The Reynolds house stood dark against the snow when we pulled into the driveway.
Only one upstairs window was lit.
Marcus slowed the car.
“This is where it happened,” he said.
I looked at the front door.
Eight years earlier, I had stood behind it with tears on my face while he carried a suitcase down the steps.
Tonight, I was returning with Marcus beside me, his brother in the back seat, and a truth that had taken nearly a decade to surface.
Robert's car arrived behind us.
Two investigators he had contacted were with him.
Adrian remained in the rear seat for a moment.
Then he stepped out.
He looked at the house without speaking.
“What?” Marcus asked.
Adrian shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“You're remembering something.”
“I remember your mother telling me never to come here.”
“Why?”
“Because your father kept documents in this house.”
I looked at the windows.
“Your mother didn't want you finding them.”
Adrian nodded.
We approached the front door together.
It was unlocked.
Marcus stopped.
“It was locked when we left earlier.”
Robert's expression tightened.
“Don't touch anything unnecessarily.”
Marcus pushed the door open.
The hallway smelled of cedar, dust, and the faint perfume Patricia always wore.
No lights were on downstairs.
My footsteps sounded too loud.
The house seemed smaller than I remembered.
Or perhaps I was simply no longer the frightened woman who had once lived here.
Marcus walked toward the old living room.
I followed.
“This is where she showed me the report,” he said.
I turned.
“She showed it to you here?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly happened?”
He looked at the fireplace.
“She told me you had been lying.”
“What did she say?”
“That the pregnancy wasn't mine.”
I watched his face.
“She had the document already?”
“Yes.”
“Before you confronted me?”
“Yes.”
“Who else was here?”
“My father.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.”
“I didn't know how much he knew.”
“Was Daniel here?”
“No.”
“Evelyn?”
Marcus hesitated.
“I think so.”
I looked at Robert.
“Then this is where it started.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Adrian looked toward the staircase.
“Someone is here.”
Robert raised a hand.
“Stay together.”
The investigators moved ahead.
A door slammed upstairs.
Marcus started toward the steps.
I caught his sleeve.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“We don't know who it is.”
He nodded.
The investigators reached the landing.
A few seconds later, one called down.
“Clear.”
We climbed.
The hallway was empty.
One bedroom door stood open.
Inside was Marcus's childhood room.
He stopped at the threshold.
“This hasn't changed.”
Dust covered the desk.
A baseball trophy stood on a shelf.
A faded photograph of Marcus and Daniel sat beside it.
I watched him pick it up.
“They were close,” he said.
“Daniel tried to protect you.”
“I know.”
He placed the photograph down.
Then he noticed something beneath the bed.
A metal box.
Marcus crouched.
He pulled it out.
The lock was broken.
Inside were old papers.
Most were meaningless.
Receipts.
Insurance documents.
Family photographs.
Then he found a folder.
The folder had my name.
My hands went cold.
Marcus opened it.
The first page was a copy of the medical report.
The second was a handwritten statement.
The third was missing.
“Someone took something,” Robert said.
Marcus searched the box again.
Nothing.
Then I saw a strip of paper wedged beneath the lining.
I pulled it free.
Three words were written on it.
LOOK BELOW.
I stared at the floor.
“Below what?”
Adrian stepped into the room.
“The fireplace.”
We returned downstairs.
Adrian went straight to the old fireplace.
He touched the stone above the mantel.
“This one is loose.”
Marcus pressed beside it.
A section shifted.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside sat a sealed plastic envelope.
Robert took it carefully.
The original medical report was inside.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Marcus looked at me.
“This is it.”
I nodded.
He opened the envelope.
The report was different from the copy.
The physician's signature was missing.
The report number was handwritten.
And in the margin was a note from Dr. Hall.
THIS DOCUMENT WAS NOT ISSUED BY THIS CLINIC.
Marcus closed his eyes.
“That proves it.”
Robert shook his head.
“It proves the document was false. We still need to prove who created it.”
I looked at the bottom of the page.
There was another notation.
A patient file number.
I recognized it.
It was mine.
But the date beside it was wrong.
The report had been generated using a number belonging to another patient.
Robert examined it.
