Chapter 27
Diane laughed when we asked about the memory card.
Not because it was funny.
Because she was exhausted.
“Mercer always thought he was smarter than everyone.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
Her attorney shifted.
Diane ignored him.
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Two months after Henry died.”
“Why?”
“As insurance.”
“Against what?”
“Me.”
I frowned.
“He gave you evidence against himself?”
“Not knowingly.”
She almost smiled.
“I stole it.”
Of course she did.
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“Stop saying safe.”
Her expression hardened.
“You think I’m going to hand over the only thing that kept Mercer afraid of me?”
“He’s dead.”
That stopped her.
“You’re under investigation.”
“I know.”
“Thomas is dead. Dad is dead. Mercer is dead. What exactly are you protecting now?”
Her eyes moved toward Ryan on the other side of the glass.
“My son.”
Ryan wasn’t Thomas’s son.
But Diane still called him hers.
Blood kept losing arguments in this family.
“What’s on the card?”
“Henry’s crash.”
My pulse hammered.
“All of it?”
“Most.”
“Did you watch it?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mercer force him off the road?”
Diane looked at me.
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“How?”
“He crossed the center line intentionally.”
“Did their cars touch?”
“No.”
“Then Dad swerved.”
“Yes.”
“Could it look accidental?”
“That was the point.”
I looked at Bell.
Finally.
Proof.
“Where is the card?”
Diane stared at me for a long time.
Then said, “I’ll give it to Ryan.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“It belongs to his father’s case too.”
“Then give it to police.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“You still think you control the room.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You threw me out of your house.”
“Yes.”
“You humiliated me.”
“You ordered me to be your maid.”
“I was angry.”
I almost laughed.
“That excuse must run in your family.”
She flinched.
Good.
I continued.
“You wanted me obedient because you thought I was a rich girl who had stolen your life.”
Her face hardened.
“Your mother—”
“My mother hurt you.”
Diane went silent.
“I can admit that,” I said. “Can you admit you hurt me?”
She looked away.
“Diane.”
Nothing.
“You stalked me.”
“Yes.”
“You helped your son deceive me.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened me.”
“Yes.”
“You helped stage a kidnapping.”
Her attorney whispered, “Do not answer.”
Diane stared at her hands.
“Yes.”
“You tried to access my trust.”
“Yes.”
“You were willing to let me marry Ryan without knowing whether we had the same biological father.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I didn’t know.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
She covered her face.
For the first time, Diane Hayes cried in front of me.
Not elegant tears.
Not manipulation I could easily identify.
Ugly grief.
“I wanted Thomas back,” she whispered.
“You couldn’t have him.”
“I know.”
“So you punished everybody who reminded you.”
“I know.”
“Where is the card?”
She lowered her hands.
“In the cemetery.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Thomas’s grave.”
Ryan heard through the speaker.
He stood.
Diane continued.
“Inside the flower vase. Waterproof capsule.”
Police retrieved it.
The memory card was thirty years old but readable.
The video wasn’t perfect.
Dark road.
Headlights.
Mercer’s dashboard.
Dad’s car ahead.
Diane’s behind him.
Then Mercer accelerated.
Crossed the center line.
Dad swerved.
Guardrail.
His car disappeared.
Mercer stopped.
For six seconds.
Then drove away.
Murder.
Or at minimum conduct clearly causing the fatal crash.
Dad had not died by accident.
I watched once.
Never again.
There was audio too.
Mercer muttering after the crash.
“Should’ve stayed buried, Henry.”
My legs weakened.
Claire held me.
Daniel stood in the doorway, crying silently.
Ryan looked toward Diane’s room.
His biological father had killed mine.
The man who had raised Ryan had been killed by that same biological father.
The cruelty was almost too symmetrical to believe.
But truth didn’t care whether it made good fiction.
Mercer was dead.
No trial.
No courtroom confession.
But his estate could be sued.
His accomplices could be prosecuted.
The old fraud could be investigated.
Families he harmed could finally learn what happened.
And Natalie had one more revelation.
Mercer hadn’t acted alone in the recent plan.
Someone inside the Carter trust had agreed to become the “cooperative fiduciary” after my planned incapacitation.
Claire searched trustee records.
Only four candidates had enough authority.
Daniel.
Two professional trustees.
And one family advisor.
Arthur Mills.
My father’s oldest friend.
The man who had walked me down the aisle because Dad was gone.
My stomach turned.
Bell showed Natalie four photographs.
She pointed without hesitation.
May you like
Arthur.
“That’s him.”
