Chapter 4
Nathan ran before dawn.
Of course he did.
Detective Holt called me in the NICU hallway.
“He left during questioning after requesting counsel. We did not have enough to hold him.”
“He tried to bury my wife.”
“We are working fast.”
My son lay behind glass with wires on his tiny chest.
Claire slept in recovery with two officers outside her door.
Everything I loved was guarded because of my own family.
That truth hollowed me.
My phone buzzed.
Nathan.
I answered on speaker as Detective Holt recorded.
“Daniel,” he said. “You have no idea what you opened.”
“You put Claire in a coffin.”
“I didn’t sedate her.”
“But you stood there drinking whiskey.”
Silence.
Then, “Mom said Claire was going to destroy everything Dad built.”
“Dad built it. You stole it.”
His voice sharpened.
“You think you’re the righteous son because you were born legitimate?”
There it was.
The wound under the crime.
“You were my brother,” I said.
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
His breathing changed.
For one moment, grief entered the line.
Then vanished.
“Tell Claire to forget Victor.”
“She won’t.”
“Then she won’t be safe.”
Detective Holt’s eyes hardened.
I said, “Threatening my wife while police record this is not your smartest move.”
Nathan hung up.
They found him six hours later at our family lake house.
He had a shovel in the trunk.
Mud on his shoes.
And my father’s missing journal in his bag.
The journal contained one line that made Detective Holt reopen two deaths.
Victor Hale did not drown.
Arthur Crawford did not die naturally.
My father.
May you like
Cancer had killed him slowly.
But the journal suggested Evelyn had helped it along.
