PART 8 — THE RETREAT WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
The sentence stayed in my head the entire drive.
She doesn’t know Coleman brought a gun.
Police vehicles raced ahead of us toward Pickwick Lake.
Rebecca drove again.
Emily sat beside me in the back seat this time, one hand pressed against the bandage near her temple.
Russell had been taken to the hospital under guard.
Wayne was still in custody.
Margaret was waiting at First County Bank.
And somewhere ahead of us, at an abandoned church retreat camp I had spent forty-one years trying not to remember, Grace was standing with two men who had helped destroy my life.
One of them might have been my father.
The other had spent decades making sure I forgot what happened.
“Linda.”
Rebecca’s voice pulled me back.
“What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Emily looked at me.
“She’s right.”
I almost laughed.
“I found out today that I gave birth to at least three children I never knew I had. I discovered my mother hid one daughter nearby, another was sent through an illegal maternity home, and the third may have spent half her life running from the people who covered it up. I think shaking is allowed.”
Rebecca’s eyes softened in the rearview mirror.
“Yes.”
Emily leaned closer.
“But you don’t have to walk into that camp.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Police can bring Grace out.”
“Maybe.”
“They can arrest Coleman.”
“Maybe.”
“And Robert Mercer.”
I looked toward the black road outside.
That name hurt differently.
Robert.
Dad.
The man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who packed my lunch every Friday because Mama worked early shifts.
The man who supposedly died when I was fourteen.
Could that entire death have been staged?
Could everyone have lied?
“You still think Daniel might be wrong,” Emily said.
“Yes.”
“You hope he’s wrong.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I would too.”
Rebecca turned onto the narrow road leading to the old retreat.
The police convoy ahead slowed.
A wooden sign appeared in the headlights.
CEDAR RIDGE CHRISTIAN RETREAT.
CLOSED.
The letters were faded.
The gate hung open.
My stomach twisted.
I remembered that gate.
Teenagers piling out of buses.
Coleman carrying guitar cases.
Pastor Nathaniel Cole laughing beside the fire pit.
Sarah Collins sitting beside me with a red ribbon tied around her ponytail.
Then another memory.
A man standing beyond the cabins.
Older.
Watching.
My hands tightened.
“Stop.”
Rebecca hit the brakes.
“What?”
“Just stop.”
Police behind us slowed.
I stared through the windshield.
The memory sharpened.
A green Buick.
Parked near the maintenance shed.
The same green Buick I had remembered earlier.
I had assumed it belonged to Coleman.
But now I saw someone else standing beside it.
A man with gray beginning at his temples.
Robert Mercer.
My father.
Alive.
Two years after his funeral.
I whispered, “He was here.”
Emily leaned forward.
“Who?”
“Robert.”
“You remember him?”
“A piece.”
Rebecca put the car in park.
“What happened?”
“I saw him.”
“At the retreat?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I closed my eyes.
The night air.
Bonfire smoke.
Someone calling my name.
Linda.
Come here.
I remembered following him because I believed it was impossible.
Dad?
He had smiled.
Not warmly.
Nervously.
Then he had said, You cannot tell your mother you saw me.
My eyes opened.
“Oh God.”
Rebecca turned fully around.
“What?”
“He told me he was in witness protection.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
“That’s what he told me.”
The memory kept coming.
He said bad men had threatened him.
He said his death had been staged to keep us safe.
He said Mama knew nothing because she would not have been able to keep the secret.
Rebecca whispered, “Did you believe him?”
“I was sixteen.”
“You said you were seventeen at the accident.”
“The retreat was the year before.”
The timeline shifted.
If the retreat was 1984, maybe the abuse did not happen once.
Maybe it started earlier.
A police officer knocked on the glass.
“We need you moving. Stay behind us.”
Rebecca started the car again.
The camp appeared through the trees.
Cabins.
Dining hall.
An old chapel.
Everything looked smaller than memory.
But the lodge at the far end was lit.
One yellow light burned upstairs.
Police stopped fifty yards away.
The detective from Emily’s house came to us.
“Stay in the car.”
I shook my head.
“Linda.”
“Grace is in there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Daniel said she is.”
“We’re confirming.”
A radio crackled.
Then another officer ran over.
“Three heat signatures in the main lodge.”
My heart jumped.
Three.
Grace.
Coleman.
Robert.
“Any weapons visible?”
