Chapter 9: My Father's Last Bargain
I couldn't stop looking at the photograph.
My father was unmistakable.
The silver hair. The broad shoulders. The wedding ring he wore even after my mother died.
He sat beside a hospital bed, his hand wrapped around a woman's fingers.
The woman's face was hidden by her hair, but I recognized the bracelet on her wrist.
Renee had worn it for years.
A simple silver chain with a tiny heart charm.
I had bought it for her on our fifth anniversary.
The photograph had been taken after the accident.
My father had known she was alive.
And he had kept that knowledge from me.
David watched me carefully.
“Marcus, we need to consider that this photograph could have been staged or misrepresented. We shouldn't assume the note is true without verification.””
I nodded, but the words barely registered.
My father had been the most honest man I had ever known.
He had taught me that a man's word was worth more than his possessions. He had once returned an envelope containing several thousand dollars to a customer who had accidentally left it on his workbench.
He had refused to lie even when the truth cost him money.
Why would he hide my wife?
Why would he let me believe she was dead?
And why would he leave a message suggesting that he had made a deal to keep her hidden?
I looked toward the trees where Renee had disappeared.
“Can we search the area?””
The officer shook his head.
“Not without following the appropriate procedures. We've already reported the possible sighting, and the authorities can coordinate a search if necessary.””
I hated the answer.
But I understood it.
I had spent the last eight years grieving a woman I believed was dead. I wasn't going to risk making a reckless decision now that there was a chance she was alive.
We returned to David's office with the evidence.
The USB drive was secured for examination, and the letters were scanned and cataloged.
Then David called the number listed for Patricia Wells.
It had been disconnected.
He tried a second directory.
Nothing.
Finally, he found a professional registration record listing a Patricia Wells who had worked at St. Agnes Medical Center eight years earlier.
She had retired shortly after Renee's accident.
Her last known address was in a small town about an hour away.
“We'll need to approach her carefully,” David said.
“If she was involved in a confidential medical matter, we can't demand that she disclose protected information. But we can ask whether she's willing to speak with us and provide relevant evidence to the authorities.””
“I want to go now.””
“Marcus, you need to understand that she may refuse.””
“Then I'll ask her again.””
David sighed.
“I'll arrange an appointment through the proper channels.””
While he made calls, I sat alone in his conference room and opened the notebook again.
Several entries were difficult to read. My father's handwriting had grown shaky toward the end of his life.
But one page contained a list of dates and amounts.
The earliest entry was from the month before my wedding.
The latest was from two weeks before my father died.
Beside several transactions, he had written the initials D.R.
Daniel Reeves.
Other entries referred to a company I didn't recognize.
*Northbridge Holdings.*
The name appeared beside payments described as consulting fees, trust administration, and legal expenses.
I photographed the page.
Then I noticed a line written in the margin.
*Do not let Marcus sign the final release.*
I read it again.
The final release.
I had never signed a release.
At least, I didn't think I had.
I called my mother at the hospital.
She answered after several rings, her voice weak but warm.
“Marcus? Is everything all right?””
I sat down.
“Mom, I need to ask you something about Dad.””
She went quiet.
“What about him?””
“Did he ever tell you he had created a trust connected to the workshop?””
A long silence followed.
Then she sighed.
“Yes.””
I closed my eyes.
“You knew?””
“Your father asked me not to discuss it unless you came to me with questions.””
“Why?””
“Because he believed someone was trying to use your name to gain control of the property.””
I gripped the phone.
“Was it Daniel?””
“I don't know his name, sweetheart. Your father never told me everything. But he was frightened.””
“Did Dad know Renee was alive?””
My mother stopped breathing for a moment.
I heard a faint rustle on the other end of the line.
“Mom?””
She began to cry.
“Oh, Marcus.””
I stood.
“You knew too?””
“Not at first.””
“When did you find out?””
“Your father came to see me one night after the accident. He told me Renee had survived, but that she was in danger.””
I pressed a hand against my forehead.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because he begged me not to. He said if you knew, you would try to find her, and that would put you and the children at risk.””
“What kind of danger?””
“He wouldn't explain. He said there were people who wanted something from your father, and Renee had discovered their plans.””
I paced across the room.
“Mom, I buried my wife.””
“I know.””
“I spent eight years believing she was dead.””
“I know, baby.””
“Why would Dad let me suffer like that?””
Her voice broke.
“He believed it was the only way to keep you alive.””
I stopped pacing.
“What?””
“He told me that if Daniel believed you knew Renee was alive, he would use you to reach her. Your father said he had already tried to confront Daniel, and that things had become dangerous.””
I looked at the notebook.
The forged authorization.
The trust.
The payments.
The letter Renee had written.
