Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT MY FATHER DIED
I remembered the last time I spoke to my father.
I was twenty-three.
Living in Chicago.
Working my first real job.
He called on a Wednesday evening and asked whether I was eating enough.
That was my father.
The man could turn any conversation into concern about groceries.
I told him I was fine.
He said he had something important to discuss the next time I came home.
I asked whether he was sick.
He laughed.
“No, kiddo. Just cleaning up something old.”
Two nights later, he died.
For nineteen years, I had believed his heart stopped.
Now Thomas Mercer was telling me Patricia had visited him that night.
“Did you tell police?”
I asked.
Thomas looked ashamed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was here.”
“Did Patricia prevent you?”
“She controlled everything.”
“How?”
Thomas explained that after Steven disappeared, Patricia convinced two physicians that Thomas was dangerous.
He had genuinely suffered a psychiatric breakdown.
He was paranoid.
Depressed.
Traumatized.
But he was not incompetent forever.
Whenever he improved enough to discuss discharge, Patricia produced new allegations.
Threats.
Violence.
Delusions.
Eventually, Thomas stopped fighting.
“She told me Daniel believed I killed Steven.”
His eyes filled.
“She told me Vanessa was afraid of me.”
Neither was entirely true.
Patricia had isolated him using his children.
Then she used Thomas’s disappearance to control those same children.
“Did Daniel visit?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Once or twice a year.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That his mother killed Steven.”
“Did he believe you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Patricia told him I was sick.”
It was horrifyingly efficient.
Truth itself became evidence of illness.
I asked about my father.
Thomas said Michael Grant arrived at Willow Crest unexpectedly in 2003.
He had found Steven Hale living under another name in West Virginia.
“How?”
“An old payroll contact.”
“Was Steven okay?”
“No.”
Thomas looked down.
“He had brain damage.”
From the fall.
Steven remembered Patricia pushing him.
He remembered being taken away.
He remembered signing documents he did not understand.
Michael recorded him.
My heart accelerated.
“Where is the recording?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dad have it?”
“Yes.”
“Then Patricia found out.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Steven called her.”
I closed my eyes.
Why?
“Why would he do that?”
“He wanted money.”
That complicated everything.
Steven was not simply a hidden victim.
He had apparently spent years receiving payments from Patricia.
Hush money.
Then he wanted more.
My father convinced him to tell the truth.
Steven agreed.
Then warned Patricia.
“Dad went home that night?”
“Yes.”
“And called you.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Thomas concentrated.
“Michael said Patricia had come by.”
“Was she still there?”
“I don’t know.”
“He sounded afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“He told me where he hid something.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“A tape.”
“Where?”
Thomas looked at me.
“In your childhood home.”
That house had been sold after Dad died.
“What location?”
“He said under the third stair.”
I nearly laughed from disbelief.
“The house was renovated.”
“I know.”
“Then it could be gone.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you ever tell Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
My anger returned.
“Did he look?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew who to ask.
Daniel answered Monica’s call immediately.
We met at her office.
He looked at me.
“You saw Dad.”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“I asked you not to.”
“No. You asked me to keep living inside your family’s lies.”
He sat.
I placed my father’s trust document in front of him.
Daniel stared.
“What is that?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No.”
I watched his face.
He seemed genuinely shocked.
“Patricia stole from this account.”
He read the beneficiary line.
“Rachel…”
“How much did you know?”
“Nothing about this.”
“Your father says my dad found Steven.”
Daniel’s face changed.
“He told you?”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“I knew Dad claimed it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“Five years ago, Dad told me Michael found Steven before Michael died.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“What did you find?”
“Your old house.”
My pulse jumped.
“You searched it?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find the tape?”
Daniel looked at me.
“No.”
I studied him.
“Do not lie to me again.”
“I’m not.”
“What did you find?”
He opened his phone.
An old photograph.
A staircase during renovation.
The third stair had been removed.
Behind it was an empty cavity.
“Someone got there first.”
“Patricia?”
“I assumed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know whether Dad was telling the truth.”
“That excuse is getting old.”
“I know.”
“Did you ask Patricia?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That your father had helped Steven embezzle money.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She said Michael created the dormant accounts.”
The accusation Patricia made on the phone.
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why divorce me?”
