Chapter 12 - The Dead Man's Voice
Police did not release Gideon Shaw's arrest immediately.
Officially, this was to protect the investigation.
Unofficially, we wanted to see who panicked.
The answer came quickly.
Within twelve hours, three former Mercer Capital executives boarded international flights.
Two were stopped.
One disappeared.
A retired judge emptied a storage unit outside Cambridge.
An accountant burned documents behind his home.
And someone attempted to enter Blackwood House through the old service road at 4:03 a.m.
The intruder escaped.
Security cameras captured only a shadowed figure.
Tall.
Older.
Walking with a slight limp.
Bianca watched the footage beside me.
"Dad injured his left knee skiing when we were kids."
I remembered.
"He limped in cold weather."
Neither of us said the obvious thing.
The possibility was too absurd.
Thomas Mercer had been declared dead six years earlier.
Hospital records existed.
A death certificate existed.
A funeral existed.
But our family had already proven documents could be manufactured and funerals could be staged.
Mom refused to say she believed Thomas was alive.
She also refused to say he wasn't.
That frightened me more.
Evelyn was moved to a secure medical facility under police protection.
I stayed nearby.
The first night after Gideon's arrest, she woke screaming.
I found her sitting upright, staring at the floor.
"I heard footsteps."
"There aren't any."
"I know."
Her breathing remained shallow.
I sat on the chair.
She looked at me.
"Don't touch me yet."
"Okay."
I waited.
After a minute, she reached for my hand.
That small act carried more trust than any declaration of love.
"I don't know who I am outside that room," she said.
"You don't need to know tonight."
"Everyone wants statements.
Timelines.
Details."
"They can wait."
"I lost three years."
I had no comforting lie.
"Yes."
"You lost them too."
"Not the way you did."
She looked at me.
"Still lost."
I nodded.
"Still lost."
She leaned back.
"Do you still love me?"
The question terrified me because it deserved honesty, not romance.
"Yes."
Tears filled her eyes.
"But?"
"But neither of us is who we were that morning."
She nodded.
"Good answer."
"Doesn't feel good."
"Truth usually doesn't in this family."
The next morning, Detective Chen arrived with audio equipment.
She had isolated part of a recording from Evelyn's hidden chamber.
Police had found a tiny battery-powered microphone embedded in the wall.
Someone had monitored her.
The device's storage contained fragments.
Footsteps.
Door sounds.
Evelyn crying.
Bianca bringing supplies.
And one male voice.
Chen played it.
"You remember where the archive is."
Evelyn's recorded voice answered.
"I never knew."
"You're lying."
"I don't know you."
A pause.
Then the man said:
"You almost did."
My skin prickled.
Something about the voice.
Distorted.
Older.
But familiar.
Chen watched me.
"Recognize it?"
"No."
Evelyn squeezed my hand.
"Listen to the next part."
The recording continued.
The man coughed.
Twice.
Then said, "Your wedding should have been beautiful."
I stood.
That phrase.
My father used it constantly when planning the ceremony.
Your wedding should be beautiful.
He had said it to me during one of our last dinners before he died.
But thousands of people could say the same words.
I refused to accept familiarity as proof.
Chen handed me headphones.
"We ran comparison software."
"Against what?"
"Your father's archived interviews."
My stomach turned.
"Result?"
"Not conclusive.
But similarity is high."
Evelyn whispered, "I told you."
"What?"
"Six months ago, when he started coming, he knew things about you.
Things Bianca never told me."
"Like what?"
"The scar on your right hand."
I looked down.
A thin line crossed my palm.
I got it at fourteen breaking a window during an argument with Dad.
Only family knew.
"He said you always clenched that hand when you were angry."
I stared at my fingers.
They were clenched now.
Chen continued.
"We're exhuming Thomas Mercer's remains."
Bianca arrived before noon.
When Chen told her, she laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sanity had become optional.
"If the coffin is empty, I'm leaving Massachusetts forever."
"It might not be empty," I said.
"That's supposed to comfort me?"
Mom joined us later.
She heard the recording once.
Then asked to hear it again.
By the third playback, she was crying.
"That's Thomas."
"Are you sure?" Chen asked.
"Yes."
My chest tightened.
"Then how?"
Mom looked toward me.
"I told you Thomas planned for everything."
"But why fake his death?"
"Gideon."
Of course.
The two men had spent decades circling each other.
"What happened six years ago?"
Mom took a slow breath.
"I contacted Thomas."
Bianca stared.
"What?"
"I had learned Gideon planned to take control of Mercer Capital.
I warned Thomas."
"After twenty years of hiding, you called him?"
"He was still your father."
"Apparently not mine," Bianca said.
Mom flinched.
"I'm sorry."
"Keep going."
"Thomas said he wanted to end it.
Expose Gideon.
Then he disappeared."
"We were told he died."
"I assumed Gideon killed him."
Bianca whispered, "I thought I did."
We all looked at her.
"If Dad survived the fall in my apartment..."
Her voice faded.
A horrifying possibility formed.
Marcus.
The cover-up.
The hospital.
The death certificate.
Maybe Bianca had not killed Thomas.
Maybe Thomas had used the accident as opportunity.
Detective Chen's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then looked directly at us.
"They opened the grave."
No one moved.
"And?"
Chen's face was unreadable.
"The coffin contains a body."
Bianca exhaled.
I almost did too.
May you like
Then Chen continued.
"It's not Thomas Mercer."
