Chapter 4 - MY FATHER'S CAR
My father had been dead four years.
Until that Christmas morning, grief had preserved him into something cleaner than reality.
Robert Carter.
Investor.
Philanthropist.
Difficult father.
Brilliant businessman.
Not a killer.
I called our longtime attorney, Michael Grant.
Christmas morning.
6:43 a.m.
He answered after five rings.
“Daniel?”
“Who killed Andrew Bennett?”
Silence.
That was all I needed.
“You knew.”
“Daniel—”
“Who was driving?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Answer.”
He exhaled.
“Your father’s car was involved.”
“Was he driving?”
“No.”
Relief came too fast.
Then:
“Your mother was.”
My mother.
Alive.
Living in Palm Beach.
Retired from everything.
I nearly dropped the phone.
“What?”
“Daniel, this is not a conversation to have—”
“It is exactly the conversation we’re having.”
Michael explained.
Twenty years earlier, my mother, Catherine Carter, had driven home from a charity gala after drinking.
Andrew Bennett crossed an intersection on a motorcycle.
The collision killed him.
My father’s security team arrived before police.
They moved the vehicle.
Paid witnesses.
Created a false theft report.
My mother was never charged.
I felt sick.
“Did Emma know?”
“I don’t know.”
“She found evidence eight months ago.”
Michael went quiet.
Then:
“That explains the calls.”
“What calls?”
“Someone has been requesting archived insurance files.”
“Mara?”
“Probably.”
My mind returned to the wristband in Emma’s car.
Mara Bennett.
Had Mara picked Emma up?
Was Emma with her?
“Where does Mara live?”
Michael hesitated.
“Daniel, do not go chasing—”
“Address.”
He gave me one in New Hampshire.
Three hours away.
Before leaving, I called my mother.
She answered cheerfully.
“Merry Christmas, darling.”
I almost laughed.
“Did you kill Andrew Bennett?”
The silence changed everything.
“Who told you?”
“Emma knows.”
Catherine inhaled sharply.
“Where is she?”
“Missing.”
“Oh God.”
The fear in her voice sounded real.
“You knew she found out.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
My chest tightened.
“You spoke to my wife behind my back?”
“She confronted me.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“All of it?”
Another pause.
There was always another pause.
“What else?”
My mother whispered:
“Andrew didn’t die immediately.”
I froze.
“He lived for twenty minutes.”
“What?”
“He was conscious.”
My mother began crying.
“He kept asking for Emma.”
My throat closed.
“And you left him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I called your father.”
Of course.
“And he told you what to do?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Drive away.”
I could barely breathe.
Then my mother added:
“Emma knows that part.”
I gripped the phone.
“But she doesn’t know the worst part.”
“What worst part?”
My mother whispered:
May you like
“Your father didn’t only cover up Andrew’s death.”
“He paid Mara to disappear.”
