I took the photograph straight to Dad.
The drive back to Portland felt longer than the journey south.
Jessica stayed in California to finish her statement.
Elena remained with her.
Neither seemed comfortable with the arrangement, but neither objected.
Daniel stayed with Rebecca.
Maya came with me.
For hours, the photograph sat between us in a plastic evidence sleeve.
Dad.
Victor.
Linda.
Cole.
2004.
Every time I looked at it, another explanation I wanted to believe collapsed.
Dad was awake when we entered his hospital room.
He looked relieved.
“Victoria?”
“Alive.”
His eyes closed.
“Thank God.”
“Cole was shot.”
That brought his attention back.
“Dead?”
“No.”
“Who shot him?”
“Linda.”
Dad’s face tightened.
“So she finally stopped pretending.”
I placed the photograph on his blanket.
He looked at it.
All color drained from his face.
“Where did you get this?”
“The warehouse.”
He said nothing.
“You told me you didn’t know Linda.”
“I didn’t know that was her name.”
“You’re standing beside her.”
“I know.”
“You told me you barely dealt with Thomas.”
“I didn’t.”
“Victor is right there.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Ethan.”
“Tell me what happened in 2004.”
Maya shut the door.
Dad stared at the photograph.
“That was taken at Cole’s house.”
“Why were you there?”
“Victor contacted me.”
“Eight years after the fire?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“You.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone does.”
“He wanted you to sign something when you turned eighteen.”
“I was twenty-four in 2004.”
“He had been trying for years.”
“What?”
“A waiver.”
“For the trust?”
“Yes.”
I remembered signing documents Dad gave me around that time.
Tax forms.
Insurance paperwork.
A title transfer when he sold me his old truck for one dollar.
“Did I sign it?”
“No.”
“Did you ever put anything in front of me without telling me what it really was?”
“No.”
The answer came firmly.
I believed him.
At least about that.
“What happened at Cole’s house?”
“Victor offered me money.”
“How much?”
“Two million.”
Maya let out a breath.
“For Ethan’s signature?”
“For access to him.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
“Victor wanted to tell you Elena was alive.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To turn you against me.”
Dad’s voice roughened.
“He knew by then that Elena had made occasional contact through Daniel. He wanted you angry enough to go looking for her.”
“So I would lead him to her.”
“Yes.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you smiling in the picture?”
Dad looked at the photograph.
“Because Linda had just told a joke.”
I almost shouted.
“That’s your explanation?”
“No. My explanation is that a photograph captures one fraction of a second.”
He pointed toward his own face.
“Look at my hand.”
I did.
His right hand was partly hidden behind Victor.
Fingers curled.
Not relaxed.
“You were holding something.”
“A recorder.”
Maya leaned closer.
“You recorded the meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Dad smiled faintly.
“You found the cassettes.”
The workshop.
“There are more?”
“One labeled June.”
“What’s on it?”
“Everything.”
I thought of the box beneath the workbench.
Police had secured the house after the earlier break-in.
The cassette might still be there.
“Why meet them at all?”
“Because Elena asked me to.”
I stared.
“You were still communicating with her in 2004.”
“Through Daniel.”
“You said the last direct contact was Seattle.”
“It was.”
“So she sent instructions.”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“Proof Cole was involved.”
The meeting had been a trap.
Not theirs.
Dad’s.
“Did it work?”
“Partly.”
“What did Cole say?”
“Enough to connect himself to Victor’s efforts against Elena.”
“Why wasn't that given to police?”
Dad laughed without humor.
“Which police?”
“Any.”
“Victor had lawyers. Cole had judges. Thomas had investigators. Pike had doctors. Every time we tried to bring one piece forward, someone learned before it reached the right desk.”
“So you stopped trying.”
“We changed strategy.”
“To what?”
“Survival.”
The word silenced me.
Maya sat down.
“Arthur, Linda was at that meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know she was Thomas’s wife?”
“Not then.”
“When did you learn?”
“Years later.”
“Why did she attend?”
“Victor introduced her as an attorney.”
“Was she?”
“No.”
“What name?”
“Laura Benson.”
Another identity.
“Did she speak?”
“A lot.”
“What about?”
“Trust succession.”
Maya’s expression sharpened.
“So Linda understood the trust.”
“Better than Victor did.”
That mattered.
Maybe more than anything we had learned.
“What did she want you to sign?”
