Chapter 6
The photograph looked real.
That was the first problem.
The second was that Linda had always claimed she was home with Ryan the night my father died.
I remembered calling Ryan from the hospital.
He said his mother was asleep in the guest room.
I believed him.
In the picture, Linda wore a dark coat and stood near my father’s IV line.
Her face was turned away from the camera, but I recognized the coat.
I had given it to her for Christmas.
“Could it be edited like the hotel photographs?” Daniel asked.
Margaret enlarged the image.
“We need an expert.”
Beth stared at the syringe.
“If this is real, she murdered him.”
“Not necessarily,” Detective Greene said over speakerphone. “There may be an innocent explanation for the photograph.”
“What innocent explanation?” I demanded.
“A single image does not tell us what was in the syringe, whether it was used, or why she was in the room.”
“She lied about being there.”
“That matters. But we must verify everything.”
I hated his caution.
I also knew he was right.
Ryan wanted me emotional.
He wanted me to make reckless accusations.
I would not give him that advantage.
Greene asked me to send the original file without altering it.
Digital analysts would examine its metadata.
Meanwhile, officers were searching for Jonathan and tracing the number that sent the video.
The sender used a service that concealed the location.
Claire watched the clip repeatedly.
“Something is wrong.”
“What?”
“Jonathan’s hands.”
We paused the video.
His shoulders were pulled backward as though he were tied.
But in the reflection of a cabinet behind him, one hand appeared free.
“He staged it?” Daniel asked.
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“To deliver the message without looking responsible,” Margaret said.
I listened to the background.
There was a faint mechanical hum and a repeated metallic sound.
Claire recognized it first.
“Storage doors.”
She had heard the same sound when visiting the Red Bird facility.
Jonathan might be inside the unit.
Greene told us the warrant team was fifteen minutes away.
“I’m going there,” Beth announced.
“No,” the detective said.
“That is my sister’s name on that company. She may be connected.”
“You will remain at the office.”
“You don’t get to tell me to wait after six years.”
Beth grabbed her purse.
I blocked the door.
“He’s right.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You found out yesterday. I have lived with this for six years.”
“And if Ryan is there, you could become leverage.”
“I already am.”
“So am I. That is why we cannot give him more.”
She stared at me.
Then her anger broke.
She covered her face and began sobbing.
“I just want my sister.”
I hugged her.
For a moment, our connection was painfully simple.
Ryan had entered both our families.
He had made promises.
He had taken what he wanted.
Then he had left women to clean up the wreckage.
The search team entered Red Bird Storage at 4:17 that afternoon.
We heard nothing for nearly an hour.
Then Greene called.
Jonathan was not there.
Neither was Allison.
But the unit contained fifteen filing cabinets, several computers, dozens of prepaid phones, and boxes labeled with people’s names.
One box carried my father’s name.
Another carried mine.
A third was labeled ALLISON.
“Was the photograph taken there?” I asked.
“It appears so. The chair and cabinet match the video.”
“Then Jonathan was inside.”
“Yes. But the unit was empty when officers arrived.”
“Did Ryan move him?”
“We don’t know.”
They found fresh tire marks behind the building and a cut section of fence.
Someone had left minutes before the search.
Linda was taken in for questioning when officers confirmed her name appeared on the rental records.
She denied knowledge of the unit.
Then investigators showed her surveillance photographs of her entering it.
She claimed she had rented the space for a friend.
“What friend?” I asked.
“She refused to say.”
Ryan remained missing.
His attorney insisted he was not fleeing.
He simply needed privacy after being attacked by his wife.
By evening, news outlets had picked up the story.
The romantic wedding photographs and the picture of Ryan’s injured mouth drew attention.
So did the fraudulent deed.
Reporters waited outside Margaret’s office.
She arranged for us to leave through the parking garage.
Aunt Rebecca offered me a bedroom again.
But before we reached her house, Daniel’s phone rang.
It was the security company at Sterling Home Design.
An alarm had been triggered.
Someone had entered the building using my access code.
My code had been disabled that morning.
Only an administrator could reactivate it.
Daniel pulled over.
“Who controls the access system?”
“Me, you, and our operations director.”
Our operations director was Susan Blake.
She had worked for my father for seventeen years.
I trusted her completely.
Or I had.
Daniel called her.
No answer.
The security company reported movement inside my office.
Police were on the way.
I checked the camera feed from my phone.
Most screens were dark.
One camera still worked.
A figure in a hooded sweatshirt crossed the design studio.
Too short to be Ryan.
The person moved directly toward my father’s old records room.
“They know exactly where they’re going,” I said.
Daniel turned the SUV around.
Margaret objected.
“The police are responding.”
“That company is all we have left of Dad,” Daniel said.
“And you could interfere with an active burglary.”
“We’ll wait across the street.”
We reached the office complex as two police cars entered the lot.
A side door stood open.
Officers searched the building.
Five minutes later, they emerged with Susan.
She was handcuffed.
My stomach dropped.
She had worked beside my father for nearly two decades.
She had attended every birthday dinner.
She had helped me choose my wedding dress.