“Did Dad make a deal with Daniel?””
My mother hesitated.
“I don't know the details.””
“Did he give Daniel money?””
“I don't know.””
“Did he sign anything?””
“I don't know, Marcus. Your father was sick. He was afraid. He asked me to trust him, and I did.””
I leaned against the wall.
For years, I had thought my father died peacefully, surrounded by family, having done everything he could to prepare us for life without him.
Now I wondered whether he had spent his final months trapped in a battle he couldn't explain.
“Mom,” I said softly, “did you attend Renee's funeral?””
“Yes.””
“Did you see her body?””
She went silent.
“Mom?””
“No.””
My stomach dropped.
“The funeral director told us the casket would remain closed because of the injuries. Your father insisted that we respect the arrangement.””
I felt dizzy.
“Did Dad know there was no body?””
“I don't know.””
I ended the call only after promising to visit her the following morning.
Then I sat in silence.
Every memory had become suspect.
The funeral.
The paperwork.
Daniel's disappearance.
My father's final days.
Even the story I had told my children about their mother.
At three in the afternoon, David returned with an update.
“We found Patricia Wells.””
“Will she speak to us?””
“She has agreed to meet, but she wants a representative present. She's understandably concerned about her privacy and possible legal implications.””
“When?””
“Tomorrow morning.””
I nodded.
“Good.””
He placed a printed document on the table.
“We also obtained preliminary information about Northbridge Holdings. The company was registered shortly before your father's death. Its records list Daniel Reeves as a director.””
I stared at the page.
“Was it connected to the trust?””
“We don't know yet. But the dates overlap.””
David paused.
“There is another issue. A document was filed several years ago that appears to transfer certain rights associated with the trust. The signature resembles yours.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Another forged signature?””
“Possibly. We need a handwriting expert and the original document before making that claim.””
“What does the document transfer?””
He looked at me.
“Authority to manage the trust's assets.””
“To whom?””
David turned the page.
The name was printed in black letters.
*Renee Carter.*
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
My wife had supposedly died before the document was filed.
Yet someone had transferred authority into her name.
“Could Daniel have forged this too?””
“Yes. But there is another possibility. If Renee was alive, she may have signed it herself.””
I stared at the paper.
If she had signed it, why hadn't she come home?
Why had she hidden from me?
Why had she allowed our children to grow up believing their mother was dead?
And why had my father helped conceal her?
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
*Patricia will tell you the truth about the hospital. But she won't tell you why your father agreed to the deal.*
I showed David.
He immediately forwarded the message to the investigator handling the case.
Then another message appeared.
*Ask your mother what happened to the insurance money after Renee's funeral.*
I looked at the screen.
The insurance money.
After Renee's death, I had received a payment from her life insurance policy. I had used most of it to cover expenses, support the children, and pay off debts from the funeral and medical bills.
I remembered Daniel telling me he would help manage the paperwork because I was too devastated to deal with it.
I had trusted him.
I had signed what he placed in front of me.
What if the insurance money had never been paid because Renee was still alive?
What if the money had come from somewhere else?
I called the insurance company.
After verifying my identity, I asked for the original claim records.
The representative said they would need to review the archive and send the documents through the proper process.
Then she asked me a question.
“Mr. Carter, are you referring to the policy issued in Renee Carter's name, or the separate policy that listed you as the beneficiary?””
I froze.
“Separate policy?””
“Yes, sir. Our records show two policies associated with the same period.””
“How much was the second policy worth?””
She paused.
“Two million dollars.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Who filed the claim?””
The representative read the name.
It wasn't mine.
It wasn't Renee's.
It was Daniel Reeves.
I ended the call and sat motionless.
David slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite me.
“Marcus, I think we need to prepare for the possibility that this is much bigger than the trust.””
I stared at the name on my phone.
Daniel had been my best friend.
He had stood beside me at my wedding.
He had held me at my wife's funeral.
He had watched me raise two children while believing their mother was gone.
And somewhere along the way, he had become the person I was now trying to protect them from.
I looked at the photograph of my father beside Renee's hospital bed.
For the first time, I noticed a small detail in the background.
A wall clock.
The time was 11:42 p.m.
The date printed beneath the photograph was the night Renee supposedly died.
My father hadn't been visiting a hospital after her death.
He had been there during the night of the accident.
And he had been holding her hand.
My phone rang.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered, “Marcus? My name is Patricia Wells. We need to meet somewhere private before tomorrow morning.””
I sat upright.
“Why? We already arranged to meet.””
“Because I just learned Daniel knows I'm talking to you.””
A door slammed on her end.
She gasped.
Then she whispered five words that made my blood run cold.
May you like
“Your father wasn't the only one who made a deal.””
The line went dead.
