Chapter 4 - The Brother at the Funeral
Michael Mercer arrived at my house twenty minutes after I called him.
I did not tell him about the ledger.
Detective Ruiz told me not to.
Instead, I sat across from him in Daniel’s study and watched the man I had known for seven years.
Michael was thirty-three.
Three years younger than Daniel.
Same dark eyes.
Same crooked smile.
But where Daniel had been patient, Michael had always seemed restless.
He walked into the room looking worried.
“You sounded strange.”
“I’m tired.”
“Claire, you just had a baby.”
He glanced toward the bassinet.
His expression softened.
“Can I?”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
He lifted Grace carefully.
“She looks like Daniel.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Michael smiled down at her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
For one painful moment, I wanted everything to be normal.
Then I remembered his name in the ledger.
“Were you and Daniel fighting?”
Michael looked up.
“What?”
“Before he died.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Why would you ask that?”
“I found some things.”
“What things?”
Too fast.
Too interested.
I watched him.
“Financial things.”
He gently returned Grace to the bassinet.
“Claire, you shouldn’t be dealing with company business right now.”
There it was.
The same assumption.
Pregnant.
Widowed.
Emotional.
Incapable.
I was getting tired of men telling me what I could handle.
“Why not?”
“Because you just gave birth.”
“And?”
He sighed.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Daniel used to say that too.”
Michael looked away.
Except Daniel had protected me by giving me choices.
Other people protected me by trying to take them away.
I changed the subject.
“Have you heard from my father?”
“No.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
He stood.
“I should go.”
“Michael.”
He stopped.
“Did Daniel trust you?”
His back remained toward me.
Then he turned.
“I loved my brother.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Something moved behind his eyes.
Pain?
Fear?
Guilt?
“I loved him,” he repeated.
Then he left.
Detective Ruiz had been listening from another room.
When the door closed, she emerged.
“He’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what we find out.”
The ledger photograph was enhanced.
Most of the page contained dates and initials.
But one entry stood out.
M.M. — $500,000 — emergency.
Margaret recognized the date.
Two years earlier.
Michael had been running a technology startup.
It collapsed.
He told the family investors had covered the losses.
Apparently, they hadn’t.
That night, Margaret told me the truth.
Michael had gambling debts.
Not casinos.
Private games.
Illegal sports betting.
Daniel had secretly paid half a million dollars to keep his brother safe.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Daniel asked me not to.”
I felt betrayed.
Then ashamed for feeling betrayed by a dead man who had probably been trying to save his brother.
“Did Michael pay him back?”
“No.”
“Did Daniel threaten him?”
“No.”
“Then why is his name in the ledger?”
Margaret looked exhausted.
“Because Daniel kept records of everything.”
At 11:20 p.m., my phone buzzed.
Vanessa.
This time it was a text.
COME ALONE.
An address followed.
Ruiz immediately said no.
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“She has evidence.”
“And possibly someone waiting for you.”
We compromised.
I would go.
Police would follow.
The address led to an old motel thirty miles outside the city.
Vanessa opened the door wearing jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt.
No makeup.
No expensive dress.
She looked nothing like the woman who had laughed at me.
There was a bruise on her cheek.
I stared at it.
“Did Richard do that?”
She looked away.
“Come inside.”
The room smelled like stale coffee.
A blue book sat on the bed.
The ledger.
I reached for it.
Vanessa stopped me.
“Listen first.”
“I’m listening.”
“Richard married me because I was useful.”
“That sounds familiar.”
She flinched.
I didn’t apologize.
“He needed someone people underestimated,” she said.
“You seemed happy enough.”
“I liked the money.”
At least she admitted it.
“I liked making people jealous. I liked feeling important.”
She swallowed.
“But I didn’t agree to murder anyone.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened to Daniel?”
Vanessa looked toward the curtains.
“Richard and Thomas were stealing money. Daniel found out. Thomas wanted him stopped.”
“Stopped how?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you knew who killed him.”
“I know who arranged the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“The night before Daniel died, Michael called Richard.”
I stared at her.
“Michael?”
“He told Richard Daniel had evidence.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael owed Thomas money too.”
The pieces began connecting.
Thomas had financed Michael’s gambling.
Daniel discovered it.
Michael panicked.
Richard saw opportunity.
But Vanessa shook her head.
“Michael didn’t know they were going to hurt Daniel.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I heard him screaming at Richard afterward.”
She opened the ledger.
Inside was a memory card taped beneath the cover.
“Daniel hid this.”
“What is it?”
“Audio.”
We played it.
Richard’s voice.
Thomas’s voice.
Then Michael.
They were arguing.
Michael said, “I told you to scare him, not touch him.”
Thomas replied, “Nobody touched him.”
Richard said, “Then why is he dead?”
Silence.
Thomas answered:
“Because accidents happen.”
My entire body went cold.
Suddenly headlights swept across the motel curtains.
Vanessa froze.
“That’s him.”
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Richard.”
The motel door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then my father’s voice came through the door.
“Claire?”
Vanessa stared at me.
“How did he know you were here?”
I slowly turned toward her.
“I didn’t tell him.”
Neither had the police.
Then I looked at Vanessa’s phone.
And understood.
Richard hadn’t followed me.
He had followed her.
The door shook under a heavy удар.
“Open the door!”
Vanessa backed away.
Police sirens suddenly erupted outside.
Richard ran.
Ruiz’s officers moved in.
I heard shouting.
Footsteps.
Then silence.
Minutes later, Detective Ruiz entered.
“They got him.”
Vanessa collapsed onto the bed.
I felt no victory.
Only exhaustion.
But Ruiz wasn’t smiling.
“What?”
She looked at the ledger.
“We found something in Richard’s car.”
“What?”
“A second phone.”
My stomach tightened.
“There’s a message from Thomas sent the morning Daniel died.”
“What does it say?”
Ruiz looked at me.
“Problem handled.”
And attached beneath it was a photograph of Daniel’s SUV.
May you like
Taken before he left home.
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