PART 4 — THE HOSPITAL FILES
I stared at the photograph until my eyes hurt.
Dr. Michael Grant.
Chief administrator of St. Luke’s.
The man who had signed my first employment contract.
The man who sent flowers when my father died.
The man who shook Todd’s hand at our wedding and told him, “Take care of one of my best nurses.”
He was standing in the center of the Blue Cedar photograph like a man who owned the room.
The investigator beside me enlarged the image.
“There’s no question that’s him?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve worked for him for nine years.”
The investigator nodded slowly.
“What access would he have to employee information?”
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny in it.
“Everything.”
“Explain.”
“Licenses. Tax forms. direct deposit information. Emergency contacts. Addresses. Background checks. Copies of identification. Insurance documents.”
“And Social Security numbers?”
“Yes.”
The investigator leaned back.
“Then the hospital may be the source.”
I felt sick.
“How many employees?”
“At St. Luke’s?”
“Yes.”
“Almost twelve hundred.”
The room went quiet.
The spreadsheet on the laptop suddenly looked different.
It wasn’t a list anymore.
It was a hunting ground.
The investigator opened another file.
BLUE CEDAR — CLIENT SOURCES.
Inside were abbreviations.
SLH.
PMC.
WMC.
St. Luke’s Hospital.
Pioneer Medical Center.
Westmont Medical Clinic.
Healthcare facilities.
I whispered, “They were stealing identities from medical workers.”
“Looks like it.”
“Why us?”
“Stable employment. Good credit. Licenses. Predictable income.”
I looked at the names marked deceased.
“And if somebody discovered it?”
The investigator didn’t answer.
I already knew.
Closed.
The word from the spreadsheet.
I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
“We have to warn the hospital.”
“We will.”
“Now.”
“We need to know who inside is involved.”
“Michael is involved.”
“Yes.”
“But maybe others too.”
“Exactly.”
I thought of payroll.
Human resources.
Credentialing.
Administrators.
People I had eaten lunch with.
People who smiled at me every day.
Then something else hit me.
“My employee file.”
“What about it?”
“Michael doesn’t personally handle employee paperwork.”
“Who does?”
“Human resources.”
The investigator leaned forward.
“Who runs HR?”
“Karen Whitmore.”
He searched the flash drive.
WHITMORE.
One result.
Then another.
Then eleven.
My stomach dropped.
He opened the first.
A payment.
$18,500.
The second.
$22,000.
Then $31,000.
All transferred from shell companies tied to Blue Cedar.
“Angela.”
“I know.”
Karen Whitmore had worked at St. Luke’s for fourteen years.
She organized employee appreciation dinners.
She sent birthday cards.
She hugged nurses whose parents died.
She knew everyone’s family.
And apparently she had been selling us.
The investigator’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He held up one finger.
Then said into the phone, “Secure the location. Nobody goes inside until state investigators arrive.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“They found Linda’s car.”
“Where?”
“Outside an abandoned medical office three counties north.”
“Is she there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then go.”
“They’re already going.”
I stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“She called me.”
“No.”
“She may be hurt.”
“Which is exactly why you’re staying here.”
I hated that he was right.
Outside my house, patrol cars remained parked at both ends of the street.
But suddenly they didn’t make me feel safe.
If people inside law enforcement could be compromised, how was I supposed to know who to trust?
I asked the investigator his name.
“Daniel Price.”
“State police?”
“Financial crimes division.”
“Show me your badge again.”
He did.
I photographed it.
Then I photographed him.
He raised an eyebrow.
“If you’re fake, I want a picture.”
“Fair enough.”
For the first time that night, he almost smiled.
Then his phone rang again.
This time he put it on speaker.
A woman said, “We found somebody.”
My chest tightened.
“Linda?”
“Female, early sixties. Alive.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
Price said, “Condition?”
“Conscious. Injured. Ambulance en route.”
“Can she talk?”
“A little.”
“Does she identify herself as Linda Brooks?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Alive.
At least she was alive.
Then the woman said, “There’s another person here.”
