The message arrived at 10:17 in the morning.
I know where Zachary is.
Nothing else.
Thomas immediately asked me not to respond.
I ignored him for three seconds.
Then another message appeared.
Come alone if you want him alive.
I showed Thomas.
“No.”
He took the phone from my hand.
“We're not following that instruction.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
But my voice betrayed me.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“If she's telling the truth, my son may be injured.”
“We'll find him.”
“How?”
“By using the information she gives us.”
A third message appeared.
Old St. Matthew's Church. Noon.
Thomas looked at the screen.
“That's a public location.”
“Then she wants witnesses.”
“Or she wants you exposed.”
I knew he was right.
But I also knew Giselle.
She was frightened.
And frightened people sometimes made mistakes.
I replied.
I'll come.
Thomas immediately shook his head.
“You will not go alone.”
“I won't.”
We arrived at St. Matthew's forty minutes later.
Police officers remained out of sight.
Thomas stayed near me.
Evelyn waited in a nearby car.
The church was closed.
Its stone steps were wet from the previous night's rain.
At 11:58, Giselle appeared.
She was wearing a dark coat.
Her hair was loose.
She looked nothing like the composed woman who had sat beside Zachary in court.
She looked exhausted.
She stopped several feet away.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you yet.”
Thomas stepped forward.
Giselle looked at him.
“Are you police?”
“Yes.”
She backed away.
“I said alone.”
“You don't make the rules.”
She looked at me.
“I can make sure he stays alive.”
Thomas said nothing.
I asked, “Why did you send me here?”
“Because I know what happened.”
“To Robert?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened to my husband?”
She looked toward the church doors.
“Zachary didn't kill him.”
I had not asked whether he had.
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
“You know more than you're saying.”
“I was there.”
The words barely came out.
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“The night before he died.”
“Where?”
“With Zachary.”
My hands began to shake.
“What happened?”
Giselle looked down.
“Robert confronted us.”
“About the money?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He told Zachary everything was over.”
I waited.
“He said he had already prepared documents for the authorities.”
My chest tightened.
“What did Zachary do?”
“He begged.”
“For what?”
“For time.”
“And Robert?”
“He refused.”
Giselle looked at me.
“Then someone called.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know.”
“No.”
“Was it Victor?”
She shook her head.
“Victor wasn't there.”
“Then who?”
“I heard Zachary say a name.”
“What name?”
“David.”
I felt the world shift.
“My husband said David?”
“No. Zachary.”
“David Mercer?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Thomas asked, “Where did they meet?”
“Robert left.”
“Did he leave alone?”
“No.”
“Who went with him?”
Giselle looked at me.
“Zachary.”
I closed my eyes.
Robert had left the house with our son.
That was the last time I had seen my husband alive.
I had assumed Zachary had been devastated.
Now I wondered.
“What happened after that?”
“They returned about an hour later.”
“Both of them?”
“No.”
My eyes opened.
“Who returned?”
“Zachary.”
“And Robert?”
“He wasn't with him.”
“Where was my husband?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
Giselle began crying.
“I saw blood on Zachary's shirt.”
I felt my knees weaken.
Thomas caught my arm.
“What did he say?”
“He said Dad fell.”
“Where?”
“Near the old quarry.”
Thomas immediately contacted the police.
I looked at Giselle.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“You were afraid of Zachary?”
“Yes.”
“And Victor?”
“Yes.”
“And whoever was above them?”
She nodded.
“What changed?”
Giselle looked at me.
“You.”
I didn't understand.
“You found the documents.”
“Yes.”
“They thought you would be declared incompetent.”
“And you knew?”
“I helped prepare the petition.”
The words hurt.
“You knew about the bruises.”
“Yes.”
“You knew the photographs were staged.”
She nodded.
“You knew the power of attorney was false.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because I thought we were going to lose everything.”
“You weren't.”
“We were already ruined.”
“You chose to hurt me.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
That was the first time she said it without defending herself.
I asked where Zachary was.
She finally gave me an address.
A farmhouse outside the city.
“He's hurt.”
“How badly?”
“He was shot.”
I stared at her.
Thomas immediately called for backup.
“Who shot him?”
“I don't know.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Why did you leave him?”
“Because I thought they were coming for me too.”
She reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small key.
“Zachary told me to give you this if anything happened.”
I recognized it.
Number seventeen.
The storage key.
But mine was still in my possession.
This one was different.
The number had been scratched into the metal by hand.
17-B.
Daniel had never mentioned another compartment.
Thomas took it.
“We'll examine it.”
Giselle looked at me.
“He said your husband left something else.”
“What?”
“A second letter.”
“Where?”
“Inside the farmhouse.”
Thomas immediately ordered officers to secure the location.
I wanted to go.
Thomas refused.
“You're staying here.”
“I need to know if my son is alive.”
“We will tell you.”
Giselle looked at me.
“There is something else.”
I waited.
“Zachary wasn't trying to steal the insurance money for himself.”
“Then why?”
“He was trying to pay someone to stop them.”
“Stop who?”
She looked toward the road.
“The people who were threatening your family.”
“Who are they?”
“I never saw their faces.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Zachary told me.”
“What did he call them?”
Giselle whispered:
“The Meridian trustees.”
Thomas frowned.
“That's not a real legal term.”
“It is what they called themselves.”
The police returned.
They had found the farmhouse.
The front door was open.
Zachary was inside.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
An ambulance was already taking him away.
Thomas looked at me.
“You can see him once the doctors clear it.”
I nodded.
Then he handed me the evidence bag containing the key.
“There's one more thing.”
“What?”
“The farmhouse had a hidden room.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was inside?”
“A metal box.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
Thomas looked at the key.
“17-B.”
I stared at it.
Robert had hidden another piece of the truth.
And this time, whatever he had left behind was not simply about money.
The box contained photographs.
Bank records.
A blood-stained shirt.
And a handwritten note from Robert.
I know who ordered the attack.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I turned the page.
The name beneath it was not Victor Hale.
It was not David Mercer.
It was not Giselle.
It was someone I had seen sitting in that courtroom.
Someone who had watched me walk in with bruises.
Someone who had smiled because they believed I was already beaten.
I stared at the name.
Then I understood why my son had been so terrified.
And why Robert had hidden the truth until he could no longer protect me himself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 13: The Name Robert Wrote Down Was Someone Who Had Sat Beside Us While Pretending to Pray for the Truth
They Thought the Woman Walking Into Court With a Cane Was Too Broken to Remember What They Had Done
Part 12 of 20
