The police searched the neighborhood for nearly an hour.
They found no shooter.
No vehicle.
No useful fingerprints.
Whoever had thrown the photograph had disappeared before anyone could see him.
I kept looking at the picture.
Daniel stood outside the hospital entrance.
Peter was beside him.
Both men were talking.
Daniel looked angry.
Peter looked frightened.
The date was printed at the bottom.
Three days before Daniel died.
I called Peter.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“I was wondering when you would call.”
My hands tightened.
“You knew I would.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you found the ledger.”
“You knew about the ledger?”
“I knew Daniel had one.”
“You were the doctor who declared my husband dead.”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
“You prescribed him a sedative.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need to explain this in person.”
“No.”
“Then you'll misunderstand.”
“I already misunderstand everything.”
He sighed.
“Meet me tomorrow morning.”
“Where?”
“The old library.”
I looked at the officer.
He shook his head.
I ignored him.
“Why should I come?”
“Because Daniel asked me to tell you the truth if the evidence ever resurfaced.”
My heart stopped.
“What truth?”
“I won't say it over the phone.”
The call ended.
The officer immediately objected.
“You are not meeting him alone.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
Evan stood nearby.
“Is that Peter?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He says Dad asked him to tell me the truth.”
Evan looked at the photograph.
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
That night, I barely slept.
At six in the morning, I received an email.
No sender name.
One attachment.
A medical chart.
Daniel's.
The chart showed something I had never seen.
A blood test.
The result had been flagged.
The report was dated the night he died.
I read it twice.
Then again.
There was an abnormal level of a sedative.
Not enough to prove poisoning.
But enough to raise questions.
The officer took the file.
“Where did this come from?”
“I don't know.”
He stared at it.
“We need the original hospital records.”
“We have them.”
“Apparently not all of them.”
At nine, we met Peter at the library.
He looked older than I remembered.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Dark circles beneath his eyes.
He carried no briefcase.
No documents.
Only a small envelope.
He sat across from me.
“I know what you think.”
“I don't care what you think I think.”
His mouth tightened.
“Fair enough.”
“Tell me why you prescribed Daniel a sedative.”
“He asked for it.”
“Why?”
“He couldn't sleep.”
“Was he afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of Marcus?”
Peter looked down.
“Among others.”
“Did you know he was collecting evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Did you help him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you let him die?”
Peter flinched.
“I didn't.”
“You signed the report.”
“I treated him.”
“You said heart attack.”
“I believed he was having one.”
“Believed?”
“Yes.”
I pushed the photograph toward him.
“What happened here?”
Peter stared at it.
“That was the last time I saw Daniel alive before the hospital.”
“Why were you arguing?”
“We weren't arguing.”
“You look angry.”
“Daniel had just told me he was going to release the records.”
“Why didn't you stop him?”
“I tried to protect him.”
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
That answer infuriated me.
“Everyone isn't an answer.”
Peter leaned forward.
“Daniel found something bigger than the warehouse fraud.”
I went still.
“What?”
“The payments were only one part.”
“What else?”
“People had been injured at multiple facilities.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what did Daniel find?”
Peter opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A man stood beside Daniel.
The man was younger.
But I recognized him.
Marcus.
And beside him was someone else.
A woman.
Peter pointed at her.
“Her name is Laura Benton.”
I frowned.
“I don't know her.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“She was the corporate attorney who handled the warehouse lawsuit.”
I stared at him.
“What does that have to do with Daniel?”
“She was the person who approved the settlement offer.”
I shook my head.
“Daniel rejected it.”
“Yes.”
“But she isn't Marcus.”
“No.”
Peter leaned closer.
“She was the one who told Marcus to retrieve the records.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because the records didn't just show safety violations.”
“What else?”
“Payments to witnesses.”
I looked at him.
“Witnesses to what?”
Peter hesitated.
“Deaths.”
The word hung between us.
“How many?”
“Four.”
My hands went cold.
“Daniel knew?”
“He knew about two.”
“And the other two?”
“He was investigating.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Was Daniel killed because of this?”
Peter shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You were the doctor.”
“I know.”
“You saw him die.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Peter looked away.
“He arrived conscious.”
“Then what?”
“He said he had been followed.”
“By whom?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Did he mention Marcus?”
“No.”
“Peter?”
“He mentioned a name.”
“What name?”
Peter looked at me.
“Samuel.”
I frowned.
“Samuel Price?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Peter closed his eyes.
“Daniel told me Samuel had something.”
“The ledger?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“A recording.”
I remembered the recorder.
“We have it.”
Peter's face changed.
“You shouldn't have it.”
“Why?”
“Because the recording isn't complete.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
“There were three recordings.”
We had only two.
Peter continued.
“The third contains the conversation that explains why Daniel was targeted.”
My heart raced.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
Peter looked toward the window.
“Marcus.”
The officer standing behind me moved closer.
“Why would Marcus keep it?”
“Because it contains his voice.”
I looked at Peter.
“You said Daniel arrived conscious.”
“Yes.”
“What happened after that?”
“He collapsed.”
“Suddenly?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give him anything?”
Peter hesitated.
“The sedative.”
“Why?”
“He was panicking.”
“Was it prescribed?”
“Yes.”
“Could it have caused his death?”
“No.”
He answered too quickly.
I stared at him.
“You're certain?”
“I am.”
“Then why hide the prescription?”
“I didn't.”
“The hospital records were incomplete.”
Peter looked at the officer.
“That wasn't my decision.”
“Whose was it?”
He swallowed.
“Laura Benton.”
The officer stiffened.
“How could a corporate attorney alter hospital records?”
“She didn't alter them.”
Peter's voice dropped.
“She controlled access to the hospital's legal department.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
He looked exhausted.
“But she had influence.”
I stood.
“You've been hiding too much.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Marcus?”
“Of what happened to the others.”
He looked at Evan.
“I was afraid your son would become another name in a ledger.”
Evan stepped forward.
“You knew my dad.”
Peter nodded.
“He saved my life once.”
“What?”
“Years before the warehouse.”
Peter looked at me.
“I was the temporary worker Daniel pulled from a collapsed storage area.”
I stared.
“You were Samuel.”
Peter shook his head.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then who are you?”
“Peter Shaw.”
He looked toward the old photograph.
“Samuel Price was my brother.”
The room went silent.
Everything suddenly shifted.
Ruth had told us Samuel survived.
Peter had told us Samuel was involved.
But nobody had told us Peter and Samuel were brothers.
“What happened to Samuel?” I asked.
Peter looked down.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“Two days before Daniel died.”
“Why?”
“Because he had the third recording.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don't know.”
I thought of the phone call.
Samuel's voice.
The warning.
The claim that he had given Ruth the ledger.
“Then who called me?”
Peter stared at me.
“You said Samuel called?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head slowly.
“That isn't possible.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
“Because Samuel has been missing for three years.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Voice on the Phone Could Not Have Been Samuel, and Daniel’s Final Recording Changed Everything We Knew
The Money My Son Hid Wasn’t for the Bicycle He Had Been Dreaming About
Part 6 of 20
