Chapter 3: The Lie Beneath the Funeral
I didn't open the door immediately.
I stood in the hallway with Rachel's photograph trembling in my hand, staring at Mark as though the man I'd known for twelve years had suddenly become a stranger.
“You told me you never met Adrian Cole,” I said.
Mark shook his head quickly.
“I never said that.””
“You said you didn't know who he was.””
“I said he was an investigator. I never said we'd never met.””
“You let me believe my wife had been hiding things from me while you sat at her funeral and told everyone how much you loved her.””
His face twisted.
“I did love Rachel.””
“Then why does every answer you give me create three more questions?””
Another knock sounded downstairs.
“Mr. Dawson?”” the woman called again.
“I need to speak with you about Ava.””
I moved toward the stairs.
Mark grabbed my arm.
“Don't let her in.””
I turned on him.
“She's a federal agent.””
“That's what she wants you to believe.””
I shoved his hand away.
“I'm done listening to you.””
I descended the stairs and opened the front door.
A woman in her late thirties stood on the porch, wearing a charcoal coat over a dark suit. Her hair was pulled back, and a badge hung from her belt.
“Daniel Dawson?”” she asked.
“Yes.””
“Special Agent Rebecca Morgan, FBI.”” She held up her credentials.
“May I come in?””
I stepped aside.
She entered, looked briefly at Mark, and then returned her attention to me.
“Have you received any contact from the people who took your daughter?””
I nodded and showed her the messages.
She read them without speaking. When she reached the photograph of Ava in the SUV, her expression hardened.
“How long ago was this sent?””
“Twenty minutes.””
“Have you contacted local police?””
“No. They told me not to involve anyone.””
Agent Morgan looked toward Mark.
“Did they tell you not to involve him, too?””
I followed her gaze.
Mark's hands were clenched at his sides.
“Who are you?”” he demanded.
Morgan took a step toward him.
“Someone who has spent three years trying to understand why your company keeps appearing in financial investigations connected to organized crime.””
Mark laughed sharply.
“This is ridiculous.””
“Is it?”” She opened a folder.
“Then perhaps you can explain why a shell company registered to your brother received $2.4 million from an account connected to Thomas Reed.””
Mark went silent.
I turned toward him.
“Your brother?””
“My brother died five years ago,” Mark said.
“The company was registered four years ago,” Morgan replied.
“That proves nothing.””
“No,” she said.
“But the three accounts it paid afterward are interesting. One belongs to a man currently under investigation for witness intimidation. Another was used to rent the SUV that took Ava tonight.””
My stomach dropped.
“You know where she is?””
“We have a possible location. We're working to confirm it.””
“Then send someone there!””
“We're doing that.””
“She's seventeen!””
“I understand.””
“No, you don't.”” My voice cracked.
“She's the only thing I have left of my wife.””
For the first time, Morgan's professional expression softened.
“I know Rachel's death was ruled a medical complication. I also know the original hospital records were altered.””
The room went completely still.
Mark looked at the agent.
“How did you get those records?””
“From a nurse who contacted our office last month.””
I gripped the back of a chair.
“What did the records say?””
Morgan opened the folder again.
“Your wife was admitted with complications consistent with her illness. But a medication was administered that wasn't on her treatment plan. The dosage was significantly higher than the standard amount.””
I felt the floor tilt beneath me.
“Are you saying someone poisoned my wife?””
“I'm saying the circumstances deserve another investigation.””
Mark stepped forward.
“Rebecca, you need to stop.””
She turned toward him.
“You know my first name?””
He froze.
Morgan's eyes narrowed.
“Interesting.””
Mark recovered quickly.
“We met at a charity event. Years ago.””
“I've never attended one of your charity events.””
For the first time, I saw real fear in Mark's face.
Agent Morgan closed her folder.
“Daniel, I need you to tell me everything you know about Rachel's final days. Every conversation, every visitor, every unusual event.””
I thought about the cedar chest. The journal. The bracelet.
And the photograph.
“Rachel wrote a name in her journal,” I said.
“Adrian Cole.””
Morgan's expression changed so abruptly that I noticed.
“Where did you hear that name?””
“Who is he?””
She glanced at Mark before answering.