Susan stared at me as officers placed her in a patrol car.
“Emma, I can explain.”
I approached but kept several feet between us.
“You used my code.”
“I didn’t want Daniel blamed.”
“For what?”
She looked toward him.
“For stealing the contracts.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“I never stole anything.”
Susan began crying.
“Linda said you would deny it.”
“Linda?” I asked. “You work for her?”
“No. I was trying to protect the company.”
“By breaking into it?”
“She told me the police were going to seize everything. I came to remove confidential client files.”
“Where were you taking them?”
Susan did not answer.
An officer carried out a canvas bag.
Inside were financial ledgers, personnel records, and a hard drive from my father’s computer.
Daniel stepped toward her.
“You were giving those to Ryan.”
“No.”
“To Linda?”
“No.”
“Then to whom?”
Susan stared at the pavement.
“Jonathan.”
Everything stopped.
“You know Jonathan Pierce?” I asked.
She nodded.
“He called me this afternoon.”
“After he disappeared?”
“He said he needed the original files to prove what happened to Henry.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“He said one of you was involved.”
Daniel and I looked at each other.
“Which one?” I asked.
Susan’s lips trembled.
“He didn’t say.”
The officer found a phone in her pocket.
The recent call log showed several contacts from a blocked number.
A text instructed her to leave the files inside a locker at Nashville Central Station.
Greene ordered the police to preserve the bag and arrange surveillance around the locker.
If Jonathan was acting alone, he might appear.
If Ryan was directing Susan, he might send someone else.
Susan was not arrested for the burglary because she still had employee access and claimed she believed she was protecting company property.
But she was suspended immediately.
The betrayal hurt almost as much as Daniel’s silence.
“How many people did Dad trust who were secretly helping Ryan?” I asked.
Daniel looked exhausted.
“Maybe Susan thought she was helping Dad.”
“That is what everyone says when they lie to me.”
He flinched.
I regretted it, but I did not apologize.
Not yet.
We stayed at a hotel that night under different names.
Margaret insisted on security.
At 10:30, Detective Greene called with the analysis of Linda’s hospital photograph.
“It was not digitally altered.”
My knees weakened.
“So she was there.”
“Yes. Metadata indicates the image was taken at 11:42 p.m. on the night your father died.”
“He died at 12:06.”
“We confirmed Linda entered the hospital using a visitor badge issued to Susan Blake.”
I sat down.
“Susan helped her?”
“We don’t know. Susan may have given her the badge earlier.”
“What was in the syringe?”
“The photograph cannot tell us.”
“Can Dad’s medical records?”
“We are obtaining them.”
I remembered those final hours.
My father had been weak but awake.
At ten that night, he squeezed my hand and asked me to bring him a small wooden box from his house.
Ryan offered to stay with him while I went.
When I returned, my father was unconscious.
Linda had apparently visited during that gap.
Ryan told me Dad’s condition had suddenly changed.
“Ryan was there,” I whispered.
“We are reviewing hospital cameras.”
“Why wasn’t Linda recorded?”
“A camera near the private elevator was disabled.”
Of course it was.
Greene continued.
“There is one more thing. Your father’s nurse documented an unusual drop in blood pressure shortly before his death. She requested a toxicology screen.”
“Was one performed?”
“The order was canceled.”
“By whom?”
“A physician who no longer works at the hospital.”
“Was the physician connected to Linda?”
“We are investigating.”
After the call, I stood by the hotel window.
Nashville glowed beneath me.
Somewhere in that city, Ryan was hiding.
Perhaps Jonathan was hiding with him.
Perhaps Allison was alive.
Every answer opened another wound.
Someone knocked at the door.
Daniel checked the security camera before opening it.
Aunt Rebecca stood outside.
She entered carrying the wooden box my father had requested on the night he died.
“I found this in my attic,” she said.
I stared at it.
“How did you get it?”
“Henry gave it to me three days before he died. He said if you asked for it, I should pretend it was missing.”
“Why?”
“He believed Ryan was listening.”
I unlocked the box with a small key Rebecca gave me.
Inside was an old voice recorder.
I pressed play.
My father’s voice filled the room.
“Emma, if you are hearing this, I failed to tell you the truth while I still had time.”
I gripped Daniel’s hand.
The recording continued.
“Ryan Cole did not enter your life by accident. His mother sent him.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
My father explained that Linda had known our mother years earlier.
They had worked together at a real estate firm before my parents married.
Linda believed our mother stole a promotion, a client list, and the man Linda intended to marry.
That man was my father.
“This began before we were born,” Daniel whispered.
The recorder crackled.
My father’s voice weakened.
“Linda has spent years blaming our family for every failure in hers. Ryan’s marriage to Emma is not only about money. It is revenge.”
The recording paused.
Then Dad said something that made Rebecca drop into a chair.
“There is one person who can prove everything. Her name is Allison Moore, but that is not the name she was born with.”
Beth’s photograph lay on the table.
I stared at Allison’s green eyes.
May you like
Dad finished the sentence.
“Allison is Linda’s daughter.”
