Chapter 9 - My Brother Made One Phone Call Too Many
We reached Franklin and Ninth in six minutes.
Grace was gone.
A bakery employee had seen a pregnant woman hiding near the loading entrance.
Then a silver Lexus stopped.
The employee assumed someone had come to help her.
The pregnant woman refused to get inside.
They argued.
Then another vehicle arrived.
A black pickup.
The woman climbed into the pickup instead.
That changed everything.
Grace had not been recaptured.
Someone else had helped her.
“Driver description?” Noah asked.
“Older man,” the employee said. “Maybe sixties. Gray hair.”
Grace knew him.
I started listing people she trusted.
Her obstetrician.
School principal.
Neighbors.
Then I remembered Teresa Collins from St. Catherine’s.
Her husband, Michael, was sixty-three.
He drove a black Ford pickup.
I called Teresa.
“Yes,” she said before I finished. “Michael has her.”
Relief nearly dropped me to my knees.
“Where?”
“He won’t tell me over the phone. Grace thinks Evelyn is tracking people.”
Smart.
My wife had spent one terrifying night becoming better at counter-surveillance than most professionals I had trained.
“Tell Michael police are involved.”
“He knows.”
“Is Grace okay?”
Teresa hesitated.
“She’s having contractions.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“How close?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s only eight months.”
“I know.”
Grace had suffered complications.
Premature labor had been our biggest fear for weeks.
Now stress, movement, dehydration, and whatever medication they had given her could trigger exactly that.
“Where are they?”
“Daniel, Grace made Michael promise not to tell anyone until you answer one question.”
“What question?”
Teresa’s voice softened.
“She wants to know whether Olivia is with you.”
I understood.
Grace didn’t know who she could trust.
“No. Olivia is at the house under police protection.”
“Then Grace wants you to go to the old Hanover library.”
The library had closed three years earlier.
Grace once volunteered there.
I told Noah.
He sent units nearby but agreed we should not arrive with a parade of police.
Before we left, he received a call.
Marcus had made a phone call from custody.
Not legally.
He had convinced an officer he needed to contact an attorney.
Instead, he called my mother.
The call had been recorded.
Marcus said:
“They know about Blackwater.”
My mother replied:
“Then Charles failed.”
Marcus:
“What do I do?”
Evelyn:
“Nothing. You’ve already done enough damage.”
Marcus:
“Where’s Grace?”
My mother:
“If you don’t know, you can’t tell them.”
Then Marcus said something that changed his case from terrible to catastrophic.
“Mom, you promised nobody was supposed to get hurt.”
My mother answered:
“I promised you’d still have your inheritance.”
Noah played the recording twice.
Marcus had just admitted knowledge of the plan.
And Evelyn had effectively admitted motive.
But the most important part came at the end.
Marcus said:
“What about the Swiss account?”
My mother hung up.
Swiss account.
That was the missing money.
The difference between twenty-three million and nearly forty.
I called Priya.
“Search every transfer related to Charles Vance and my mother for Switzerland.”
She began working.
We drove toward Hanover.
The old library was dark when we arrived.
Michael Collins’ pickup sat behind the building.
I ran inside.
Grace was seated on the floor against a bookshelf.
A blanket around her shoulders.
For the first time since 1:17 A.M., I saw my wife.
She looked exhausted.
Bruised.
Terrified.
Beautiful.
Alive.
“Daniel.”
I crossed the room.
She reached for me.
I dropped beside her and held her.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I could feel the baby move between us.
Then Grace whispered against my neck:
“They were going to make you think I left.”
“I know.”
“I tried to leave clues.”
“I found every one.”
She laughed once through tears.
“Of course you did.”
Then her face tightened.
Pain.
She gripped my arm.
“Contraction?”
She nodded.
Michael said they were about seven minutes apart.
Noah called for an ambulance.
Grace grabbed my sleeve.
“No hospital your family uses.”
“Okay.”
“And Daniel…”
“Yes?”
“There’s something your father hid.”
“The letter?”
“No.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“A video.”