“Adrian Cole was an FBI financial crimes investigator. He went missing three years ago after reporting evidence of corruption inside a joint federal task force.””
“Is he alive?””
“We don't know.””
“Then why did he call me tonight?””
Morgan stared at me.
“He called you?””
I nodded and played the recording of the brief conversation. My phone had automatically saved it.
When Adrian's voice said, Rachel didn't die from cancer complications, Morgan stopped the playback.
“Did he say anything else?””
“He said Mark was the reason she was dead.””
Morgan looked at Mark.
“Is that true?””
Mark's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
I stepped toward him.
“Answer her.””
He looked at me with an expression so exhausted that, for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then he spoke.
“I didn't kill Rachel.””
Nobody moved.
“I swear to God, Daniel. I didn't kill her.””
“That's not what I asked.””
Mark lowered his eyes.
“I knew she was in danger. I knew someone was watching her. I tried to convince her to leave town, but she wouldn't go without Ava.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was threatened.””
“So was my daughter!””
His head snapped up.
“I know!””
The shout echoed through the house.
For a second, none of us spoke.
Then Mark's voice dropped.
“They told me they'd kill Ava if I told you what Rachel had found. They said they'd make it look like an accident, just like they did with Rachel.””
I stared at him.
“You expect me to believe you stayed silent for three years to protect my daughter?””
“No,” he whispered.
“I expect you to hate me for it.””
Agent Morgan moved between us.
“Mr. Ellison, I need you to come with me.””
Mark shook his head.
“I can't.””
“You're not being asked.””
He backed toward the kitchen.
“Daniel, listen to me. Whatever Adrian tells you, don't hand over Rachel's original files. That's what they want. That's why they took Ava.””
“What files?””
Mark looked at the staircase.
“The files Rachel hid before she died.””
I felt a cold shiver crawl up my spine.
“You told me you didn't know where they were.””
“I don't.””
“Then how do you know they exist?””
He didn't answer.
Agent Morgan reached for her handcuffs.
Mark suddenly pulled a small black device from his pocket and crushed it beneath his shoe.
Morgan shouted, “Don't move!””
He bolted through the kitchen.
I heard a chair crash, the back door slam, and Morgan's footsteps pounding after him.
By the time I reached the yard, Mark was gone.
A black sedan sat at the end of the alley with its headlights off.
Its engine started as I emerged.
The driver lowered his window.
It was the scarred man from the SUV.
He looked directly at me and smiled.
Then he raised two fingers to his temple in a mocking salute and drove away.
Morgan returned moments later, breathing hard.
“He had a tracker,” she said.
“Or a communication device. We need to assume someone has been monitoring this house.””
My phone vibrated.
An incoming video call.
Ava.
I answered so quickly I nearly dropped the phone.
Her face filled the screen. She was sitting in a dim room, her hair tangled, a bruise forming along her cheekbone.
“Dad?””
“Baby, are you hurt? Where are you?””
“I'm okay,” she whispered.
“Listen to me. You have to find Mom's bracelet.””
“I will. I promise.””
“No, Dad. You don't understand.”” Her eyes darted toward something offscreen.
“The bracelet isn't the key. It's what's hidden inside it.””
I leaned closer.
“What did your mother hide?””
Ava began to cry.
“Dad, the man who took me said if you find it, you'll finally know who killed Mom.””
A door opened behind her.
She looked over her shoulder.
Then she whispered the words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
“Dad, he says you were there that night.””
The screen went black.
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
I turned to Agent Morgan.
“What did she mean?””
Morgan's face had gone pale.
“Daniel,” she said carefully, “where were you on the night your wife died?””
I stared at her.
“At home. I was home with Rachel.””
Morgan slowly opened her folder and removed a printed photograph.
It showed me standing outside the hospital at 11:43 p.m. on the night Rachel died.
My hand was wrapped around a small glass bottle.
I had no memory of the photograph.
No memory of the bottle.
And no memory of leaving the hospital that night.
Morgan placed the photograph on the table.
May you like
Then she asked the question I had spent three years believing I would never have to answer.
“Daniel, why does the hospital security footage show you entering your wife's room seventeen minutes before she died—with a syringe in your hand?””