Price’s face sharpened.
“Alive?”
“No.”
“Identification?”
A pause.
“Male. Approximately fifty.”
“Do we know him?”
“We found a wallet.”
My stomach tightened.
“Name?”
“Raymond Cole.”
Price and I looked at each other.
The bank manager.
Dead.
“What happened to him?” I whispered.
The woman on the phone said, “Single gunshot wound.”
Price asked, “Weapon?”
“Not found.”
“Signs of struggle?”
“Yes.”
Then she added, “And there’s writing on the wall.”
“What writing?”
“BLUE CEDAR CLEANS ITS OWN ROOTS.”
Nobody spoke.
Price disconnected.
I stared at the laptop.
Raymond had seemed like one of the people hunting me.
Now he was dead.
“Michael is cleaning this up.”
“Maybe.”
“You saw the photo.”
“I saw a photo.”
“You think someone else is above him?”
“I think we don’t assume anything until we prove it.”
That answer frustrated me.
But five minutes later, I understood why.
Price opened another file from the flash drive.
A corporate ownership chart.
At the bottom were shell companies.
Above them were attorneys.
Contractors.
Bank contacts.
Hospital contacts.
Then a box near the top.
MG CONSULTING.
Michael Grant.
Above Michael’s box was another.
No name.
Just two letters.
LB.
Price stared at it.
“Who could LB be?”
My first thought was Linda Brooks.
But that made no sense.
Linda was Todd’s mother.
A retired elementary school secretary.
At least, that was what I believed.
“What was Linda’s maiden name?”
Price asked.
I thought.
“I don’t know.”
“You were married to her son nine years.”
“She never talked about her family.”
Price started searching public records through his secure system.
It took less than a minute.
Then he leaned closer.
“Linda Brooks. Born Linda Barrett.”
LB.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Price looked at me.
“Could be coincidence.”
“No.”
Suddenly the pawnshop receipt made sense differently.
The transfers bearing Linda’s name.
Her strange warning in the courthouse hallway.
Todd saying his mother didn’t pawn the ring because she needed money.
Maybe Linda wasn’t a frightened mother pulled into her son’s mistakes.
Maybe she had been part of Blue Cedar from the beginning.
Price reopened the ownership chart.
“MG reports to LB.”
I stared at it.
“Michael worked for Linda?”
“According to this file.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Linda has no money.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought of her house.
Modest.
Twenty-year-old furniture.
Old sedan.
Coupons clipped on Sundays.
Then I remembered something Todd once told me.
My mother knows how to disappear inside a room.
At the time, I thought he meant she was quiet.
Now I wondered if he meant something else.
Price asked, “What did Linda do before she worked at the school?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Todd ever say?”
“No.”
He searched deeper.
Nothing obvious appeared.
Then Price found an archived corporate filing from twenty-eight years earlier.
BARRETT ASSET MANAGEMENT.
Founder:
Linda M. Barrett.
My mouth went dry.
“What was Barrett Asset Management?”
Price searched.
Closed seventeen years ago.
Financial consulting.
Debt restructuring.
Private lending.
Then he found a lawsuit.
Fraud allegations.
Identity misuse.
Predatory lending.
The case had been dismissed.
“Linda used to work in finance.”
I sat down slowly.
Before Todd was married.
Before I worked at St. Luke’s.
Before Blue Cedar.
Linda already knew how to move money.
“Why would she pretend she was just a school secretary?”
Price looked at me.
“Because people don’t investigate school secretaries.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from Todd.
I’M SAFE.
I stared at it.
Price noticed.
“Is that him?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t reply yet.”
Another message came.
DO NOT TRUST MY MOTHER.
My skin prickled.
Then another.
SHE STARTED BLUE CEDAR.
I showed Price.
He immediately asked where Todd was.
I didn’t know.
Todd sent another message.
MICHAEL WORKS FOR HER.
Price whispered, “Jesus.”
Then:
RAYMOND TRIED TO LEAVE.
That explained the body.
Another:
THAT’S WHY THEY KILLED HIM.
