Chapter 3 - MY BROTHER OPENED THE SAFE
“No.”
I tried to climb out of the hospital bed.
Pain ripped across my ribs.
Mara pushed me back.
“Lauren.”
“Caleb knows that binder is never supposed to leave the safe.”
“I know.”
“He knows Dad’s instructions.”
“I know.”
“Then why is it in his hands?”
Mara didn’t answer.
My brother and I had inherited different pieces of my father’s empire.
I received controlling shares.
Caleb received real estate, cash, and nonvoting stock.
Dad had done it because Caleb hated business.
At least, that was what we were told.
The structure had caused tension between us for years.
Not hatred.
But tension.
Evan knew that.
He liked feeding it.
“Your father trusted you more.”
“Caleb thinks you got the crown.”
“If something happens to you, maybe your brother finally gets what he deserves.”
I used to accuse Evan of trying to turn us against each other.
He would kiss my forehead and tell me I was imagining things.
Now Caleb was inside my house hours after my attempted murder, carrying the most sensitive financial documents our family owned.
“Mara, call him.”
She did.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
On the third call, someone answered.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Evan’s voice came through.
“Mara.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
He had Caleb’s phone.
Mara put the call on speaker but kept her voice flat.
“Evan.”
“I assume you heard.”
“Heard what?”
A shaky breath.
Perfectly performed.
“Lauren’s gone.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew every version of my husband’s voice.
I had heard him angry, drunk, excited, sick, sleepy.
This grief was fake.
Not dramatically fake.
Professionally fake.
“I’m sorry,” Mara said.
“So am I.”
He paused.
“The search has been suspended until morning.”
My nails dug into my palms.
He already knew.
Mara said, “Why are you answering Caleb’s phone?”
“He’s with my mother-in-law.”
That wasn’t an answer.
“Put him on.”
Another pause.
“He’s busy.”
“With what?”
“Family matters.”
Mara looked at me.
“What family matters?”
Evan’s tone changed slightly.
Harder.
“We need to stabilize Lauren’s affairs.”
“She hasn’t been legally declared dead.”
“We all know what happened.”
I almost laughed.
Yes.
One of us definitely did.
Mara leaned back.
“What happened, Evan?”
“The door opened.”
“You said it malfunctioned.”
“It did.”
“And Lauren fell?”
His silence lasted half a second too long.
“Yes.”
“Did you touch her?”
My heartbeat hammered.
Evan’s voice went cold.
“Be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because my wife disappeared today, and I’m not interested in being interrogated by her lawyer.”
He ended the call.
Mara looked at me.
“He’s scared.”
“No.”
I stared at the blank phone screen.
“He thinks he’s in control.”
At 1:40 a.m., a detective arrived.
Gabriel Ortiz.
Late forties.
Quiet eyes.
Mara had trusted him for fifteen years.
He listened without interrupting as I described the push.
The open door.
Evan’s hand.
His words.
Now everything belongs to me.
When I finished, Ortiz asked only one question.
“Did the pilot see?”
“I don’t know.”
“Name?”
“Colin Mercer.”
Ortiz looked at Mara.
“Where is he?”
She checked her tablet.
Then looked up.
“The helicopter landed in Monterey.”
“With Evan?”
“Yes.”
“And Mercer?”
Her fingers stopped moving.
“No record after landing.”
Ortiz’s jaw tightened.
He stepped into the hallway and made a call.
I looked at Mara.
“Could Evan have paid him?”
“Possibly.”
“Or killed him.”
She didn’t respond.
Neither of us needed to.
Twenty minutes later, Ortiz returned.
“The helicopter company says Mercer never came back inside the terminal.”
“Security cameras?”
“Being pulled.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
I thought about the cockpit.
Mercer had barely spoken during the flight.
Had he known?
Had he looked away deliberately?
Then I remembered something.
Seconds before Evan told me to move closer to the open door, Mercer had turned around.
Not all the way.
Just enough to meet my eyes.
And he had tapped twice on his headset.
At the time, I thought he was adjusting it.
Now I wasn’t sure.
“Detective.”
Ortiz stopped.
“I think the pilot tried to warn me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
Mara’s laptop chimed.
She opened one of the dead-man files automatically released that afternoon.
Audio logs.
Location data.
Photographs.
Then she frowned.
“There’s a new upload.”
“That’s impossible,” I said. “The system already released.”
“It’s time-stamped 2:16 p.m.”
One minute before Evan pushed me.
The file was audio.
Mara pressed play.
Wind.
Rotor noise.
Then a man’s voice.
Pilot Mercer.
Quiet.
Urgent.
“If anything happens on this flight, check the rear cargo compartment.”
The recording ended.
Ortiz stood.
“Where’s the helicopter now?”
Mara searched.
The screen refreshed.
Her face changed.
“It isn’t at the terminal anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“The company says Evan had it moved.”
“Where?”
May you like
She looked at me.
“To private property owned by Richard Vale.”