“Negative.”
The detective turned to me.
“We’ll call them out.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“If Coleman has a gun and Grace doesn’t know, startling him could get her killed.”
He knew I was right.
“What do you suggest?”
Emily answered.
“Call Grace.”
I had never called her.
I did not have her number.
Daniel had.
I dialed him.
He answered instantly.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Grace isn’t answering me.”
“Give me her number.”
He hesitated.
“Daniel.”
He gave it.
I dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then a woman answered.
“Hello?”
My heart stopped.
Grace.
Her voice was lower than Rebecca’s.
Rougher.
But something inside it felt familiar.
“Grace?”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Linda Mercer.”
Nothing.
Then I heard a breath.
“Daniel found you.”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t supposed to involve you.”
“He told me because you’re in danger.”
“I’m handling it.”
“Coleman has a gun.”
Long silence.
Then Grace whispered, “How do you know that?”
“Daniel.”
“He saw it?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the detective.
He nodded.
Grace’s voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“What?”
“With police.”
“Linda, no.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You need to.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
Silence.
Then Grace said, “Robert Mercer is not who you think.”
“That seems to be true of everyone.”
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No.”
“Coleman?”
“No.”
“Then come outside.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I leave, he destroys the only proof.”
“What proof?”
“The original tape.”
My chest tightened.
“What tape?”
“Your confession.”
I froze.
“My what?”
Grace went quiet.
“Not yours.”
I swallowed.
“Whose?”
“Robert’s.”
Emily leaned close to the phone.
“What did he confess to?”
Grace heard her.
“Who is that?”
“Emily.”
Silence.
Then a broken whisper.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“And Rebecca?”
“She’s here too.”
Grace inhaled shakily.
“You brought both?”
“They came.”
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Three sisters separated for forty-one years.
All finally within a few hundred feet of one another.
Then Grace said, “I have to finish this.”
“No.”
“Linda.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what he confessed.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because Coleman is downstairs.”
My blood went cold.
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs.”
“With Robert?”
“Yes.”
“Is he armed?”
“No.”
“Can you lock the door?”
“I already did.”
“Then stay there.”
“I can’t.”
“Grace.”
“I need Coleman to bring the box.”
“What box?”
“Mama’s archive box.”
“What’s inside?”
“Proof of who paid Pierce.”
“The ledger?”
“More than that.”
“What?”
Grace lowered her voice.
“Birth certificates.”
My heart pounded.
“Original ones?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Certificates for children who were never legally adopted.”
Emily whispered, “Mercy House.”
Grace heard.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“And Coleman has them?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he bring them?”
“Because I told him Robert has copies of the photographs.”
I stared at the lodge.
“So they’re trading evidence.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Grace’s answer came slowly.
“Silence.”
I almost laughed.
“After forty-one years?”
“He still thinks silence can save him.”
Then a floorboard creaked on Grace’s end.
She stopped talking.
“Grace?”
Nothing.
Then a man’s voice, distant.
“Who are you talking to?”
Coleman.
Grace whispered, “I have to go.”
“No.”
The call ended.
I opened the car door.
The detective blocked me immediately.
“You are not going inside.”
“She’s upstairs.”
“I heard.”
“Coleman is downstairs.”
“I heard.”
“Then get her out.”
“We will.”
“When?”
“Now.”
Police moved.
Two officers approached the lodge from the rear.
Two more covered windows.
The detective spoke into a loudspeaker.
“James Coleman! This is law enforcement. Come outside with your hands visible!”
Silence.
“James Coleman! Come outside now!”
A curtain moved.
Then a gunshot exploded.
Rebecca screamed.
I ran before anyone could stop me.
The detective grabbed my coat.
“Linda!”
“GRACE!”
Another gunshot.
Window glass shattered upstairs.
Police shouted.
Someone yelled, “Weapon!”
Then a man stumbled out the front door.
Old.
Very old.
Thin.
White hair.
Hands raised.
Robert Mercer.
I knew him instantly.
Age had changed almost everything.
But not his eyes.
My father’s eyes.
My eyes.
He looked toward me.
And stopped.
“Linda.”
I could not breathe.
The officers forced him to his knees.
“Hands behind your head!”
He obeyed.
I stared.
“Dad?”
The word escaped me.
His face crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I recoiled.
“Don’t call me that.”
He closed his eyes.