Price started tracing Todd’s phone.
I typed:
WHERE ARE YOU?
Price stopped me before I hit send.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“If Todd’s phone is compromised, whoever has it may be trying to locate you.”
I deleted the message.
Seconds later, another text arrived.
ANGELA I KNOW YOU THINK I DESTROYED YOU.
I swallowed.
Then:
I DID.
Then:
BUT WHAT MY MOTHER PLANNED FOR YOU IS WORSE.
I stared at the screen.
Price said, “Do not answer.”
Another message:
SHE NEVER WANTED THE MONEY.
Another:
SHE WANTED YOUR IDENTITY.
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
Price didn’t know.
Then Todd sent a photograph.
A document.
Price enlarged it.
The header read:
BENEFICIARY SUCCESSION AGREEMENT.
My name appeared as Primary Asset Holder.
Below it:
Upon death or permanent incapacitation of Primary Asset Holder, all Blue Cedar controlled holdings assigned through Brooks Medical Consulting shall transfer to Secondary Beneficiary.
Secondary Beneficiary:
LINDA MARIE BROOKS.
I couldn’t speak.
Price read it twice.
“Angela.”
“She was going to inherit everything attached to my identity.”
“Yes.”
“The fake companies.”
“Yes.”
“The accounts.”
“Yes.”
“The $1.2 million transfer tomorrow.”
Price nodded.
“And if you died after the transfer…”
“She would legally appear to inherit the assets.”
“Through fraudulent documents, yes.”
The marriage suddenly made horrible sense.
Todd had been useful because he connected Linda to me.
My identity had been clean.
Stable employment.
Excellent credit.
Professional license.
No criminal history.
No complicated family.
My parents were dead.
My sister lived across the country.
I was perfect.
I whispered, “Did Todd marry me because of this?”
Price looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
I hated that question more than anything.
Had nine years of my life been part of a plan?
My wedding?
Our first apartment?
Christmas mornings?
The house we dreamed about?
Was any of it real?
My phone rang.
Todd.
Price activated recording and nodded for me to answer.
“Hello?”
Todd was breathing heavily.
“Ang.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Your mother is alive.”
Silence.
“You knew she was taken?”
“Yes.”
“You knew Raymond was dead?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Todd.”
“I swear.”
“You gave me that answer before.”
“I know.”
“Did you marry me because your mother told you to?”
The line went quiet.
Too quiet.
I felt my heart breaking in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Todd.”
“I met you before she knew about you.”
That wasn’t a no.
“When did she become interested in me?”
“After the wedding.”
“Why?”
“Because of St. Luke’s.”
“Michael.”
“Yes.”
“She already knew Michael?”
“For years.”
“How?”
“My mother helped him when he nearly lost everything.”
“What everything?”
“Medical investment fraud.”
Price wrote quickly.
Todd continued.
“Michael was involved in a billing scheme at another hospital years ago. Mom helped him hide the money.”
“So he owed her.”
“Yes.”
“And then he gave her access to employees.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many people did your mother use?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I really don’t.”
“What did you know?”
Todd breathed in.
“I knew she moved money through other people’s names.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Three years.”
“I didn’t know you were one of them.”
“Until when?”
“Last year.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew for a year.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed silent.”
“I was afraid of her.”
“You were afraid of your mother?”
“You don’t know her.”
“I apparently never did.”
Todd lowered his voice.
“She doesn’t threaten people, Angela.”
“What does she do?”
“She solves problems.”
I thought about the dead names on the Blue Cedar spreadsheet.
Car accident.
House fire.
Fall.
Heart attack.
“Did she kill those people?”
“I don’t know.”
“Todd.”
“I don’t know who did it. But people who caused trouble disappeared.”
Price motioned for me to keep him talking.
I asked, “Why steal the sixty-one thousand?”
“To cover the Blue Cedar account when auditors started asking questions.”
“Why use Melissa?”
“Raymond chose her.”
“Did Melissa know everything?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she alive?”
“I think so.”
“Why did your mother pawn my ring?”