“That's important.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever made this had access to the clinic's internal records.”
Marcus looked toward the hallway.
“Evelyn.”
“Possibly.”
I touched the page.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“What?”
“She didn't have that kind of access.”
Marcus frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because I remember her.”
He waited.
“Evelyn worked in your office. She knew your schedule. She knew personal details. But she wasn't a medical professional.”
Robert nodded.
“Someone inside the clinic helped.”
I remembered Dr. Hall's name.
“Who worked there?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Adrian looked at the report.
“There was a nurse.”
“What nurse?”
“Your mother mentioned her.”
Marcus stared.
“Who?”
“Linda Mercer.”
Robert immediately wrote the name down.
“Where is she now?”
Adrian shrugged.
“I don't know.”
One of the investigators entered.
“We found something.”
He handed Robert a phone.
A photograph showed the basement.
“There was a hidden room.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Of course there was.”
We went downstairs.
Behind a storage cabinet was a narrow door.
Inside was a small office.
Old filing cabinets lined the walls.
A desk sat beneath a bare bulb.
There were no recent belongings.
But the room had been used recently.
A chair had been moved.
Dust had been disturbed.
Someone had searched it.
Robert opened the nearest drawer.
Empty.
The second drawer held bank statements.
The third contained a notebook.
Marcus took it.
The handwriting was Patricia's.
He read the first page.
Payments to Evelyn.
Dates.
Amounts.
Then another name.
Linda Mercer.
Marcus looked up.
“It's the nurse.”
Robert turned the page.
There were payments to Linda over several months.
But the largest payment came after the false report was created.
I felt a chill.
“She was paid to confirm it.”
Robert nodded.
“Likely.”
Marcus looked furious.
“Where is she?”
A piece of paper fell from the notebook.
It contained an address.
A small town outside Denver.
Robert folded it.
“We'll find her.”
Before he could put it away, Marcus noticed something else.
A second notebook lay beneath the desk.
He opened it.
The handwriting was different.
Daniel's.
The first line made my heart stop.
I know who created the false report.
Marcus leaned closer.
Daniel had written that Linda had admitted helping Evelyn.
But Daniel also wrote that Linda had not acted alone.
The clinic's records had been altered by someone with access to the Reynolds family's legal files.
The final sentence was underlined.
The person giving orders was not Patricia.
Marcus looked up.
“What?”
I read it again.
“Daniel says your mother wasn't giving the orders.”
Adrian stared at the page.
“Then who was?”
We turned another page.
The name had been torn away.
Only the first letter remained.
R.
Robert went very still.
Marcus looked at him.
“What?”
Robert didn't answer.
I noticed the color leave his face.
“You know who it is.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Robert.”
He looked at Marcus.
“There was one person your father trusted with everything.”
“Who?”
Robert swallowed.
“Richard Hale.”
Marcus frowned.
“Your father?”
“No.”
“My father’s attorney.”
Robert nodded.
“My father.”
The room went silent.
Adrian stepped closer.
“That's impossible.”
Robert stared at the torn page.
“My father died before the divorce.”
“When?”
“Three months after your father.”
Marcus looked confused.
“Then how could he have ordered anything?”
Robert didn't answer.
He reached into his coat and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed Richard Hale standing beside Patricia.
And beside them was Evelyn.
But the date on the photograph was six months after Richard Hale's supposed death.
Marcus stared.
“That can't be.”
Robert's hands shook.
“My father didn't die when we were told he did.”
I felt the room go cold.
“Then whose body was buried?”
Robert looked at me.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from upstairs.
The front door slammed.
Someone had entered the house.
We rushed toward the stairs.
By the time we reached the hallway, the person was gone.
But on the floor beside the front door lay a single envelope.
Marcus picked it up.
His name was written across the front.
Inside was one sentence.
Stop looking for the dead.
The living man who caused this is watching you.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: A Man Declared Dead Eight Years Ago Had Been Moving Behind the Family’s Secrets, and His Next Message Left Marcus With No Safe Choice
The Christmas Invitation That Brought Me Back to the House Where My Marriage Had Ended Without a Goodbye
Part 9 of 20
