Chapter 5 - What the Watch Knew
Ben did not touch the transmitter with his bare hands.
He photographed the watch from six angles.
Then he sealed it.
Marcus watched every movement.
His breathing had become shallow.
I noticed.
So did Ben.
“Who gave you the watch?”
I asked.
Marcus folded his arms.
“Richard.”
Dad shook his head.
“You took it from my bedroom.”
Marcus laughed.
“Your memory is unreliable.”
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“My memory is good enough to remember you asking where the spare key to my Mercedes was.”
Vivian stepped in.
“Stop.”
Marcus turned toward her.
For the first time, irritation flashed openly between them.
“What?”
“You’re making this worse.”
“I’m making it worse?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who—”
He stopped.
Too late.
Everyone heard it.
Vivian stared at him.
Marcus looked away.
Dad leaned back.
His face was gray.
I touched his shoulder.
“We’re done for tonight.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
He looked at Ben.
“Can you find out what that tracker recorded?”
Ben nodded slowly.
“If it has internal memory or if we can identify the service.”
“How long?”
“Depends on the device.”
Dad looked at me.
“Do it.”
Vivian laughed.
“You think you can seize belongings from this house?”
I turned toward her.
“That watch belongs to Dad.”
“It was given to Marcus.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice was sharper.
“It wasn’t.”
Vivian opened her mouth.
I cut her off.
“And Emily’s original phone?”
She didn’t answer.
I looked at Marcus.
“If it’s in this house, preserve it.”
He smirked.
“Or what?”
“Or your refusal becomes part of the record.”
“For what record?”
“The one that starts with financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult and may end somewhere considerably worse.”
His smile disappeared.
David Mercer stepped forward.
“Isabella.”
I turned.
“You need to be careful.”
“Is that professional advice?”
“It’s personal.”
“From my father’s attorney?”
“I still represent Richard.”
Dad looked at him.
“No.”
David stopped.
“You don’t.”
“Richard—”
“I fire you.”
The words were quiet.
Final.
David’s expression changed.
“Given the questions about your capacity—”
Dad slammed his palm against the table.
The sound startled everyone.
“I said you’re fired.”
His chest rose and fell.
Pain crossed his face.
But he didn’t take it back.
I moved toward him.
He waved me off.
David looked at me instead.
“You’re encouraging this.”
“No.”
“I’m watching him do it.”
“You’ve been estranged for six years.”
“Which must make it especially inconvenient that I came home.”
Something passed through his eyes.
Not fear.
Calculation.
He picked up his briefcase.
“We will address this through proper channels.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“You mean your channels.”
David looked at Vivian.
“Call me.”
Then he left.
Marcus followed him toward the door.
Vivian grabbed Marcus’s arm.
“Stay.”
“I need air.”
“Stay.”
He jerked free.
“Stop ordering me around.”
He walked out.
The door slammed.
Vivian stood in the foyer.
For the first time, she looked less like the woman controlling the house and more like someone watching control slip through her fingers.
Dad turned to Emily.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked stunned.
“For what?”
“For not listening.”
“You were injured.”
“I still should have listened.”
Emily shook her head.
“No, Mr. Hale.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“They made you question everything.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because I understood it.
Six years earlier, I had left this house believing my father had chosen Vivian over me.
Maybe he had.
But now I wondered how much of that choice had actually been his.
Ben packed the evidence.
“I’ll clone everything tonight.”
I nodded.
“Can you inspect the home network?”
Vivian snapped.
“No.”
Ben glanced at her.
Dad answered.
“Yes.”
She turned toward him.
“You don’t control the house anymore.”
He stared at her.
“Then show me the deed.”
Again.
That deed.
She never produced it.
Instead, she walked upstairs.
Two minutes later, we heard a door lock.
Ben looked at me.
“She’s either calling counsel or deleting something.”
“Can you stop deletion?”
“Not remotely.”
Dad spoke.
“Study.”
I turned.
“What?”
“The house server.”
Vivian didn’t know something.
Years earlier, when Dad remodeled the property, he installed a local security server in a climate-controlled room behind the study.
Every exterior camera.
Every smart lock.
Every alarm.
Everything fed into it.
“It was replaced three years ago,” Dad said.
“Is it still active?”
“I don’t know.”
Ben stood.
“Show me.”
Dad looked exhausted.
I wanted him to rest.
But he insisted.
So Emily stayed beside him while Ben and I went to the study.
I hadn’t been inside in six years.
It still smelled the same.
Leather.
Coffee.
Cedar.
My mother’s photograph used to sit on Dad’s desk.
It was gone.
In its place was a photograph of Vivian and Marcus at a charity gala.
I felt something ugly twist in my chest.
Ben noticed.
He said nothing.
Dad had told us about the hidden panel behind the bookshelves.
I pressed the release.
Nothing happened.
Ben found the manual latch.
The panel opened.
Inside was the server room.
Half the equipment racks were empty.
Cables hung loose.
Ben crouched.
“Somebody removed the central recorder.”
My pulse quickened.
“When?”
“Can’t tell yet.”
He inspected the cables.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“One camera feed is still active.”
“Which one?”
He traced the label.
GARAGE EAST.
The garage.
Where Dad’s personal car had been kept before the accident.
Ben connected his equipment.
The storage buffer was tiny.
Most footage had overwritten itself.
But the system contained event logs.
Dates.
Access times.
Device IDs.
Ben scrolled.
Then he froze.
“Isabella.”
I moved beside him.
“What?”
He pointed at the screen.
Two nights before Dad’s accident, the east garage door opened at 2:14 a.m.
It closed at 2:38.
Someone had entered.
No security code was used.
The door had been opened remotely.
The account ID was listed.
MARCUS.HALE.
My heart pounded.
Then Ben scrolled lower.
At 2:19 a.m., the system recorded a temporary camera disconnect.
At 2:35, it reconnected.
Marcus had been inside the garage during the exact twenty-minute window when the camera was disabled.
I stared at the log.
Then another entry caught my attention.
The following morning, someone had downloaded the access record.
User:
DMERCER.
David Mercer.
Ben exhaled slowly.
“Your father’s attorney knew.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“What?”
“He didn’t just know.”
I pointed toward the next log entry.
Thirty seconds after David downloaded the garage record, the system registered an administrative command.
DELETE EVENT HISTORY.
The deletion had failed because the backup partition was locked.
David hadn’t discovered the evidence.
He had tried to erase it.
A floorboard creaked behind us.
I turned.
Vivian stood in the doorway.
She was holding my father’s cane.
And she was smiling.
“I wondered when Richard would remember this room.”
She looked at the screen.
Then at me.
May you like
“You really should have stayed in Seattle.”
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