“To create a link between herself and the withdrawals.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if she planned to frame herself temporarily.”
“For what purpose?”
“To make investigators stop at her.”
I frowned.
“Why would she want that?”
“Because Linda Brooks is disposable.”
I froze.
“What?”
“My mother has other identities.”
Price looked up sharply.
Todd continued.
“Linda Brooks isn’t even her real name.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you don’t know your mother’s real name?”
“I found three birth certificates.”
Price mouthed, THREE?
Todd said, “Three different names. Three different states.”
“And Barrett?”
“Probably another identity.”
The whole room seemed to tilt.
“Then who is LB on the chart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not Linda?”
“I thought it was.”
“But?”
“My mother once told me she never puts her own initials on anything.”
Price’s face changed.
Another layer.
Always another layer.
I asked, “Who is LB?”
Todd whispered, “That’s why I’m calling.”
My skin prickled.
“What?”
“I found something.”
“Where?”
“In Mom’s storage unit.”
Price started tracing harder.
“What did you find?”
“A ledger.”
“What’s in it?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“Everyone.”
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“Stephen?”
“Yes.”
“Dale?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Then whose name is beside LB?”
Todd didn’t answer.
“Todd.”
When he spoke again, his voice broke.
“Your father’s.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“He died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“He never knew your mother.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I stood.
“What name is written there?”
“Leonard Bennett.”
LB.
My father.
Leonard Bennett.
Price stared at me.
“That’s your maiden name?”
“Yes.”
My name before marriage had been Angela Bennett.
Todd said, “There are photographs.”
“No.”
“Ang—”
“No.”
“There’s one of Dad and my mother together.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Twenty-four years ago.”
I gripped the table.
“That’s impossible.”
“You were eighteen.”
My father had worked in insurance.
Quiet.
Careful.
Always lecturing me about credit and paperwork.
He died of pancreatic cancer when I was thirty-one.
At least that was the life I remembered.
Todd said, “There’s another photo.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Of what?”
“You.”
“No.”
“You’re standing beside your dad.”
“When?”
“High school graduation.”
I remembered that day.
My father crying when I walked across the stage.
My mother still alive then.
My whole family together.
Todd continued.
“My mother is in the background.”
I whispered, “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Price’s computer beeped.
He had finished tracing Todd’s phone.
His face changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
Todd’s phone was less than two miles away.
At St. Luke’s Hospital.
I said into the phone, “You’re at the hospital.”
Todd went silent.
Price looked angry.
“Angela, hang up.”
But Todd whispered, “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“The old records wing.”
That part of the hospital had been closed for renovation.
“Why there?”
“Because Mom kept files here.”
“What files?”
“Blue Cedar.”
Price was already calling tactical units.
Todd continued.
“I found something about your father.”
“Todd, get out.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m not alone.”
My blood froze.
“Who is there?”
Todd lowered his voice.
“Michael.”
Price mouthed, KEEP TALKING.
“Does he know you’re there?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I think he followed me.”
“Todd, hide.”
“I am.”
Then I heard a distant metallic sound through the phone.
A door.
Todd stopped breathing.
Footsteps followed.
Slow.
Measured.
A man’s voice echoed faintly.
“Todd?”
Michael.
I had heard that voice every week for nine years.
“Todd,” Michael called again. “We need to stop making this difficult.”
Todd whispered into the phone, “Tell police basement level two.”
Price was already transmitting it.
Michael’s footsteps grew louder.
Then he said something that made my whole body go cold.
“Angela isn’t supposed to know yet.”
Todd pressed himself somewhere and barely breathed.
Michael continued.
“Your mother had one rule. Protect Angela until the final transfer.”
My heart stopped.
Protect me?
Price and I exchanged looks.
Then Michael said, “You ruined everything when you stole from her account.”
Todd had never been ordered to take my sixty-one thousand.
He had done that himself.
Blue Cedar wanted me untouched.
Todd’s theft had exposed the entire operation.
Michael said, “Come out.”
No answer.
“You think Angela is the victim?”
My chest tightened.
Michael laughed softly.
