Chapter 5 - THE SISTER WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
"Your sister didn't kill your father."
I said the words before Grant could finish making his next phone call.
He turned toward me.
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you."
We were standing outside my mother's hospital room. She was finally sleeping, guarded by two of Marcus's most reliable men.
Grant had been pacing the hallway for ten minutes.
His sister's photograph had shaken him more than I expected.
"Vivian disappeared from Chicago six years ago," he said. "She accused Caleb of stealing from the company, refused to explain her evidence, and walked out during a board meeting."
"Why didn't you believe her?"
"Because she brought accusations without proof."
"And Caleb was your best friend."
Grant stopped walking.
I regretted how sharply I'd said it, but not the question itself.
After a moment, he nodded.
"Yes."
"Then maybe you should give her the chance you didn't give her six years ago."
He looked through the window at my sleeping mother.
"You're asking me to trust someone who may have helped destroy my family."
"I'm asking you not to destroy another person because Caleb wants you to."
That seemed to reach him.
He called Marcus.
"Find Vivian. But nobody approaches her without telling me first."
Then he turned to me.
"You're supposed to be resting."
"So are you."
Neither of us smiled.
I removed the brass key from around my neck.
"We have something else to investigate."
Grant stared at the number 41.
"St. Bridget's?"
"My father trusted that key enough to give it to my mother the night before he died."
"Then we go."
It was nearly two in the morning when we arrived at the old parish church in Pilsen.
Rain tapped against the stained-glass windows.
The building had been renovated several times, but the parish hall behind it still had the original wooden stage.
A caretaker named Mr. Alvarez met us at the side entrance.
He recognized my father's name immediately.
"Daniel Reed?" he said, looking at me. "He used to fix the heating system here for free."
I felt tears rise.
"That sounds like Dad."
"He was a good man."
Grant stood quietly behind me.
Mr. Alvarez led us into the parish hall and pointed toward a narrow staircase beside the stage.
"The old storage lockers are underneath. Nobody uses them anymore."
The basement smelled of dust and paint.
Forty-eight metal lockers lined the back wall.
Most were rusted shut.
I found number 41 near the corner.
My hands shook as I inserted the key.
The lock opened.
Inside was a small metal toolbox.
I lifted it onto a workbench and opened the lid.
There were three things inside.
A black notebook.
A photograph of my parents dancing beneath paper decorations in the parish hall.
And a sealed envelope addressed to me.
TO MY LITTLE HANNAH, WHEN SHE'S OLD ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND.
I covered my mouth.
For twelve years, I had longed to hear my father's voice again.
Now his handwriting was staring back at me.
Grant moved away, giving me privacy.
I opened the letter.
My sweet girl,
If you're reading this, something happened that kept me from coming home.
I want you to know I never meant to leave you.
Some men think money can buy everything, including the truth. I learned that when people start stealing from the city, they eventually steal from the families who depend on it.
I found proof. I gave copies to someone I believed would help.
If I don't return, take care of your mother. Finish school. Build the life we talked about.
And please, Hannah, don't let my last investigation become the thing that takes your happiness away.
Love always, Dad.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
For several minutes, I couldn't speak.
Grant remained by the stairs.
He didn't interrupt.
When I finally looked up, he approached carefully.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I nodded.
"My father knew he might die."
He looked at the notebook.
"May I?"
I handed it over.
The pages were filled with names, dates, payment amounts, and handwritten notes.
Daniel Reed had been thorough.
He had recorded false contractors receiving city money.
Several payments were followed by initials.
P.K.
Paul Kessler.
Others were marked:
C.R.
Caleb Rourke.
One entry had been underlined three times.
Meeting arranged with V.M. She says C.R. must never know.
Grant read it twice.
"Vivian."
"My father was meeting your sister."
"Yes."
"Then my mother was right."
Grant closed the notebook.
"Vivian knew about the fraud twelve years ago."
Suddenly, we heard footsteps above us.
Grant stepped in front of me.
"Stay here."
The basement door opened.
A woman's voice called down.
"Grant?"
His face changed.
"Vivian?"
"Please don't shoot me. I've had enough people pointing guns at me this week."
A woman appeared on the stairs.
She was tall, elegant, and in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a loose knot.
She wore a cream coat over black trousers.
The same coat from the photograph.
Her eyes filled with tears when she saw her brother.
"You're late," she whispered.
Grant didn't move.
"Six years, Vivian."
"I know."
"You were in Asheville."
"Yes."
"You signed the authorization for Dad's car."
"Yes."
Grant took a step toward her.
"Did you kill him?"
The question hung between them.
Vivian stared at him as if he had struck her.
"No, Grant."
"Then explain."
She looked at me.
"You must be Hannah Reed."
I stiffened.
"How do you know me?"
"Because your father trusted me before anyone else in the Mercer family."
