Chapter 10 - The Empty Grave
"Thomas Lane isn't buried there."
Alexander spoke the words with a certainty that frightened me.
We were sitting across from each other in a small room at the hotel.
Detective Hall stood beside the window.
She had come after I forwarded the messages to her.
Alexander had recognized the cemetery name immediately.
"I attended the memorial service," he said. "There was no burial."
"Why?" Hall asked.
"Because they said his body had been lost at sea."
I stared at him.
"But there's a grave."
"A memorial marker," he said. "Not a traditional burial."
Hall wrote something in her notebook.
"Was Thomas involved in the family business?"
Alexander looked troubled.
"He ran the financial side of Lane International before Victor took control."
"What happened between them?"
"They had disagreements."
"About what?"
"Expansion. Debt. Their father's estate."
"Anything illegal?"
"I suspected it, but I was young. My father handled most of the dealings."
I leaned forward.
"Was Thomas a good man?"
Alexander considered the question.
"I don't know."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only answer I can give you."
He took a breath.
"Thomas was polite to me. He was generous to people in public. But plenty of dangerous men know how to behave at dinner."
I thought about Victor Lane smiling beside hospital donors.
And Victoria insulting a housekeeper before three hundred guests.
"Did Thomas have children?"
"No."
"Then why does Victoria visit his memorial?"
"I don't know."
Hall closed her notebook.
"We'll look into it."
I wanted answers immediately.
Instead, she spent the next hour explaining the difference between a suspicious photograph, an anonymous allegation, and evidence that could survive in court.
I understood.
I even agreed.
But understanding didn't make waiting easier.
That evening, I returned to the room where my mother was staying.
Mateo sat at the desk working on a math assignment.
He looked up.
"Good news."
"What?"
"I passed my chemistry test."
I stared at him.
Then laughed.
"Somebody tried to break into our apartment, and you're worried about chemistry?"
He shrugged.
"Mrs. Patel doesn't give extensions because your family's in a crime thriller."
I laughed harder.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then he reached for his inhaler.
The reminder of how close we'd come to losing him made the laughter die.
"How's your breathing?"
"Better."
"Really?"
"Yes, Mom Two."
I threw a pillow at him.
He caught it.
Then his expression softened.
"Soph?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we going home?"
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Eventually."
"What if those guys come back?"
I didn't answer immediately.
He looked down.
"I know you think I don't notice things."
"Mateo—"
"But I do."
He twisted the cap on his water bottle.
"Mom cries when she thinks we're asleep. You keep checking the locks. And every time your phone rings, you look like you're about to throw up."
My throat tightened.
"You're seventeen. You shouldn't have to worry about this."
He smiled sadly.
"Dad died when I was eleven. I grew up worrying."
I moved closer.
He leaned against me.
For a while, we sat in silence.
Then he said, "Do you think Dad knew he was going to die?"
"No."
"You sure?"
I thought about the note hidden in his notebook.
The safe.
The warning.
The effort he'd made to leave something for us.
"I think he knew something dangerous was happening," I said.
Mateo nodded slowly.
"Then why didn't he run?"
I looked at him.
"Because he thought somebody needed help."
My brother swallowed.
"That sounds like Dad."
We sat together until the city lights came on.
At nine that night, Detective Hall called.
She had found something.
Not at the cemetery.
In the records of a small maritime insurance company.
Thomas Lane had purchased a multimillion-dollar life insurance policy just six weeks before his disappearance.
The beneficiary wasn't his brother.
It was a trust controlled by Leonard Price.
"Why would a lawyer control his insurance money?" I asked.
"That's what we're investigating."
"Did Victor know?"
"We don't know yet."
Hall continued.
"There's also a passenger record from a private flight that left New York three days after Thomas was declared dead."
"Who was on it?"
"One passenger used an identity we believe was false."
I leaned forward.
"Do you think it was Thomas?"
"Possibly."
"Where did the plane go?"
"Lisbon."
I frowned.
"Portugal?"
"Yes."
"What does that have to do with my father?"
Hall hesitated.
"One of the documents from Arthur Ashford's safe contains references to an overseas account."
"Where?"
"Portugal."
I stopped breathing.
She continued.
"The account was allegedly used to move proceeds from the employee trust."
"Does that mean Thomas was involved?"
"Potentially."
"Was he helping Victor?"
"We don't know."
I hated those words.
But I was beginning to understand why Hall used them.
The people behind this had spent decades making sure that every apparent answer led to another question.
After the call, I found Alexander waiting in the hallway.
He looked tired.
"Hall told me about Thomas."
I nodded.
He held out a small box.
"Before you say anything, this belongs to your family."
I didn't take it.
"What is it?"
"Your father's watch."
My heart stopped.
"Dad's watch?"
Alexander opened the box.
Inside lay a cheap silver wristwatch with a scratched face.
I knew it immediately.
My father had worn it almost every day.
The strap had been replaced three times.
The minute hand always ran a little slow.
"Where did you get that?"
"From the hospital, six years ago."
I stared at him.
"Why didn't you give it back?"
He looked ashamed.
"I couldn't."
I felt anger rising.
"You kept my father's watch?"
"Yes."
"For six years?"
"Yes."
I grabbed the box.
"That wasn't yours."
"I know."
I closed it so hard the lid snapped.
"Then why?"
Alexander's voice became quiet.
"Because it was the last thing he handed me."
I froze.
"What?"
He looked at the watch.
"After the stabbing, while we were waiting for the ambulance, Miguel pulled it from his wrist. He tried to tell me something."
"What?"
"I couldn't understand him."
"Then why keep it?"
"I thought someday I might."
I opened the box again.
The watch looked ordinary.
Old.
Worn.
Almost worthless.
But I remembered something Dad had taught me.
Notice what everyone else ignores.
I turned the watch over.
There were three small scratches on the back.
Not random marks.
Three straight lines.
I looked up.
"Alexander."
He leaned closer.
I pressed the little release pin beside the strap.
The metal backing shifted.
Underneath was a folded strip of paper no wider than my fingernail.
Alexander went completely still.
I carefully unfolded it.
There were two handwritten lines.
Thomas was alive when Arthur died.
Ask who signed the hospital order.
I stared at the words.
Arthur Ashford had supposedly died of a heart attack.
Thomas Lane had supposedly died at sea three years earlier.
And my father had hidden a warning about both deaths inside a cheap wristwatch.
Alexander took a step backward.
His face was gray.
"My father's hospital order?"
I looked at him.
"What order?"
He swallowed.
"The order to stop life support."
May you like
Then he whispered something that made the entire room feel colder.
"My father was conscious the morning before he died."