“Linda, I’m sorry.”
“What happened in 1984?”
His head lowered.
“What happened to me?”
“I was sick.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Did you hurt me?”
His shoulders shook.
Then he whispered, “Yes.”
Something inside me went completely still.
No more wondering.
No more confusion.
No more false memories.
Just yes.
Rebecca grabbed my hand.
Emily moved beside me.
I looked at Robert.
“You assaulted your own daughter.”
He began crying.
“I had been gone too long. I was drinking. I had become—”
“Stop.”
“I’m not making excuses.”
“That sentence was an excuse.”
He shut his mouth.
I stared at the man who had once held my bicycle seat while I learned to ride.
“You came back after everyone thought you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Mama would be endangered if I told her.”
“Yes.”
“You hurt me.”
“Yes.”
My voice shook.
“And then you left again.”
He nodded.
Behind us, officers shouted.
Another gunshot.
We all turned toward the lodge.
“GRACE!”
The upstairs window burst outward.
A figure climbed onto the porch roof.
Grace.
I knew her before I saw her face.
She looked like Mama.
More than any of us.
Dark curls.
Strong jaw.
Same posture.
She clutched a small cassette recorder to her chest.
“Grace!” I screamed.
She looked toward me.
Our eyes met.
Everything inside me stopped.
Then Coleman appeared behind her.
Gun raised.
Police shouted.
“DROP THE WEAPON!”
Grace turned.
Coleman grabbed her hair and yanked her backward.
She screamed.
I ran again.
Officers tackled me behind a cruiser.
“Let me go!”
“Stay down!”
Coleman dragged Grace toward the broken window.
The gun pressed against her neck.
“Back off!” he shouted.
Police held position.
“I said back off!”
Grace’s eyes searched the yard.
She found Robert kneeling in handcuffs.
“Tell her!”
Coleman jerked her harder.
“Shut up.”
Grace shouted again.
“TELL LINDA!”
Robert looked at me.
His face was wet with tears.
“Tell me what?”
He stared at Coleman.
Then at Grace.
Then at me.
“The triplets.”
My heartbeat hammered.
“What about them?”
Robert swallowed.
“They weren’t all mine.”
Every sound disappeared.
Grace shouted, “Keep talking!”
Coleman yelled, “Robert!”
Robert flinched.
Then continued.
“I assaulted you.”
My stomach turned.
“But you were already pregnant.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca whispered, “What?”
Robert looked at me.
“You had been seeing someone before the retreat.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I swear.”
Emily stepped forward.
“Then how do you know she was already pregnant?”
Robert looked toward Coleman.
“Pierce told us.”
My knees weakened.
“Us?”
“Me. Coleman. Nathaniel. Warren.”
“And Mama?”
“No.”
“What did Pierce say?”
“That you were already several weeks pregnant.”
I could barely process it.
“So the babies—”
“Pierce said two were likely from the earlier pregnancy.”
“And the third?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Could have been mine.”
Grace shouted from the window.
“That’s why they separated us!”
Coleman pressed the gun tighter.
“Enough!”
Police shifted.
The detective whispered something into his radio.
I kept my eyes on Grace.
“Which one?”
I shouted.
“Which one was Robert’s?”
Grace looked at me.
“That’s what the original blood records show!”
“What records?”
“Mama found them!”
Coleman dragged her backward.
She screamed.
The cassette recorder slipped from her hand.
It fell onto the porch roof.
Then slid.
Down.
Down.
And dropped into the bushes below.
Coleman looked toward it.
Grace moved instantly.
She drove her elbow backward into his ribs.
The gun fired.
She fell.
I screamed.
Police opened fire.
Coleman vanished from the window.
Officers rushed the lodge.
“GRACE!”
She lay half on the roof, half against the broken frame.
Not moving.
I tore free and ran.
Nobody stopped me this time.
Rebecca and Emily followed.
By the time we reached the porch, officers were dragging Coleman out the side door.
Blood stained his shoulder.
The gun was gone.
He was alive.
I did not care.
I climbed onto the porch railing.
“Grace!”
Her eyes opened.
“I’m okay.”
I nearly collapsed.
“Where were you hit?”
“I wasn’t.”
She touched her forehead.
“Glass.”
Rebecca started crying.
Emily laughed and cried at the same time.
Grace looked at them.
For one incredible moment, the three women stared at each other.
