Chapter 12 - The Night Natalie Died
The investigation into Natalie's death moved more slowly than I wanted.
Every morning, I checked my phone.
Every afternoon, I told myself not to.
The authorities were reviewing toxicology findings, archived medical records, vehicle evidence, witness statements, and information supplied by Martin Bell.
The original conclusion had not automatically changed.
Questions did not become answers just because I desperately needed them to.
I knew that.
I hated it.
One morning, Lena found me sitting at the kitchen table with a notebook full of questions.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to understand."
She looked at the pages.
There were arrows.
Dates.
Names.
Fragments of memories.
"Have you slept?"
"A little."
She pulled out a chair.
"Emily, do you think you can solve this before the investigators do?"
I looked up.
"No."
"Then what are you trying to accomplish?"
I stared at the notebook.
Finally, I said, "If I understand exactly what happened to Natalie, maybe I'll understand why I survived."
Lena was quiet.
Then she said, "Those may be two different questions."
I looked away.
She didn't force me to answer.
Three weeks after the discovery of the recordings, Reed called me in for another interview.
This time, there were two investigators from a neighboring jurisdiction.
One specialized in death investigations.
The other was a prosecutor reviewing the evidence.
They asked me to describe the night Daniel first brought home the unlabeled tablets.
I remembered the bedroom.
The white bottle.
His hand on my shoulder.
"You've been so anxious lately, sweetheart."
I remembered taking one.
Then waking up twelve hours later with a splitting headache.
Daniel had said I slept because I was exhausted.
Over time, I had come to accept that explanation.
"Did he tell you what the medication was?" the prosecutor asked.
"He said it would help me calm down."
"Did you ask?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"That I needed to trust him."
The investigator wrote it down.
"Did you ever obtain a prescription?"
"No."
"Did you ever discuss these tablets with a physician?"
"Not until I saw Dr. Shah."
They asked more questions.
I answered what I knew.
When I didn't know something, I said so.
When I couldn't remember, I said that too.
For the first time, I didn't feel ashamed of the gaps.
Martin's account of Natalie's final evening was eventually corroborated in several important respects.
He admitted that Daniel had instructed him to arrange a meeting with Natalie after she raised questions about the relocation payments.
He acknowledged that she had been offered money to sign a confidentiality agreement.
Natalie refused.
Martin said an argument followed.
He claimed he left before the final confrontation.
Other evidence placed Daniel and Evelyn Ross near the property that evening.
A combination of location records, archived security footage, and financial transactions contradicted portions of their earlier statements.
The investigators still had to establish what happened after Martin left.
Then the medical review identified a significant inconsistency.
The substance involved in Natalie's fatal overdose had not been documented in her treatment history.
Its presence alone did not prove another person administered it.
But combined with the new evidence, it justified further investigation.
A second search uncovered material associated with the same substance in a locked storage cabinet linked to Daniel's properties.
When Reed told me, I felt no triumph.
Only dread.
"Could Daniel have given it to her?"
"That's one hypothesis being examined."
"Could Evelyn?"
"That's also under investigation."
I stared at my hands.
"Did Natalie suffer?"
Reed looked genuinely pained.
"Emily, I don't have an answer I can responsibly give you."
I nodded.
I preferred that to a comforting lie.
Rachel came home that evening carrying a grocery bag.
She set it on the counter.
"Emergency supplies."
I looked inside.
Ice cream.
Chocolate cookies.
A bag of sourdough rolls.
And a ridiculous pair of socks covered in cartoon ducks.
I held them up.
"Why ducks?"
"Because the serious socks were sold out."
I laughed.
Then I started crying.
Rachel put down the bag.
"Oh, Em."
I pressed the socks against my face.
"I'm so tired."
"I know."
"I'm tired of wondering what he did."
"I know."
"I'm tired of remembering things."
She held me.
"And I'm tired of feeling like Natalie is waiting for me to fix something I can't fix."
Rachel waited until I could breathe.
Then she said, "Natalie left evidence because she wanted the truth found."
I nodded.
"You helped the truth get heard."
"But she's dead."
"Yes."
The word hurt.
Rachel didn't soften it.
"She's dead. And that is terrible."
She touched my cheek.
"But you don't honor her by punishing yourself for surviving."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, I allowed myself to believe that might be true.
The following week, Evelyn Ross requested an interview with investigators through her attorney.
She had previously provided limited information.
Now she wanted to discuss the events surrounding Natalie's final evening.
According to the account later disclosed in court proceedings, Evelyn admitted that Daniel called her after a confrontation with Natalie.
She said he sounded panicked.
When she arrived, Natalie was unconscious.
Evelyn acknowledged that she did not immediately call emergency services.
She claimed Daniel told her he had already arranged help.
Investigators examined the timeline.
Her account left significant questions unanswered.
When I learned what she had said, I felt sick.
