Chapter 3
Samuel Brooks arrived at my house the following morning carrying a worn leather folder.
I opened the door before he knocked.
He looked older than I remembered.
His gray hair was thinner.
His shoulders were slightly bent.
But his eyes were still sharp.
"Arthur."
"Samuel."
We shook hands.
Then he pulled me into a brief hug.
"I heard about Alicia's graduation."
I smiled weakly.
"Valedictorian."
He grinned.
"Grace would have been proud."
My throat tightened.
"That's what everyone keeps saying."
Samuel's smile faded.
"I understand."
We sat at the kitchen table.
Alicia joined us.
She had changed into jeans and a blue sweater.
Her graduation medal rested beside the old letter.
Samuel examined the envelope first.
Then he read the letter carefully.
He didn't speak for several minutes.
Finally, he looked up.
"Arthur, where exactly did you find this?"
"In Grace's sewing box."
He nodded.
"Has anyone else handled it?"
"Only Alicia and me."
"Good."
I leaned forward.
"Samuel, tell me what happened."
He opened his folder.
Inside were copies of old documents.
Police reports.
Photographs.
Notes.
I recognized the date immediately.
October 17.
The night Grace died.
Samuel placed the first page in front of me.
"This is the official accident report."
I nodded.
"I've seen it."
He turned to another page.
"This is a supplemental report that was never included in the packet you received."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
He pointed to a section near the bottom.
"A witness reported seeing a dark SUV following Grace's car shortly before the crash."
My heart began pounding.
"What SUV?"
"The witness couldn't identify the driver."
"Did police investigate?"
Samuel nodded.
"According to the records, they tried."
"Then what happened?"
He sighed.
"The witness withdrew the statement."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"That's one of the questions."
Alicia leaned forward.
"Was the witness threatened?"
Samuel looked at her.
"We don't know."
I rubbed my forehead.
For twelve years, I had imagined Grace losing control of her car on a wet road.
Now I was imagining another vehicle behind her.
A vehicle following her.
Maybe frightening her.
Maybe causing the crash.
My chest tightened.
"Who was the witness?"
Samuel hesitated.
"A woman named Teresa Collins."
I frowned.
"I don't know her."
"She worked at a gas station near the highway."
"Does she still live here?"
"I've been trying to find out."
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you investigate this years ago?"
Samuel lowered his eyes.
"I was working another case. By the time I learned about the statement, the investigation had already been closed."
I felt anger rising.
"She was my wife."
"I know."
"She was Alicia's mother."
Samuel's face tightened.
"I know, Arthur."
I stood and walked toward the window.
I didn't want to shout at him.
He had helped us after Grace died.
He brought groceries.
He repaired our broken heater.
He picked Alicia up from school when I couldn't leave work.
But I couldn't stop thinking about everything we might have missed.
Alicia approached me.
"Daddy."
I turned.
She took my hand.
"Please sit down."
I looked at her.
My daughter was eighteen.
She had just graduated at the top of her class.
She should have been celebrating scholarships and planning her future.
Instead, she was comforting me while we reopened the worst memory of our lives.
I sat beside her.
Samuel continued.
"There's something else."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Grace had contacted the district's internal auditor two days before she died."
My heart pounded.
"About the invoices?"
He nodded.
"She requested a private meeting."
"Did it happen?"
"No."
I closed my eyes.
"Because she died."
Samuel nodded.
Alicia reached for the letter.
"Mom mentioned Diane."
Samuel looked at her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He took a breath.
"Richard Whitmore's company held a large maintenance supply contract with the district."
I nodded.
"I remember."
"Grace apparently believed some invoices were inflated."
I stared at him.
"How inflated?"
"Potentially by hundreds of thousands of dollars."
My stomach dropped.
Samuel continued.
"The company billed for equipment that some schools never received."
I thought about my own work.
For years, I had been responsible for inventory checks.
Sometimes supplies arrived late.
Sometimes shipments were incomplete.
I remembered complaining about missing equipment.
My supervisors always told me it was an accounting issue.
I never imagined anything criminal.
"Arthur, did you ever sign delivery receipts for equipment that wasn't delivered?"
I frowned.
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
He looked concerned.
"Because your name appears on several receipts."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He placed a photocopy in front of me.
At the bottom was a signature.
Arthur Bennett.
It looked like mine.
But it wasn't.
I felt cold.
"I never signed this."
Samuel nodded slowly.
"That's what I suspected."
Alicia stared at the paper.
"Someone forged Dad's name?"
"It appears possible."
I leaned back.
Suddenly, Grace's letter made more sense.
She had discovered suspicious payments.
She had been preparing to report them.
And someone had apparently used my name on documents connected to the scheme.
My breathing quickened.
"Was she trying to protect me?"
Samuel looked at me.
"She may have been."
I lowered my head.
My wife had been carrying fear I never knew about.
She had been trying to protect our family.
And then she died.
Alicia began crying quietly.
I put my arm around her.
"We're going to find out what happened," I whispered.
Samuel closed the folder.
"I want you to understand something."
I looked at him.
"This doesn't prove Grace was murdered."
"I know."
"But it gives us reasons to ask questions."
I nodded.
He continued.
"I've contacted someone who can help review the records."
"Who?"
"A former district investigator named Patricia Green."
I frowned.
"Did she know Grace?"
"Yes."
My heart jumped.
"How well?"
"They worked together briefly."
I leaned forward.
"Why hasn't she contacted us?"
Samuel hesitated.
"She left the district shortly after Grace died."
"Why?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"She says she was pressured to resign."
I stared at him.
"By whom?"
Samuel took a breath.
"Richard Whitmore's attorney."
I closed my eyes.
The Whitmores.
Again.
Samuel stood.
"Patricia agreed to meet us tomorrow."
I nodded.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
"What is it?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"Arthur, someone has been asking questions about you."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Diane Whitmore."
I felt cold.
"What does she want?"
He showed me a message from a former colleague.
Diane had contacted the district office requesting information about old employee records.
Specifically, records connected to Arthur Bennett and Grace Bennett.
I stared at the screen.
Alicia moved closer.
"Daddy, does she know about the letter?"
I looked at Samuel.
He didn't answer.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I hesitated before answering.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice spoke.
"Arthur Bennett?"
"Yes."
"You don't know me."
I gripped the phone.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Teresa Collins."
Samuel stood immediately.
I stopped breathing.
The witness.
The woman who had seen the dark SUV.
Teresa's voice trembled.
"I heard you're asking questions about your wife's accident."
I looked at Alicia.
Then at Samuel.
"Yes."
There was a long silence.
Finally, Teresa whispered, "I lied to the police."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"What?"
She began crying.
"I saw who was driving that SUV."
I couldn't move.
"Who?"
Her voice broke.
"Arthur, I need you to promise something first."
"What?"
"Please don't tell anyone where I live."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
May you like
She whispered, "Because the last time I told the truth, someone threatened my children."
And suddenly, I understood why the witness had disappeared.
