Chapter 6 - The Letter Hannah Never Sent
Nathan held the envelope for almost a full minute before opening it.
He recognized the way Hannah wrote his name.
The oversized N.
The tiny curve beneath the final letter.
The little flourish she always added when she was trying to make him smile.
His hands began shaking.
Claire sat beside him.
Detective Bennett remained across the table.
No one spoke.
Nathan unfolded the paper.
My love,
If you're reading this, something has gone terribly wrong.
He stopped.
His throat closed.
He could almost hear Hannah's voice.
Soft.
Warm.
A little impatient when she thought someone was being foolish.
He forced himself to continue.
I hope this letter never reaches you.
I hope I get to come home and laugh about how dramatic I'm being.
But I need you to know that I wasn't imagining things.
Your mother has been moving money from the children's foundation for years.
She has been using people who depend on her to cover it up.
And I believe she has started planning something against me.
Nathan pressed the page against the table.
He remembered their last argument.
Hannah had begged him to review several foundation accounts.
He had refused.
"She's my mother, Hannah."
"And I'm your wife."
"You're accusing her of a crime."
"I'm asking you to look."
"Why can't you let this go?"
Hannah's face had changed.
Not with anger.
With disappointment.
"If you won't listen to me, Nathan, who will?"
He had spent eight years remembering that conversation.
He had convinced himself that she would have forgiven him.
Now he understood that forgiveness wasn't the question.
He had failed to listen when she needed him most.
He continued reading.
The documents are not all in this box.
I couldn't risk keeping everything together.
Marianne knows part of what happened.
There's also a man named Silas Mercer.
He works for the foundation.
He knows where the money went.
Please don't confront your mother alone.
And please, Nathan, don't let her make you doubt what you know is true.
At the bottom, Hannah had added one final sentence.
One more thing. I think we're going to have a baby.
Nathan covered his mouth.
A sound escaped him.
Half sob.
Half gasp.
Claire quietly slid a box of tissues toward him.
He stared at the words.
A baby.
A child he would never meet.
Another future stolen.
He bent forward and cried.
For eight years, grief had been a locked room inside him.
Now the door had opened.
And behind it was not only loss.
There was rage.
When he finally lifted his head, Bennett spoke gently.
"We can stop."
Nathan shook his head.
"No."
He wiped his face.
"Keep going."
They examined the notebook.
Hannah had written dates, names, amounts, and questions.
Some entries were ordinary.
Appointments.
Grocery lists.
Reminders to call her sister.
Others were disturbing.
April 14: Silvercrest received $2.1 million from foundation.
April 18: Mercer refuses to explain.
May 2: E.V. says family loyalty comes before the law.
May 11: Check lake equipment.
May 12: Orange vest replaced.
Nathan stared at the final entry.
"May twelfth."
Bennett looked up.
"Is that significant?"
"My wife died May thirteenth."
The room went quiet.
He pointed to the words.
"She knew something was wrong with the vest."
Bennett leaned forward.
"Possibly. But we need the context."
Nathan turned the page.
There was only one more entry.
Don't trust the spare.
Claire frowned.
"The spare what?"
Nathan shook his head.
"I don't know."
Bennett photographed the notebook.
"Was there a second vest at the lake house?"
Nathan closed his eyes.
He tried to remember.
The dock.
The towels.
The orange vest hanging beside a storage cabinet.
His mother telling Hannah that the old vest had been replaced because the straps were worn.
The water had been rough that afternoon.
Nathan had gone into town for groceries.
When he returned, emergency vehicles filled the driveway.
He remembered running toward the lake.
Someone had tried to stop him.
He remembered his mother crying.
And Hannah lying motionless beneath a silver emergency blanket.
A memory struck him.
"There was another vest."
Bennett waited.
"My mother said the first one was defective."
"Did anyone preserve it?"
"The police took the vest Hannah was wearing."
"What happened to the original?"
Nathan shook his head.
"I don't know."
Bennett marked the question in her notebook.
The trunk contained several more items.
A small digital recorder.
Two old flash drives.
And a photograph of Hannah standing beside Marianne Cole.
Behind them was Silas Mercer.
Nathan recognized him immediately.
Silas was sixty-two now.
He had served as the foundation's chief financial officer for nearly twenty years.
He attended every major family event.
He brought expensive birthday presents.
He called Eleanor "the most remarkable woman in California."
Nathan had never liked him.
But he had never imagined that Silas might be connected to Hannah's death.
Investigators made forensic copies of the storage devices.
One flash drive contained ordinary photographs.
The second was encrypted.
The recorder held three audio files.
Two were incomplete conversations about financial transfers.
The third began with Hannah's voice.
"Silas, I know about Silvercrest."
A man's voice responded.
"You should stop asking questions."
"Where did the money go?"
"That's not your concern."
"It's a children's charity."
"Hannah, listen to me."
"No. You listen."
Paper rustled.
Then Hannah spoke again.
"Your name is on the approval forms."
A long pause.
Silas sounded frightened.
"You don't understand what Eleanor can do."
"Then tell me."
"She doesn't forgive people."
Hannah's voice hardened.
"Neither do I."
The recording ended abruptly.
Nathan stared at the device.
"That's it?"
Bennett nodded.
"That file ends there."
He stood.
"We need to find Silas."
Price, who had joined the meeting, exchanged a look with Bennett.
"We're already trying."
Nathan frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Price opened a folder.
"Silas Mercer disappeared yesterday."
Nathan felt another wave of dread.
"Disappeared how?"
"He left his residence without his phone. His vehicle was found at a long-term parking facility."
"Could he be running?"
"Possibly."
"And possibly something worse."
Price didn't answer.
Nathan thought about Marianne's warning.
Don't come through the front gate.
His mother has people waiting.
"Did Marianne know where he was?"
"We're attempting to locate her safely."
Nathan looked down at Hannah's photograph.
The woman in it was smiling.
She had no idea that eight years later, her husband would be holding the proof that she had been afraid for her life.
He picked up the recorder again.
"There's a reason she hid this."
Bennett nodded.
"And we intend to find out."
Then one of the forensic technicians appeared in the doorway.
"Detective?"
Bennett turned.
"What is it?"
"We recovered a deleted file from the recorder."
Nathan stood.
"What file?"
The technician hesitated.
"It's another conversation."
"Between Hannah and Silas?"
"No."
He looked at Nathan.
"Between Hannah and your mother."
Bennett motioned for him to continue.
The technician held up his tablet.
"The first clear sentence is from Eleanor Vale."
Nathan felt his heartbeat in his throat.
"What does she say?"
The technician looked down.
May you like
Then read:
"I already buried one person who threatened this family. Don't make me bury another."