“She is the reason Blue Cedar exists.”
I stared at the phone.
Price whispered, “What the hell does that mean?”
Michael’s footsteps stopped.
Then:
“Her father built the system for her.”
I couldn’t process the words.
My father.
Built Blue Cedar.
For me?
Todd suddenly ran.
I heard pounding footsteps.
A crash.
Michael shouted.
Then the call broke into chaos.
“Todd!”
Gunshot.
I screamed.
The phone hit something.
Price grabbed my shoulders.
“Angela, stay here.”
Another gunshot.
Then silence.
“Todd?”
Nothing.
“TODD!”
The line remained connected.
I could hear breathing.
But I didn’t know whose.
Then someone picked up the phone.
“Angela.”
Michael.
I froze.
His voice was calm.
Almost gentle.
“Dr. Grant.”
“I’m sorry you had to learn this way.”
“Where is Todd?”
“He made poor choices.”
“Is he alive?”
Michael ignored the question.
“Your father never wanted you involved.”
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him?”
A pause.
“Very well.”
My hands shook.
“What is Blue Cedar?”
Michael exhaled.
“Not what you think.”
“People are dead.”
“People always die.”
“You stole identities.”
“Some identities were borrowed.”
“You’re insane.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“I’m the person who kept your father’s promise.”
“What promise?”
“To protect what belonged to you.”
“I don’t want any of it.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
Price signaled that officers were entering the hospital.
I kept Michael talking.
“What did my father leave?”
Michael chuckled softly.
“Not money.”
“What?”
“A network.”
“For what?”
“To hide assets.”
“Whose assets?”
“People who could not afford to have them found.”
“Criminals.”
“Sometimes.”
“You laundered money.”
“Your father designed something more sophisticated than laundering.”
I felt sick.
“And you used hospital employees to keep it alive.”
“Your father selected ordinary identities because ordinary people attract less attention.”
“So he was stealing from people.”
“At first? No.”
“What changed?”
“Your father died.”
My throat tightened.
“And Linda took over?”
Michael laughed.
“Still chasing Linda.”
“Then who?”
Michael became quiet.
“Ask your mother.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“My mother is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
The room vanished around me.
My mother, Evelyn Bennett, died when I was twenty-four.
Car accident.
Rainy highway.
State trooper at our door.
Closed casket because of the damage.
My father had identified the body.
Michael whispered, “Your mother was always better at disappearing than your father.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Price stared at me.
I whispered, “You’re lying.”
“Ask yourself something.”
“What?”
“Why was there no funeral photograph?”
“Because the casket was closed.”
“Why did your father insist on cremation immediately after?”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“Why did he never let you see the accident report?”
“Stop.”
“Why did he move you out of your childhood home three weeks later?”
“Stop.”
“Why did he change every account your family owned?”
“STOP.”
Michael became silent.
Then:
“Angela, your mother isn’t dead.”
My knees weakened.
Price caught my arm.
“Where is she?”
Michael said nothing.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
“She’s been closer than you think.”
The line crackled.
Then Michael whispered:
“Who do you think left the pawnshop receipt on your porch?”
My heart stopped.
Someone had been helping me.
Someone who knew Linda.
Someone who knew Blue Cedar.
Someone who knew where I lived.
Before I could speak, gunfire exploded through the phone.
Michael shouted.
The call dropped.
Price’s radio came alive.
“Shots fired, basement level two.”
He turned away and listened.
My pulse hammered.
Then:
“Suspect down.”
“Which suspect?” Price demanded.
Static.
Then:
“Grant is wounded. Alive.”
“What about Todd Brooks?”
A pause.
“Searching.”
I stood frozen.
Price’s radio crackled again.
“We found blood.”
My stomach twisted.
“But no Brooks.”
Todd was gone.
Again.
Michael was alive.
Linda was alive.
And somewhere, according to Michael, so was my mother.
At 2:03 a.m., investigators searched the hospital’s abandoned records wing.
Behind a false wall, they found forty-three boxes.
Employee records.
Bank statements.
Fake IDs.