Then Grace smiled weakly.
“So you’re the other two.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I guess so.”
Emily whispered, “We think.”
Grace laughed once.
“Good answer.”
Paramedics helped her down.
I stood in front of her.
I had imagined this moment for less than a day.
She had apparently imagined it for years.
Neither of us knew what to do.
Then Grace held out her hand.
Not a hug.
Not yet.
Just a hand.
I took it.
Her fingers closed around mine.
“Hi, Linda.”
My throat closed.
“Hi, Grace.”
She looked at my face.
“Mama said I had your mouth.”
“You have hers.”
That made her cry.
She looked toward Robert.
“He told me everything.”
“What everything?”
“Not everything you think.”
Coleman was being loaded into another ambulance under guard.
Grace watched until he was gone.
Then she said, “Robert did assault you.”
I nodded.
“But the babies were not conceived the same day.”
“What?”
“Triplets normally are.”
“Yes.”
“But Pierce manipulated dates.”
Emily frowned.
“Superfetation?”
Grace shook her head.
“No. Nothing that exotic.”
“Then?”
She looked at Robert.
“He lied about one part.”
Robert closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Grace said, “You were never pregnant before the retreat.”
My stomach tightened.
“But Robert just said—”
“He said what Coleman told him to say.”
Robert looked down.
I stepped toward him.
“You’re still lying?”
He started sobbing.
“I’m trying to protect—”
“WHO?”
Grace answered.
“The real father.”
Everything stopped.
“Of all three?”
“Yes.”
“Then Robert didn’t father any of us?”
Rebecca asked.
“No.”
Grace shook her head.
“None.”
I looked at her.
“Then why did Pierce say otherwise?”
“To create competing stories.”
“Why?”
“So if the truth ever surfaced, nobody would know which records were real.”
Emily whispered, “Confusion as protection.”
Grace nodded.
“Exactly.”
I looked at Robert.
“Who was the father?”
He said nothing.
Grace reached into her coat.
From an inside pocket, she removed a folded laboratory report.
“DNA.”
My heartbeat jumped.
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“With who?”
She looked at me.
“Mama kept hair from the man she believed was our father.”
I stared.
“How?”
“An old shaving brush.”
Rebecca whispered, “Who?”
Grace unfolded the report.
“The probability of biological paternity was over 99.9 percent.”
My hands went numb.
“Name.”
Grace hesitated.
Then she said it.
“Wayne Callahan.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Emily stared.
“Our step-grandfather?”
Rebecca whispered.
“Mama’s husband?”
Grace nodded.
“He was not Mama’s husband then.”
My memory cracked.
Wayne.
Younger.
Coming around the house after Robert supposedly died.
Helping Mama with repairs.
Driving me to school.
Always too friendly.
Always touching my shoulder.
No.
“No.”
Grace held my hand tighter.
“Mama met Wayne after Robert disappeared, but she did not marry him until years later.”
I looked at Robert.
“Did Wayne assault me?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The world tilted.
“At the retreat?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Before.”
My stomach turned.
“How long?”
Robert whispered, “Months.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“He groomed you.”
Grace said it softly.
“You believed you were in love with him.”
That was somehow worse.
Memory returned.
A pickup truck.
Wayne’s younger face.
A silver bracelet.
A rose charm.
You’re mature for your age.
Don’t tell Evelyn.
My knees buckled.
Rebecca caught me.
Emily moved to my other side.
“No,” I whispered.
Grace knelt in front of me.
“You were sixteen.”
I started crying.
Not delicate tears.
Not quiet grief.
The kind that tears through your whole body.
“I thought he loved me.”
Grace nodded.
“I know.”
“He married Mama.”
“Yes.”
“He married my mother after—”
“Yes.”
“Why would she marry him?”
“She didn’t know.”
The answer hit differently.
“Mama didn’t know Wayne was the father?”
“Not until much later.”
“When?”
Grace looked toward the cassette recorder in the bushes.
“After you gave birth.”
“How?”
“Pierce told her.”
“Why?”
“Because Wayne refused to pay him.”
I laughed through tears.
Of course.
Money.
Always money.
“So Mama discovered her husband—”
“She wasn’t married to him yet.”
I looked at Grace.
“What?”
“They married after the hospital.”
My blood went cold.
“After?”
“Yes.”