Daniel looked miserable.
“Because Mom told me if you discovered the account history, you’d blame me.”
“I do blame you.”
“I know.”
“You moved money.”
“To Dad’s care.”
“Secretly.”
“Yes.”
“You helped Patricia hide him.”
“Yes.”
“You let me subsidize Vanessa while your mother stole from my father’s trust.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Maybe not.”
I leaned forward.
“But ignorance stopped being innocent the moment you refused to look.”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
I was learning something about him.
He was not Patricia.
He was not a mastermind.
He was worse in a quieter way.
He had spent his adult life refusing to ask questions because answers might require courage.
Monica entered with news.
She had located the buyer of my childhood home.
The third stair had been replaced during renovation in 2008.
The contractor still lived locally.
He remembered finding an old cassette.
My heart nearly stopped.
“What happened to it?”
“He gave it to the homeowner.”
The homeowner had stored miscellaneous items from the renovation in a basement box.
The house had changed owners again.
But the box moved with the previous owner to a storage unit.
Monica had contacted him.
He still had it.
The cassette arrived two days later.
My father’s handwriting was on the label.
STEVEN - SEPTEMBER 2003.
We turned it over to police before listening.
A detective reopened questions surrounding Michael Grant’s death and Steven Hale’s disappearance.
The audio was damaged.
But Steven’s voice was understandable.
He described Patricia pushing him.
Then something more.
She didn’t mean to kill me. Not then.
My father asked:
What do you mean, not then?
Steven laughed bitterly.
She thought I was dead at first. Then I woke up in the van.
My stomach turned.
Whose van?
A pause.
Then:
Frank Delaney’s.
Daniel looked up.
“I know that name.”
“Who?”
“Mom’s old attorney.”
Of course.
The tape continued.
Steven said Delaney helped Patricia create a new identity for him.
Why?
Because if Steven appeared alive, Thomas could not be blamed for murder.
And Patricia’s theft might surface.
So Steven agreed to disappear in exchange for money.
Years passed.
Then Steven realized Patricia was continuing to steal.
Including from Michael Grant’s deferred account.
My father asked:
How much?
Steven answered:
More than half a million across everybody. Maybe more.
Monica stopped the recording.
“Half a million twenty years ago.”
Adjusted and invested, the missing assets could be worth millions now.
We continued.
Steven agreed to testify.
My father said he would contact federal investigators.
Then Steven said something that made Daniel go pale.
Don’t tell Patricia until Thomas is safe. She’ll destroy him before she lets him talk.
The tape ended.
It proved Patricia lied about Steven.
It implicated her in financial theft.
But it did not prove she killed my father.
Then detectives recovered my father’s old landline records.
One call the night he died.
11:08 p.m.
From Patricia Mercer’s home.
Duration:
Four minutes.
Another at 11:31.
To emergency services.
My father was already unresponsive.
Medical records showed an unusual fact.
His heart medication bottle contained pills from two different manufacturers.
The original bottle had been discarded years ago.
No toxicology remained.
We might never prove murder.
Then Vanessa called.
She was inside Patricia’s house.
Against Monica’s instructions.
“I opened the safe.”
“What did you find?”
Vanessa was breathing quickly.
“Rachel, there are files on everyone.”
“What?”
“Daniel. Me. Ethan. Thomas.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“What’s in my file?”
“Bank statements. Medical information.”
I instinctively touched my stomach.
“What medical information?”
“Your fertility records.”
Daniel stood.
“What?”
Vanessa continued.
“She knew you were trying to get pregnant before Daniel did.”
I felt violated.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Vanessa went silent.
“Vanessa?”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“There’s a file on Michael.”
My father.
“What’s inside?”
“Insurance paperwork.”
“Anything else?”
Vanessa started crying.
“A receipt.”
“For what?”
“Medication.”
Daniel stared at me.
“What medication?”
Vanessa read the name.
Monica immediately searched.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
I demanded.
“It’s a cardiac medication.”
“So?”
“In high doses, it can trigger a fatal arrhythmia.”
My father’s death certificate listed cardiac arrhythmia.
Vanessa whispered:
“The prescription was filled the day before Michael died.”
“Whose name?”
Silence.
“Vanessa?”
May you like
She answered:
“Patricia Mercer.”
