Chapter 6 - MICHAEL'S LAST FILE
I hadn't opened Michael's office in almost three years.
After his funeral, I had closed the door and left almost everything exactly where he had put it.
His coffee mug was still beside the computer.
His reading glasses were still folded near the lamp.
A yellow legal pad still carried numbers written in his handwriting.
For years, I had told myself I was preserving his memory.
Standing outside that room at six in the morning with Detective Reed beside me, I finally wondered if I had actually been preserving evidence.
“You don't have to do this alone,” Reed said.
“I've been doing everything alone for three years.”
I opened the door.
Dust floated through the morning light.
Michael's desk looked untouched.
Reed remained near the entrance.
“You said you remembered a Mercer Child Services folder.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I opened the first drawer.
Tax documents.
Insurance forms.
Old receipts.
Nothing.
Second drawer.
Pens.
Envelopes.
A calculator.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
Michael hated keeping sensitive documents in obvious places.
Once, years earlier, he had hidden my birthday present inside an empty printer-paper box because he knew I would never look there.
I turned toward the closet.
Three cardboard boxes were stacked on the top shelf.
I pulled down the first.
Christmas decorations.
Second.
Old photographs.
Third.
Printer paper.
My hands started shaking.
The box was heavier than it should have been.
I opened it.
There were no sheets of paper inside.
There were files.
Dozens of them.
Reed stepped closer.
“Don't touch anything else.”
Too late.
The top folder was already in my hands.
MERCER CHILD SERVICES.
INTERNAL REVIEW.
Michael's handwriting appeared beneath it.
DO NOT SUBMIT THROUGH NORMAL CHANNELS.
I stared at those words.
Reed put on gloves.
He carefully opened the folder.
Financial statements.
Bank transfers.
Invoices.
Names.
Numbers.
Then photographs.
Children.
My throat tightened.
“What was Michael investigating?”
Reed looked through several pages.
“Money.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
He turned another page.
Then stopped.
“What?”
Reed showed me.
A list of payments had been routed through shell organizations.
One recipient appeared repeatedly.
Hale Consulting.
Another appeared beneath it.
Crane Foundation.
Then a third.
D.M. Holdings.
Daniel Mercer.
Reed kept reading.
“There are coded entries.”
“What kind?”
He pointed.
P-17.
P-21.
P-33.
Each code had a dollar amount.
Beside several were initials.
Michael had circled one.
E.M.
Emma Mercer?
No.
Emma was a newborn.
These files were three years old.
“What does E.M. mean?”
“I don't know.”
Reed turned another page.
Then another.
Finally, we found a handwritten note.
The handwriting wasn't Michael's.
It belonged to a woman.
IF YOU'RE READING THIS, THEY KNOW.
Below it was a name.
MELISSA MERCER.
I sank into Michael's chair.
“They knew each other.”
Reed nodded.
My eyes filled with tears.
“He never told me.”
“He may have been protecting you.”
“That worked out well.”
Reed said nothing.
I hated myself for the bitterness.
Michael had been dead three years.
And suddenly I was angry at him.
Angry because he had carried something dangerous into our lives.
Angry because he had never trusted me enough to explain it.
Angry because maybe his death hadn't been an accident at all.
Reed turned the final page.
A photograph slipped onto the desk.
I picked it up.
Michael stood outside a coffee shop.
Beside him was Melissa Mercer.
And behind them stood a third person.
Victoria Crane.
I stared at the photograph.
Reed did too.
Then I noticed something written across the back.
Michael's handwriting.
VICTORIA WANTS OUT.
MEETING FRIDAY.
IF SHE CHANGES HER MIND, WE'RE DEAD.
I looked at Reed.
“Victoria wasn't running the network.”
“Maybe not then.”
“What changed?”
Reed's phone rang.
He answered.
“Reed.”
His expression changed immediately.
“When?”
He listened.
“Secure the scene.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Franklin Hale is dead.”
I stood.
“What?”
“County holding facility.”
“How?”
“They're investigating.”
“You think someone killed him?”
Reed looked toward Michael's files.
“Hale told me Daniel was afraid of a woman.”
“Victoria?”
“Maybe.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Again.
Reed looked at me.
“Speaker.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Daniel Mercer's voice came through.
“Laura.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“That's not important.”
“You nearly killed your children.”
A long silence.
Then Daniel said something I wasn't expecting.
“I was trying to save them.”
I almost laughed.
“You locked them inside a minivan.”
“I had no choice.”
“There's always a choice.”
“Not when Victoria Crane owns the choices.”
Reed's eyes narrowed.
Daniel continued.
“You found Michael's files, didn't you?”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
“Because Michael told me where he hid them.”
I looked at Reed.
“You knew my husband?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
Daniel's answer came immediately.
“No.”
“Who did?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
He exhaled.
“Ask Victoria what happened on Highway 16.”
Then the line went dead.
Reed stared at me.
May you like
I stared back.
Because Highway 16 was exactly where Michael had died.
