Chapter 5 - The Car That Never Reached the Highway
Rivercrest Women’s Center had once been considered the finest private maternity hospital in Virginia.
My father funded it after my grandmother died during childbirth.
For twenty years, wealthy families paid absurd amounts of money for private suites overlooking the river.
Then lawsuits started.
Not malpractice.
Financial mismanagement.
The center closed.
I had always assumed the property was sold.
Apparently, I had assumed wrong.
Noah ordered state police to approach quietly.
We left the warehouse at 3:58 A.M.
While driving, I called my mother.
She answered immediately.
“Daniel?”
“You’re not home.”
A pause.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
Lie.
The tracker still showed her at Charles Vance’s office.
I let silence grow.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If Grace contacts you, tell her I’m not angry.”
My mother softened her voice.
“I will.”
“And tell her I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not listening to you.”
Another pause.
Then:
“I only ever wanted to protect you.”
I looked through the windshield.
“From Grace?”
“From people who see your name before they see you.”
It was almost believable.
That was my mother’s greatest talent.
She could turn cruelty into concern.
“You always said she wanted something.”
“She did.”
“What?”
Evelyn hesitated.
Then said, “Everything.”
She disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Noah, driving beside me, said, “She knows something’s wrong.”
“She knows I’m asking questions.”
“We need to move faster.”
Then one of the troopers ahead radioed.
A vehicle had been found abandoned ten miles from Rivercrest.
Black Lincoln Navigator.
Same plate.
We changed route.
The Navigator sat beside an old service road.
Driver’s door open.
Engine cold.
Inside, officers found plastic restraints, bottled water, gloves, and a torn corner of Grace’s gray cardigan.
But there was something else.
A parking receipt.
3:11 A.M.
St. Catherine’s Hospital.
That made no sense.
Grace’s scheduled email referenced St. Catherine’s.
Had Cole gone there?
I called the hospital.
A night administrator answered.
I gave my name.
Asked whether anyone had accessed a safe-deposit service.
She was confused.
Then I remembered the hospital chapel.
Grace’s former student’s mother worked there.
A woman named Teresa Collins.
I called Teresa.
She answered sleepily.
“Daniel?”
“Did Grace leave something with you?”
Silence.
Then:
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
“She told me not to give it to anyone except you.”
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
“What happened?”
“A man came tonight.”
“What man?”
“He said you’d been in an accident. He had identification. He knew Grace’s name. He knew mine.”
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing. I didn’t trust him.”
Relief hit me.
“Where are the documents?”
“In a locker.”
“Do not touch them. Police are coming.”
Teresa began crying.
“Daniel, is Grace okay?”
“I’m going to find her.”
I needed to believe that.
Noah sent officers to St. Catherine’s.
We continued toward Rivercrest.
At 4:12, Marcus called me.
I watched his name flash.
Answered.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“Mom said you left again.”
“She’s not home either.”
Silence.
“Maybe she went looking for Grace.”
I almost laughed.
“Maybe.”
Marcus cleared his throat.
“You shouldn’t involve police.”
There it was.
I kept my voice neutral.
“Why would I?”
“Because Grace left. If you make this a big thing, it’ll embarrass the family.”
“My pregnant wife disappeared.”
“She didn’t disappear.”
“How do you know?”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
“You said she left. Now you say she didn’t disappear. How do you know the difference?”
“You know what I meant.”
“Do I?”
He became angry.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re smarter than everyone.”
I looked at Noah.
He was listening through speakerphone.
Marcus continued.
“You think because you investigate people for a living, everybody around you is lying.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then tell me where you were at 1:03 A.M.”
Nothing.
Not even breathing.
Then the call ended.
Noah looked at me.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Olivia.
COME HOME.
Then another.
PLEASE.
Then:
MARCUS IS PANICKING.
I typed:
WHY?
Her reply took almost a minute.
I DON’T THINK MOM TOLD HIM EVERYTHING.
Before I could answer, a trooper radioed.
Rivercrest was visible ahead.
Dark building.
Three floors.
Abandoned parking lot.
One light glowing on the second floor.
Room 214.
Noah slowed.
“We do this by procedure.”
I stared at that single illuminated window.
“Grace is up there.”
“We don’t know.”
“Yes,” I said. “We do.”
But when police entered Rivercrest, Room 214 was empty.
The bed was warm.
A glass of water sat on the table.
Medical supplies remained unpacked.
On the pillow was another piece of Grace’s gray cardigan.
And written across the wall in black marker were six words:
DANIEL, DO NOT TRUST CHARLES VANCE.
Grace had left the message herself.
Below it, smaller, almost hidden beside the bed frame, she had written something else.
A number.
73-18-44.
I stared at it.
Noah asked, “Mean anything?”
I shook my head.
Then I realized.
Those weren’t random numbers.
They were coordinates inside my father’s old estate maps.
Grace had found something in the trust documents.
May you like
Something located on Mercer land.
And if she had been moved again, she was trying to lead me toward it.
