment. We're continuing to evaluate each person's involvement.”
“And Mom?”
“We've brought her in for questioning.”
My stomach twisted.
I had wanted answers.
I hadn't prepared myself for what answers might cost.
Later that afternoon, Ruiz asked me to come to the station.
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed the recovered bottle.
The words SLOAN MUST SIGN were clearly visible.
Then she placed a second photograph beside it.
The reverse side of the same label.
It carried a handwritten date.
And beneath the date was a single line.
USE BEFORE FINAL TRANSFER—E.V.
Ruiz looked at me.
“Ms. Mercer, we're now investigating whether the attack was connected to a planned fraudulent transfer of your property interest.”
Then she turned another page.
“And according to these records, the transfer wasn't supposed to happen after the wedding.”
I swallowed.
“When was it supposed to happen?”
May you like
She met my eyes.
“Yesterday. Someone attempted to complete it while you were receiving treatment.”