“Why would Mama marry the man who impregnated her teenage daughter?”
Grace swallowed.
“Because she didn’t know it was Wayne when she married him.”
I stared.
“But you just said Pierce told her after the birth.”
“He did.”
“When exactly?”
“Three months after the wedding.”
I covered my face.
Mama had already married him.
Then learned the truth.
“Why didn’t she leave?”
“Wayne threatened you.”
“With what?”
“He said if she exposed him, he would claim you seduced him.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I was sixteen.”
“He knew that.”
“He said people would believe him?”
“He had letters.”
“What letters?”
Grace looked at me carefully.
“Letters you wrote him.”
My stomach sank.
Love letters.
I remembered.
Wayne had convinced me we were secret soulmates.
I had written pages.
Stupid teenage pages.
“I wrote them.”
“I know.”
“So Mama thought a jury might believe him.”
“Yes.”
“And the babies?”
“He threatened to make sure you never saw them.”
“He already had.”
“Exactly.”
I sat on the hood of the police cruiser.
Everything hurt.
Then Grace said, “But that isn’t the part Coleman was trying to hide tonight.”
I looked up.
“What else can there possibly be?”
She picked up the cassette recorder from the bushes.
The plastic case was cracked.
“Robert’s confession.”
“You said he confessed to assaulting me.”
“He did.”
“Then?”
“He also confessed to helping fake his death.”
“I know.”
“And why.”
I looked at Robert.
“Why?”
Grace pressed play.
Static.
Then Robert’s younger-sounding voice from an older recording.
Evelyn must never know I’m alive.
Another man spoke.
Coleman.
If she learns why you disappeared, she’ll start asking about the church money.
I frowned.
“Church money?”
The tape continued.
Robert’s voice:
I didn’t steal it.
Coleman:
You signed the transfers.
Robert:
Because Nathaniel told me to.
Coleman:
Then you are the one who will take the fall.
Robert:
What about Wayne?
Coleman:
Wayne is useful.
I looked at Grace.
“What is this?”
She stopped the tape.
“The beginning.”
“Beginning of what?”
“Mercy House.”
Emily went still.
Grace nodded.
“Mercy House was originally funded with money stolen from the church.”
“How much?”
“In 1983 dollars? Nearly two million.”
Rebecca whispered, “That’s enormous.”
“Robert discovered it.”
I looked at him.
“You found the theft?”
“Yes.”
“And they framed you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you disappeared?”
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
Robert looked ashamed.
“Because I had also stolen.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“About forty thousand.”
“So you ran.”
“Yes.”
“And let us think you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“And came back secretly.”
“Yes.”
“To see me?”
“At first.”
Grace stepped between us.
“He also came back because he had evidence against Nathaniel and Coleman.”
I laughed without humor.
“Every man in this story has evidence against another man and none of them ever seems to use it.”
Grace’s eyes hardened.
“That’s how systems like this survive.”
Nobody spoke.
She continued.
“Everyone has something on everyone else. So everyone stays quiet.”
Emily nodded.
“Mutually assured destruction.”
“Exactly.”
Grace looked at me.
“Mama was the first one who tried to break it.”
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
Her honesty hurt but I appreciated it.
“She failed for years.”
“Yes.”
“But before she died, she finally assembled enough proof.”
“The box.”
“The box.”
Rebecca asked, “Does Coleman still have it?”
Grace looked toward the lodge.
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“He gave it to Robert.”
Robert slowly lifted his head.
Police searched him.
Nothing.
The detective frowned.
“Where?”
Robert looked at the old chapel.
“Under the altar.”
Everyone turned.
We entered the chapel with officers first.
Dust covered the pews.
The wooden cross still hung at the front.
I remembered sitting there at sixteen, believing churches were safe places.
One officer moved the altar.
Beneath it was a trapdoor.
Inside sat Mama’s cardboard archive box.
The one Russell had carried.
The one Coleman had stabbed him over.
Police photographed everything.
Then opened it.
Birth records.
Letters.
Payment ledgers.
Photographs.
A second cassette tape.
And a sealed envelope.
FOR LINDA AND MY THREE GRANDDAUGHTERS.
My hands shook.
Rebecca stood on my left.
Emily on my right.
Grace directly across from me.
Three women I should have watched grow up.
Three women who had lived entire lives without me.
“Open it,” Rebecca whispered.
I did.