Evelyn had been one of the women Daniel used to convince donors that Mercer House was compassionate.
She had spoken at conferences about protecting vulnerable people.
Yet when a woman needed help, she had apparently allowed Daniel to control what happened next.
I asked Reed why she was speaking now.
He looked exhausted.
"People sometimes become more cooperative when evidence challenges their earlier accounts."
"Is she telling the truth?"
"We're testing it."
"What does Daniel say?"
"His attorney maintains that he denies criminal responsibility."
I looked toward the window.
Then Reed said something unexpected.
"Emily, Evelyn also wants to speak about what happened to you."
I turned.
"Me?"
"She says she witnessed an incident at your house."
My stomach tightened.
"When?"
"Two years ago."
I tried to remember.
There had been so many dinners.
So many arguments.
So many mornings spent covering bruises.
"What incident?"
Reed checked his notes.
"She says Daniel pushed you down the basement stairs."
I shook my head.
"No."
He waited.
"I fell."
I heard myself say it.
The old explanation.
The one Daniel had repeated until it became my memory.
I swallowed.
"I remember falling."
Reed spoke quietly.
"Do you remember what happened immediately before?"
I closed my eyes.
The basement.
A basket of laundry.
Daniel behind me.
A sharp argument.
His hand on my shoulder.
Then darkness.
I opened my eyes.
"No."
Reed nodded.
"That's all right."
I shook my head again.
"No. It's not."
I looked at him.
"Evelyn was there?"
"She says she arrived shortly afterward."
I felt the familiar confusion rising.
Then Reed continued.
"Emily, we recovered a video from the house's monitoring system."
I froze.
"It captured part of that incident."
I stared at him.
"What does it show?"
He took a breath.
"It appears to show Daniel pushing you."
My stomach dropped.
For two years, I had believed I had fallen down those stairs because I was careless.
I had blamed myself for the concussion.
For the hospital bill.
For the weeks I spent struggling with headaches and memory problems.
Now Daniel's own camera had preserved the moment he injured me.
And he had spent every day afterward telling me it was my fault.
I covered my mouth.
Reed waited.
Then I whispered, "He knew."
"Yes."
"He knew I didn't fall."
Reed nodded.
"And he let me believe it."
My voice broke.
"He watched me apologize for it."
That night, I wrote a letter.
Not to Daniel.
Not to the police.
To the woman I had been two years earlier.
I wrote it in the little bedroom with the lock I controlled.
Dear Emily,
You didn't fall because you were careless.
You didn't deserve to be hurt.
And you weren't foolish for believing the person who kept telling you he loved you.
I stopped.
Then I added one more line.
One day, you're going to find out the truth.
I folded the page.
Placed it beside my bed.
And slept for six hours without waking.
The following morning, Reed called.
"Emily, there's been a development."
I sat up.
"What?"
"Prosecutors have obtained additional evidence relevant to the allegations surrounding Natalie's death."
"Does it prove what happened?"
"It substantially strengthens the case."
My heart pounded.
"Are they charging Daniel?"
"A charging decision is being made."
I gripped the phone.
Then Reed said, "There is another issue we need to discuss."
"What?"
"Martin has identified a person who assisted Daniel in obtaining access to confidential client information."
"Who?"
Reed paused.
"Someone outside Mercer House."
I waited.
"Who?"
"A former city employee who later became a private consultant."
I frowned.
"Do I know him?"
"Possibly."
"What's his name?"
"Peter Walsh."
The name struck me immediately.
Peter had attended our Christmas parties for years.
He had given Daniel advice on security.
He had installed the first cameras in our house.
And he had once offered to help me find a missing bracelet.
I whispered, "He was in our bedroom."
Reed went quiet.
"When?"
"Two months ago."
"What was he doing?"
"Daniel said the alarm system needed repairs."
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
Then I remembered something worse.
Peter had given me a little white envelope.
He said it contained replacement security codes.
I had put it in my purse.
Later that evening, Daniel took it.
I stared at the wall.
"Reed."
"Yes?"
"Peter didn't just install cameras."
"What makes you say that?"
I swallowed.
"He told Daniel he could recover deleted footage from the house."
Reed's voice sharpened.
"When?"
"After I threatened to leave last year."
A pause.
Then he asked, "Emily, did Peter ever tell you why he had that capability?"
I shut my eyes.
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
I could hear Peter's cheerful voice.
Don't worry, Mrs. Mercer. Mr. Mercer likes to keep everything.
I opened my eyes.
"He said Daniel never deleted anything."
Reed was silent.
Then he asked one final question.
"Emily, do you remember where Peter stored the backups?"
I looked at the window.
And remembered a small silver case in Daniel's home office.
Three external hard drives.
Each labeled with a year.
"I think I do."
May you like
Reed took down the details.
And by the next afternoon, investigators were looking for the archive that Daniel had believed nobody would ever find.