She reached into her handbag and removed a folded document.
"Twelve years ago, Daniel showed me that Caleb was using fake contractors to move money. I was working in the company's auditing department. I helped him copy the financial records."
"Then why didn't you stop Caleb?" I asked.
"I tried."
Vivian's eyes filled.
"Caleb told me that if I exposed him, he'd make sure my father believed I was the thief. And he had documents with my signature to prove it."
Grant frowned.
"You never told me."
"I did."
He shook his head.
"You told me Caleb was stealing, but you never explained the records."
"Because he had threatened to kill me if I showed you."
She looked at her brother.
"And you wouldn't even listen when I asked you to suspend his access."
Grant lowered his eyes.
Vivian continued.
"Six years ago, I finally gathered enough evidence to force a board investigation. Caleb had already forged my approvals. Your attorney advised you to believe him."
Grant rubbed his forehead.
"I thought you were trying to take control of the company."
"I know."
Her voice broke.
"That was the worst part."
For a moment, neither sibling spoke.
Then Vivian turned to me.
"Thomas contacted me nine months ago. He'd discovered financial accounts Caleb had hidden from him for years. He was trying to protect Grant."
"Why were you in Asheville?" I asked.
"To give Dad the original records."
"And the repair authorization?"
Vivian handed Grant the document.
"Look closely."
Grant examined it.
The top line read:
REQUEST FOR INDEPENDENT BRAKE INSPECTION.
Not brake repair.
Vivian pointed to the date.
"Dad told me he thought somebody had been following him. His car felt strange after Caleb visited. I arranged for a local mechanic to inspect it."
"Who?"
"Frank Dyer. He owns a garage outside Asheville."
Grant frowned.
"Then why did the brakes fail?"
"Because Frank never got the car."
Vivian's face turned pale.
"Someone canceled my appointment and sent another mechanic. The cancellation was authorized through Mercer Civic Systems."
"By Caleb?" I asked.
"That's what I thought."
She hesitated.
"Until I saw the signature."
Before she could continue, Grant's phone rang.
Marcus had found Frank Dyer.
The mechanic was visiting his daughter near Aurora, less than an hour away.
Grant immediately arranged to meet him at a secure location.
Vivian insisted on coming.
"If Frank knows what happened to Dad's car, he may be our only living witness."
We left the parish hall through the rear entrance.
Grant walked beside his sister.
I followed, holding my father's notebook against my chest.
For the first time in twelve years, I possessed something my father had written with his own hands.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I kept thinking about Vivian's unfinished sentence.
Until I saw the signature.
The meeting with Frank took place at a closed auto-repair garage on the outskirts of Aurora.
Frank Dyer was a gray-haired man in his sixties.
He looked frightened when Grant introduced himself.
"I've spent eight months trying to forget that car," Frank admitted.
"Then don't forget it anymore," Grant said.
Frank sat down heavily.
"Your father called me because his brake pedal felt soft. I was supposed to inspect the car the following morning."
"What happened?"
"A man called and canceled the appointment. He said Mercer Civic Systems had assigned its own technician."
"Who called?"
"Detective Kessler."
My skin prickled.
Frank continued.
"Two days later, Thomas Mercer drove off that mountain."
"Did you report the suspicious cancellation?" Grant asked.
"Of course. Kessler told me it was already being investigated."
Vivian closed her eyes.
"He was controlling the investigation."
Frank reached into his pocket.
"I kept the cancellation fax. I knew something wasn't right."
He handed Grant a folded sheet of paper.
At the bottom was an electronic authorization.
Grant examined it.
Then he stopped breathing for a moment.
I leaned over his shoulder.
The signature belonged to the president of Mercer Civic Systems.
GRANT MERCER.
"That's impossible," he whispered. "I never authorized this."
Vivian placed a hand on his arm.
"That's why Dad was terrified, Grant. Whoever controlled those records could make it look as though you had ordered his death."
Suddenly, headlights swept across the garage windows.
Marcus shouted from outside.
"DOWN!"
A gunshot shattered the glass.
Vivian jerked backward.
Blood spread across her cream coat.
Grant caught his sister before she struck the floor.
"Vivian!"
I dropped beside them.
Her eyes were open, but she struggled to breathe.
Grant pressed his hand against the wound.
"Stay with me. Please."
Vivian grabbed his shirt.
"They used your signature," she gasped.
"I know. We'll prove it's fake."
She shook her head weakly.
"No, Grant. You don't understand."
Her fingers tightened.
"Caleb didn't just forge your signature."
She pulled him closer.
"He arranged for the police to believe you ordered the murder."
Then her eyes closed.
Outside, sirens began to approach.
And Marcus's voice crackled through the radio.
"Grant, we have a serious problem. The police aren't coming to help us."
May you like
He paused.
"They're coming to arrest you for your father's murder."
