Chapter 3
Page 18.
Line 27.
“Dad’s workshop.”
We returned to my parents’ house with investigators.
My father led us inside.
The workshop still smelled like sawdust and motor oil.
Old manuals filled one shelf.
Dad pulled down a battered Army field manual.
We found Chapter 3.
Page 18.
Line 27.
The sentence itself meant nothing.
But Thomas had underlined one word decades ago.
LOCKER.
My father stared.
“He used to underline random words in that book.”
“Not random.”
We checked chapter 4, page 11, line 9 using another number scratched faintly on the metal plate’s reverse.
BUS.
Then 2-7-4.
STATION.
Locker.
Bus.
Station.
The old Fayetteville bus terminal had been replaced years ago, but its rental lockers had been transferred to a municipal storage facility when it closed.
The rusted key matched the old system.
At 2:18 in the morning, investigators opened locker 63.
Inside was a weather-sealed pouch.
Thomas had left photographs.
Paper copies.
A cassette recorder.
And a letter.
Addressed to me.
RACHEL.
My knees weakened.
Shaw looked at me.
“We need to process it first.”
“I know.”
Every instinct in me wanted to tear it open.
I waited.
By sunrise, they cleared the letter for reading.
I sat alone in a secure room.
Marcus stood outside.
I unfolded the pages.
Rachel,
If you are reading this, then something went wrong.
I stopped breathing.
Thomas’s handwriting blurred through my tears.
He wrote that he had discovered Rebecca was being paid by Leonard Pike to provide old access lists and inventory information.
At first, he believed she was simply stealing.
Then he discovered a county deputy was helping Pike avoid patrols.
Daniel Mercer.
Thomas confronted Rebecca because she was family.
That was his mistake.
She warned Mercer.
Mercer warned Pike.
Thomas knew the investigation had been compromised.
He copied everything he could.
Then came the sentence that broke me.
If Dad gets scared, he may try to protect Rebecca. Don’t hate him forever. He loves us, but sometimes love makes him weak where family is concerned.
I covered my face.
Even then, Thomas understood our father better than I did.
I kept reading.
If anything happens to me, do not let them tell you I gave up or got careless.
I am not planning to hurt myself.
I am not drinking.
I am going to meet an investigator tonight.
Then the final paragraph.
You’re going to do something big with your life, kid.
Don’t spend it chasing my ghost.
Find the truth if you have to.
Then live.
I cried harder than I had cried at his funeral.
Because for eighteen years, I had believed Thomas left this world disappointed, reckless, maybe angry.
Instead, his last private words to me were full of love.
The cassette contained more.
Thomas had secretly recorded a conversation.
Mercer’s voice was clear.
So was Rebecca’s.
Mercer threatened Thomas.
Not directly with death.
But close enough.
“You drive that road every night, Tom. Accidents happen.”
My skin turned cold.
Then Thomas said,
“If anything happens to me, this recording survives.”
Mercer laughed.
“Then you better hope whoever finds it likes you more than they like their own family.”
The tape ended.
Evidence could now prove conspiracy, bribery, obstruction, and threats.
But one question remained.
Did Mercer cause the crash?
Rebecca answered that by noon.
Facing the recording and documents, she finally confessed.
Mercer had followed Thomas from the storage building.
Rebecca followed them both.
She saw Mercer’s county cruiser move close behind Thomas’s truck on the curve.
Mercer struck Thomas’s rear bumper.
The truck lost control.
It broke through the guardrail.
Rebecca stopped.
She heard Thomas calling for help.
I nearly stopped breathing when investigators told me that.
“He was alive?”
“For several minutes.”
“And she did nothing?”
Shaw’s eyes were heavy.
“She said Mercer ordered her back into her vehicle.”
My stomach turned.
“She left my brother down there?”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
Rage shook through me.
Marcus entered immediately.
“Rachel.”
“He was alive.”
“I know.”
“She heard him.”
“I know.”
“She left him.”
Marcus stepped closer.
I pressed both hands against the table.
For one dangerous second, I wanted to destroy something.
Then Thomas’s letter returned to me.
Then live.
I breathed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“What happens now?”
May you like
Shaw answered quietly.
“Now we make sure they face it.”