“A confidentiality agreement.”
“Why?”
“To make the payment look legitimate if I accepted it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Did she know about the ledger?”
Dad hesitated.
“I think so.”
“You told me only Elena, Daniel, you, and Rebecca had seen it.”
“Seen the original.”
“But Linda knew it existed.”
“Yes.”
“And the color.”
Dad looked troubled.
“That still bothers me.”
I sat beside him.
“Rebecca says Linda found Elena through Daniel’s phone.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“That fits.”
“With what?”
“Someone entered my house three months ago.”
“The same time Elena’s hidden account was accessed.”
Dad nodded.
Maybe that had been Linda too.
“How many identities did she use?”
“More than we know.”
Maya’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
Dad looked at me.
“You saw your mother.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“How is she?”
“Alive.”
“Ethan.”
“I don't know what you want.”
“The truth.”
I thought about Elena beneath the redwoods.
Older.
Afraid.
Still carrying photographs of my life.
“She looks tired.”
Dad swallowed.
“Is she happy?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“She cried when I told her about the truck.”
A smile appeared.
“Idiot truck.”
“She laughed.”
Dad turned his face toward the window.
I gave him the privacy of pretending not to see his tears.
After a while, he said, “Did she tell you about the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“And my name?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“I took Victor’s money.”
“I know.”
“I would do it again.”
“I know that too.”
He seemed surprised.
“She explained.”
Dad nodded.
“Good.”
“I’m still angry.”
“You should be.”
“You both decided my ignorance was protection.”
“It was.”
“It was also control.”
Dad absorbed that.
“Yes.”
“I deserved some choice.”
“You were four.”
“Not forever.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“We kept treating you like the boy we saved from the fire.”
That was perhaps the first time he had admitted the central wrong without defending it.
Maya returned.
“Cole survived surgery.”
“Can he talk?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“What about Linda?”
“Still missing.”
“Thomas?”
“Lawyered up.”
“Rebecca?”
“Cooperating.”
“Daniel?”
“Also cooperating.”
“Jessica?”
Maya hesitated.
“What?”
“She left the station.”
“With Elena?”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where did she go?”
“No one knows.”
I called.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a message arrived from her.
I need a few hours. Don’t follow me.
I stared at it.
Dad watched my face.
“What?”
“Jessica disappeared again.”
“Maybe she needs space.”
“She was kidnapped yesterday.”
“Those things can both be true.”
I hated his calmness.
Maya’s phone chimed.
She read the message.
“What?”
“Rebecca wants to speak with us.”
“Why?”
“She remembered something from the warehouse.”
“What?”
“Linda took a bag before she left.”
“What was in it?”
“She doesn’t know.”
Dad sat straighter.
“What kind of bag?”
“Black canvas.”
His expression changed.
“Elena had one.”
My mother had carried a small black bag from the cabin.
I remembered it clearly.
She had kept it beside her during the drive.
“What was in Elena’s?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad looked alarmed.
“Call her.”
I did.
Elena answered.
“Ethan?”
“Do you still have your black bag?”
Silence.
“Elena.”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“I thought Victoria took it.”
My pulse jumped.
“What was inside?”
“Copies.”
“Of the ledger?”
“Some.”
“What else?”
“Identity documents.”
“Yours?”
“Mine. Daniel’s. Arthur’s.”
“What else?”
Elena hesitated.
“A key.”
“To what?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“San Francisco.”
“What’s inside?”
“The original supporting evidence.”
Everything needed to prove what the ledger meant.
“Who knew?”
“Daniel.”
“Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Linda?”
“She shouldn’t.”
But Linda had spent decades learning things she should not know.
I looked at Maya.
“If Linda took the bag, she has the key.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What?”
Elena’s voice became uncertain.
“The bag was beside me at the police command area. Victoria sat beside it.”
“Jessica may have taken it.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone vibrated.
A photograph from Jessica.
The black canvas bag sat on a passenger seat.
Below it:
I have it. Linda doesn’t.
Relief lasted one second.
Then a second message arrived.
I’m going to San Francisco.
A third:
I need to know what Victor stole from me before anyone decides what I’m supposed to do with it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Jessica Took the Key to San Francisco, Where Victor’s Hidden Records Revealed Why He Had Raised Her as His Daughter
My Father Had Never Asked Me for Money Until He Appeared at My Door With a Deadline
Part 14 of 35