Corporate seals.
Cash.
Passports.
And one metal case labeled:
BENNETT.
They brought it to the state police office before opening it.
I sat behind glass while Price unlocked it.
Inside was no money.
Only photographs.
Hundreds.
My childhood.
My birthdays.
My nursing school graduation.
My wedding.
Pictures taken from across streets.
Through restaurant windows.
Outside my apartment.
Outside the hospital.
Someone had been watching me for years.
At the bottom was a sealed envelope.
ANGELA — OPEN ONLY IF BLUE CEDAR FAILS.
My handwriting was not on it.
My father’s was.
I recognized every curve.
Every letter.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Angela,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep you outside the life your mother and I created.
I stopped.
Price watched silently.
I continued.
Blue Cedar was never supposed to hurt innocent people.
It was built to move money away from men who deserved to lose it and into places where they could never find it.
Your mother believed the system could be used forever.
I did not.
When I tried to shut it down, she disappeared.
I told you she died because I believed that was the only way to protect you.
I covered my mouth.
My father had lied about my mother’s death.
The letter continued.
If Blue Cedar is active again, do not trust anyone who tells you they are protecting you.
Not Michael.
Not Linda.
Not Todd.
And especially not—
The sentence ended there.
The bottom half of the page had been cut away.
Someone had removed the final name.
Price whispered, “Someone got to this first.”
Then I noticed something tucked beneath the photographs.
A hotel key card.
On the back, handwritten:
ROOM 417.
CEDAR VALLEY HOTEL.
Price searched immediately.
The hotel was forty minutes away.
“Could be old.”
I turned the card over.
A date had been written beneath the room number.
Tomorrow’s date.
My heart began pounding.
“That’s not old.”
At 7:20 a.m., state police surrounded the Cedar Valley Hotel.
At 7:42, officers reached room 417.
Empty.
No luggage.
No people.
Only a chair facing the window.
And on the chair:
A photograph of me taken yesterday.
Standing inside my own kitchen.
Someone had photographed me through the window while police were outside.
Behind the photo was a note.
COME ALONE AT 8:45.
OLD ST. LUKE’S CHAPEL.
IF POLICE ENTER, TODD DIES.
Price refused immediately.
“You’re not going.”
“They have Todd.”
“We don’t know that.”
At that exact moment, my phone vibrated.
A video.
Todd was tied to a chair.
Blood along his forehead.
Alive.
Behind him was stained glass.
The old chapel at St. Luke’s.
Then the camera moved.
A woman stepped into frame.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Elegant posture.
My chest tightened.
I didn’t recognize her.
Not at first.
Then she smiled.
And I saw myself.
Same eyes.
Same shape around the mouth.
A face older than the photographs in my childhood album, but unmistakable.
My mother.
Evelyn Bennett.
Alive.
She leaned toward the camera.
“Angela.”
My hands started shaking.
“I’m sorry your father lied to you.”
She glanced toward Todd.
Then back at the camera.
“But if you want to understand why he lied, come hear the truth from me.”
She smiled again.
“And Angela?”
The smile disappeared.
“Do not bring Michael.”
The video ended.
Price stared at me.
“You are absolutely not going alone.”
I looked at the clock.
8:03 a.m.
The $1.2 million transfer was scheduled for nine.
Todd was being held in the chapel.
My supposedly dead mother was waiting for me.
And the last line of my father’s warning had been cut away.
Not Michael.
Not Linda.
Not Todd.
And especially not—
I suddenly knew whose name had been removed.
My father hadn’t been warning me about Evelyn.
He had been warning me about the person who had kept the letter for all these years.
The person who knew where the Bennett case was hidden.
The person who gave police just enough evidence to guide me toward Blue Cedar.
The person standing beside me.
I slowly turned toward Investigator Daniel Price.
And for the first time since he entered my house, I noticed the ring on his right hand.
A small silver ring engraved with a cedar tree.
The exact same symbol printed at the top of every Blue Cedar document.
Price saw me looking.
His expression changed.
Then he quietly locked the office door………….
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
