The phone remained dark in my hand after the final message disappeared. Nobody moved. Outside Daniel’s apartment, a car passed on the street, tires hissing over wet pavement, and the ordinary sound felt almost offensive.
Lucas was the first to speak.
“What does it mean that I’m not safe?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Lucas shook his head. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
“I know,” I said.
“No. You keep finding things and then saying you don’t know. Mom left something. Trudy knew something. Daniel knew something. Now somebody is sending messages. I deserve an actual answer.”
He was right.
I placed the phone on the table.
“We are going to find one.”
Daniel sat opposite us, elbows resting on his knees.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“My father had a business associate named Victor Hale.”
The name settled heavily into the room.
“Is that the Victor from the messages?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I never had much contact with him. He was around our house sometimes. He handled money, contracts, things like that. My father trusted him.”
“Did Teagan know him?”
Daniel hesitated.
“She had met him.”
“When?”
“I don't know exactly.”
I stared at him.
“Daniel.”
“I’m telling you what I know.”
Lucas picked up the phone.
“Can we call the number?”
“No,” Daniel said immediately.
“Why?”
“Because we don't know who's using it.”
Lucas frowned.
“Then how are we supposed to find out?”
“Carefully.”
I took the phone from him.
“We're not calling anyone tonight.”
Lucas looked disappointed.
“You said we would get answers.”
“We will.”
“Then why are we stopping?”
“Because your mother spent years trying to protect you. I'm not going to ignore that.”
He looked at me for several seconds before nodding.
That night, Lucas slept at Daniel's apartment because the hour was late and none of us wanted him driving home alone with everything on his mind.
I sat awake at the kitchen table.
Daniel joined me after midnight.
“You think someone is watching us,” he said.
“I think someone doesn't want us asking questions.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
He sat across from me.
“Do you believe Teagan knew who Victor was?”
“I believe she knew enough to be afraid.”
Daniel stared at the floor.
“I should have protected her.”
“You were seventeen.”
“That doesn't make me feel better.”
“It isn't supposed to.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“I deserve that too.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“Did your parents ever mention Teagan after she died?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“A few months afterward.”
“What did they say?”
“My mother asked whether I had heard from anyone connected to Teagan.”
I straightened.
“Anyone?”
“She didn't say who.”
“Why would she ask?”
“I don't know.”
“Did your father?”
“He told me to stop talking about her.”
That detail stayed with me.
The next morning, I contacted an attorney.
Not because I knew someone had committed a crime, but because I wanted to understand what records I could legally request and how to protect Lucas while we searched for answers.
The attorney advised me to preserve every message, photograph, letter, medical record, and document connected to Teagan.
“Don't delete anything,” she said.
“I won't.”
“And don't confront anyone you're investigating.”
I promised.
Then I asked whether someone could access an old phone number after ten years.
“Yes,” she said. “Numbers can be reassigned or maintained, depending on the carrier. A message from an old number doesn't prove who sent it.”
That mattered.
The sender could be Victor.
It could be someone else.
It could even be someone who had found Teagan's old records and was trying to frighten us.
But the sender knew details that weren't public.
That bothered me most.
The message about Daniel's promise.
The warning about Teagan.
The reference to the night before labor.
Whoever was writing knew something.
That afternoon, I returned to the storage unit alone.
The manager let me examine the remaining boxes.
I found a notebook tucked beneath a stack of baby blankets.
It was Teagan's.
The first pages contained ordinary things.
Names she liked.
Things she wanted to buy.
Questions for the pediatrician.
Then, several pages later, her handwriting changed.
The letters were pressed harder into the paper.
She had begun recording dates.
October 4.
Saw the same car again.
October 7.
Victor asked Daniel about the baby.
October 9.
Mom noticed nothing.
October 11.
Someone came to the house.
I stopped reading.
Victor had asked Daniel about the baby.
Why?
I turned the page.
October 12.
I think Daniel is being used to get information from me.
The next page had only one sentence.
I cannot tell Mom yet.
I kept reading.
Teagan believed someone wanted information about the baby before he was born.
She didn't know why.
She suspected Daniel's father was involved, but she wasn't certain.
Then I found a page dated two days before Lucas's birth.
Daniel says his father told him the baby will be better off somewhere else.
My hands began to shake.
The next line was crossed out so heavily that the paper had nearly torn.
Underneath, Teagan had written:
I don't know what that means.
I photographed every page.
Then I found a small envelope taped inside the notebook's back cover.
It contained a receipt from a private investigator.
The name on the receipt was not Victor Hale.
It was Daniel's father.
I sat on the dusty floor of the storage unit.
For ten years I had believed Teagan's biggest problem had been an irresponsible teenage relationship.
Now I was looking at evidence that adults had been discussing my unborn grandson before he was even born.
I called Daniel.
He answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“The storage unit.”
“Did you find something?”
“Yes.”
I told him about the notebook.
He was silent.
Then he said, “My father hired a private investigator?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you send me the receipt?”
“I already did.”
A few seconds passed.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“He died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“What are we supposed to do now?”
I looked at the notebook.
“We find out who the investigator was.”
Daniel's voice became quiet.
“I'll help.”
That evening, Lucas read the pages I was willing to show him.
When he reached the sentence about someone wanting him moved somewhere else, he stopped.
“Were they going to take me?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Mom know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she stop them?”
“I think she tried.”
He looked at the photograph of her.
“She was eighteen.”
“I know.”
“She was trying to protect me.”
“Yes.”
Lucas rubbed his eyes.
Then he looked at me.
“Grandma, I don't want to be afraid.”
“Neither do I.”
“So don't hide things from me anymore.”
I promised.
Later that night, an email arrived from the attorney.
She had located the investigator's old business records.
The investigator was still alive.
His name was Raymond Price.
And his last known office was in the same town where Victor Hale had once maintained a business address.
I stared at the message.
Then my phone vibrated.
Another text.
You are getting too close.
I didn't respond.
A second message followed.
Ask Raymond why Teagan came to his office.
I looked at Daniel.
He had received the same message.
This time, the sender had added one final line.
And ask him what she left behind.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Raymond Price Remembered Teagan Arriving Alone, Carrying a Folder She Refused to Hand Over Until Someone Promised to Protect Lucas
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 9 of 20
