Chapter 8
The message arrived at every major news station in Charlotte.
Grant promised to release the recording at midnight.
He called Monica a murderer.
He claimed she had lured Rebecca onto the road and ordered him to stop her from reaching Dad.
The public turned again.
People who had called Monica a victim after the shooting now called her a killer.
Reporters gathered outside the hospital.
Some demanded her arrest.
Others demanded Dad explain why he had remained married to her for so long.
Truth had become entertainment.
Every new piece of pain was transformed into a headline.
Monica watched the reports from her hospital bed.
When I entered, she muted the television.
“I didn’t plan Rebecca’s death.”
“Did you ask Grant to stop her?”
“I told him she was going to expose us.”
“That is not the same as answering my question.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes. I asked him to talk to her.”
“Did you know he was following her?”
“Not until later.”
“Grant has a recording.”
“He records everyone.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“That means you remember enough to be afraid.”
She looked toward the guarded door.
“I said Rebecca had to be stopped.”
I felt cold.
“In what way?”
“I meant she had to be convinced not to tell Daniel.”
“But that sentence can sound like an order to kill her.”
“Yes.”
I paced toward the window.
“Why should I believe your meaning?”
“You shouldn’t believe anything without evidence.”
The answer surprised me.
Monica looked down at her bandaged shoulder.
“I taught you that.”
“No. You taught me to question reality because you kept changing it.”
Her eyes filled.
“I am sorry.”
I had imagined hearing those words for months.
They did not repair anything.
But they no longer sounded completely empty.
Detective Ruiz believed Grant’s demand was a distraction.
Charges against Monica could not simply be dropped in exchange for evidence.
The stolen money and false reports were documented.
Even if she had helped the investigation, she would face consequences.
Grant knew that.
“He wants her moved,” Ruiz said.
We were in the hospital conference room with Claire and two state investigators.
“If the prosecutor appears to negotiate, Monica may be transferred to another facility for questioning,” Ruiz continued. “Grant could attack the transport.”
“Or he wants police focused here while he leaves the state,” Claire said.
I examined the printed message.
One line bothered me.
At midnight, Daniel will lose both women who betrayed him.
“Both women,” I said.
Ruiz looked at me.
“He means Monica and Rebecca.”
“Rebecca is already dead.”
The room became quiet.
I read it again.
“He doesn’t mean Rebecca.”
Dad’s face appeared in my mind.
Grant had spent years blaming him.
He wanted Dad to suffer.
Both women who betrayed him.
Monica had betrayed Dad.
Who was the second?
Then I understood.
“Me.”
Claire stood.
“No.”
“Grant thinks I betrayed him because I’m his daughter.”
“The DNA proves you aren’t.”
“He may not know that.”
Ruiz immediately called the officers protecting Dad’s house.
No one answered.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
We rushed from the hospital.
Police reached the house before us.
The front door was open.
One officer lay unconscious in the hallway.
The other was missing.
Dad was gone.
A message had been painted across the nursery wall.
MIDNIGHT. OLD BRIDGE.
Grant had taken him to the place where Rebecca died.
Ruiz ordered us to remain at the hospital.
I refused.
Claire grabbed my shoulders.
“Lily, listen to me. Going there gives him another hostage.”
“He wants me there.”
“That is exactly why you cannot go.”
“What if he kills Dad because I don’t?”
“The police will find him.”
“There are hundreds of roads around that bridge.”
“They know the destination.”
“And Grant knows they know. He won’t stay on the bridge.”
An idea struck me.
The photograph Grant left in our kitchen had been taken near the old bridge.
I remembered a building in the background.
A white structure with a rusted water tower.
Dad’s first construction office.
The abandoned warehouse near the river.
I showed Ruiz the photograph.
She sent tactical teams to both locations.
At 11:17, they found Dad’s phone on the bridge.
At 11:26, they found Grant’s car near the warehouse.
The building appeared empty.
Thermal cameras detected one person inside.
Maybe two.
Grant called me at 11:31.
Ruiz traced the call while I answered.
“Hello, Lily.”
“Where is my father?”
“Which one?”
“Daniel.”
He laughed.
“You saw the test.”
“You aren’t my father.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Monica told you that?”
“DNA told me.”
“She arranged another lie.”
“The sample came from you.”
“You think the police collected my DNA without me knowing?”
“Yes.”
Grant breathed slowly.
“She has turned you against me.”
“You broke into my room and threatened me.”
“I was desperate.”
“You shot my mother.”
“She was giving away evidence that belonged to me.”
“You killed Rebecca.”
His breathing stopped.
“We saw the video.”
“What video?”
“Your dashboard camera.”
“That camera was destroyed.”
“Rebecca kept more than you knew.”
It was a lie, but he believed it.
His anger exploded.
“She thought she was smarter than everyone!”
Ruiz signaled for me to keep him talking.
“She was smarter than you,” I said.
“She was weak.”
“You chased her because you were afraid.”
“I was protecting our family!”
“You killed your sister.”
“She was going to send me to prison!”
The words rang through the conference room.
Grant realized too late that he had confessed.
His voice became quiet again.
“Come to the warehouse, Lily.”
“Let Dad go.”
“At midnight, he learns the full truth.”
“I already told him you’re not my biological father.”
“That isn’t the truth I mean.”
“What else is there?”
“You think Monica was the only one who used you?”
The call ended.
Ruiz’s team entered the warehouse at 11:45.
It was empty.
The thermal image had come from two space heaters tied to chairs.
Dad’s jacket hung between them.
Grant had created another distraction.
But officers found fresh tire tracks behind the building.
They led toward an access road along the river.
At 11:53, a traffic camera captured a black pickup traveling north.
Dad sat in the passenger seat.
Grant drove.
The truck belonged to Victor Hale’s company.
Ruiz sent every available unit toward the old bridge.
I watched the clock.
11:56.
11:57.
At 11:58, my phone received a live video link.
Dad stood near the broken section of the abandoned bridge.
His hands were tied.
Grant held a gun behind him.
Rain fell heavily, just as it had on the night Rebecca died.
“Welcome,” Grant said into the camera. “Tonight Daniel finally pays for every life he stole.”
Dad stared toward the phone.
“Lily, don’t come here.”
Grant struck him across the head.
Dad fell to one knee.
I screamed.
“Stop!”
Grant pulled him up.
“Tell her,” he ordered.
Dad’s face was bleeding.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
Grant pressed the gun against his back.
Dad closed his eyes.
Then he said, “Victor Hale is not your biological father.”
May you like
“I know you aren’t either.”
“No,” Dad whispered. “Your biological father was my older brother, Thomas.”
