Chapter 5 - The Dead Man Who Answered
The phone rang four times.
On the fifth ring, a man answered.
"Who is this?"
My throat tightened.
"Samuel Pierce?"
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
"Adrian?"
I nearly dropped the phone.
Samuel Pierce had supposedly died in a boating accident six weeks after Claire's funeral.
Yet his voice was unmistakable.
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you over the phone."
"You're supposed to be dead."
"And your wife was supposed to survive childbirth."
I felt Grace grip my wrist.
Samuel continued.
"Listen carefully. If you've found Claire's box, you're already in danger."
"From Vanessa?"
A pause.
"Vanessa is only one piece."
"Then give me the rest."
"Did your mother tell you about the hospital cameras?"
"Yes."
"Did she tell you why your father paid the technician who disabled them?"
My stomach tightened.
"No."
"Because Vincent believed someone was planning to photograph Claire meeting an investigator. He wanted the meeting hidden from his business rivals."
"Then the cameras weren't disabled to hurt her?"
"Not originally."
I closed my eyes.
Samuel's next words were barely audible.
"But somebody learned the cameras would be off."
"Who?"
"Meet me tonight. Eight o'clock. The old chapel on Biscayne Boulevard."
The line went dead.
I returned home immediately.
Grace went upstairs to Noah.
I called Marcus into my office.
"Find Samuel Pierce."
Marcus looked confused.
"Sir, Mr. Pierce is deceased."
"Apparently nobody told him."
Marcus stared at me.
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
"Your father kept a private file on Pierce."
"Where?"
"In the locked cabinet in his old office."
We opened it together.
The cabinet held dozens of folders.
One was labeled with Claire's name.
Inside were bank statements, medical correspondence, and a signed confidentiality agreement.
The agreement included three signatures.
Vincent Romano.
Samuel Pierce.
And Dr. Eleanor Shaw, the physician who had supervised Claire's delivery.
Attached to the final page was a handwritten note from my father.
Shaw must never be allowed near Noah.
I read it twice.
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent a photograph.
It showed Grace carrying Noah into the garden that afternoon.
A red circle had been drawn around my son's face.
Below it was a single sentence.
Stop looking into Claire's death, or the next child won't survive.
May you like
For the first time in my life, fear had a face.
And it was my three-year-old son's.