Mama’s letter was short.
Linda,
If all three girls are standing with you when this is opened, then something I prayed for has happened despite every cowardly decision I made.
Rebecca is yours.
Emily is yours.
Grace is yours.
They are triplets.
Wayne is their biological father.
You were sixteen when the relationship began. He was thirty-four.
You believed he loved you because he taught you to call control love.
I knew none of this until after I married him.
When I learned, I wanted to kill him.
Instead I became afraid.
That is the shame I carry.
I had to stop reading.
Grace took the letter and continued.
I let Wayne convince me that exposing him would expose you.
I let him convince me silence was protection.
It was not.
Silence protected Wayne.
Silence protected Coleman.
Silence protected Pierce.
Silence protected Warren.
It protected everyone except you.
Rebecca began crying.
Emily squeezed her hand.
Grace continued.
If I died before telling you everything, do not spend your life trying to punish yourself for my choices.
Use the evidence.
Find every child Mercy House separated from a family without lawful consent.
Tell them what happened.
Give them the truth I denied you.
And then live.
Grace stopped.
Below the signature, Mama had written one final line.
P.S. Linda, the money in the flour tin is not your inheritance.
I frowned.
Rebecca gave a tearful laugh.
“Of course there’s more.”
I turned the page.
There was a bank statement.
An account balance.
I stared.
$1,842,611.73.
Emily whispered, “What is that?”
Grace looked at the account name.
“MERCER RESTITUTION TRUST.”
My heart pounded.
Mama had been saving far more than the $18,940 in the pantry.
The flour tin had only been the key.
Not the treasure.
“What is the trust for?”
I read the attached page.
To fund legal help, DNA testing, and family searches for anyone affected by Mercy House.
I closed my eyes.
Mama had known this was bigger than us.
Much bigger.
Then the detective’s phone rang.
His expression changed while he listened.
“What?”
I asked when he hung up.
He looked toward Coleman’s ambulance.
“Coleman escaped.”
Nobody moved.
“What?”
“The ambulance transporting him was forced off the county road.”
“By who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Coleman was handcuffed.”
“Not anymore.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where would he go?”
Grace looked at Mama’s box.
“To destroy whoever can still testify.”
“Who?”
She went pale.
“Pierce’s widow.”
Emily whispered, “Memphis.”
Grace nodded.
“She has the only surviving copy of the original Mercy House payment ledger.”
I looked toward the evidence box.
“We have a ledger.”
“Not the full one.”
“What’s in hers?”
Grace’s voice became quiet.
“The names of the buyers.”
The chapel went silent.
“Buyers?”
Rebecca whispered.
Grace nodded.
“Families paid Mercy House.”
“Yes.”
“But some payments weren’t adoption fees.”
Emily’s face hardened.
“They were purchases.”
Grace nodded.
My stomach turned.
“How many children?”
“I don’t know.”
“And Pierce’s widow knows?”
“She has the names.”
The detective was already calling Memphis police.
Then Grace grabbed my arm.
“Linda.”
“What?”
“If Coleman has escaped, there’s someone else he may go after first.”
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
My heart stopped.
“Your son?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“He said he was staying with a friend.”
“Call him.”
Grace dialed.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Daniel!”
Voicemail.
Grace’s face drained of color.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
For one second, I thought it was Daniel.
It was a photograph.
Daniel tied to a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
Behind him stood James Coleman.
Below the picture were seven words.
BRING EVELYN’S BOX OR THE BOY DIES.
Grace made a sound that barely sounded human.
Then another message arrived.
NO POLICE.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.
OLD FIRST COUNTY BANK BUILDING.
I looked at the clock.
12:08 a.m.
Twenty-four hours.
Then a final message appeared.
LINDA COMES ALONE.
Grace grabbed my hand.
“No.”
I stared at Daniel’s photograph.
A boy I had never met.
My daughter’s son.
My grandson.
Another generation pulled into the same nightmare.
I looked at the three daughters standing around me.
“No more.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
“No more children pay for what these men did.”
Rebecca whispered, “Linda—”
I looked at the message again.
“I’m going.”
Grace shook her head violently.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“Then absolutely not.”
I looked at her.
“He thinks I’m still the sixteen-year-old girl everyone could scare into silence.”
I folded Mama’s letter and placed it against my heart.
“He’s about to find out she grew up.”……………
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 9…
