Chapter 12 - Cottage 317
The cottage had changed owners twice.
The number had not changed.
317 Ocean View Lane.
Cape May.
Officer Collins insisted on accompanying Sarah.
Noah came too.
Sarah refused to leave him behind after everything that had happened.
They reached the coast in late afternoon.
The cottage stood three streets from the beach.
Small.
White siding.
Green shutters.
Nothing about it looked like a place where a dead man would hide evidence.
The current owner, Mrs. Fleming, allowed police to search after seeing the warrant.
Sarah remembered the living room.
David holding baby Noah near the window.
Noah’s first steps.
Their first family vacation.
Everything had once been ordinary here.
“Where would Dad hide something?” Noah asked.
Sarah walked through each room.
Then she remembered.
On their final evening in the cottage, David had spent nearly an hour fixing a loose stair.
At the time, Sarah teased him for doing repairs on a rental property.
The staircase remained.
Third step.
Officer Pierce lifted the board.
Inside was a narrow metal tube.
The brass key opened it.
Sarah closed her eyes.
David had left a copy.
Inside were several microSD cards and one handwritten letter.
Sarah read the letter first.
Sarah,
If you are reading this, I was right to be afraid.
I need you to understand something before anything else.
I did not keep secrets because I did not trust you.
I kept them because I loved you and Noah, and because I made the mistake of believing danger could be contained if only one person carried it.
I was wrong.
Sarah stopped to wipe her eyes.
Noah leaned against her.
The letter continued.
Martin Shaw is involved, but he is not the beginning.
Richard Vale is one of several people used to enter families after a death.
If Richard ever comes near you, do not believe the meeting was accidental.
Sarah looked at Collins.
David had known Richard’s name before dying.
The next paragraph was worse.
I discovered someone had access to probate records, insurance settlements, grief support organizations and private financial information. They identify vulnerable families and determine which ones can be manipulated.
I believe some deaths occurred naturally.
I believe others were encouraged.
And I believe at least three were created.
Sarah whispered,
“Created.”
Collins said nothing.
David had listed encrypted file names and passwords.
One sentence had been underlined by hand.
THE PERSON I TRUSTED MOST IS THE PERSON I CAN NO LONGER CLEAR.
No name.
No explanation.
The memory cards contained copies of the evidence from Blackwater.
But they also contained something new.
Security footage.
David had secretly recorded meetings.
Martin appeared in two.
Richard appeared once.
Olivia appeared once.
Then came a video filmed inside a restaurant.
David sat across from someone whose back faced the camera.
David said,
“You gave them the names.”
The unknown person replied,
“I gave Martin data. I didn’t know what he was doing with it.”
“You knew enough.”
“I tried to stop.”
“When?”
“When they chose Sarah.”
Sarah’s heart stopped.
The unknown person knew she had been targeted before David died.
David leaned forward.
“You stay away from my family.”
The person answered,
“If I disappear, they’ll know I warned you.”
David:
“Then help me expose them.”
Person:
“There are people higher than Shaw.”
David:
“Who?”
The video ended.
Corrupted.
The face of the unknown person never appeared.
But Noah pointed at the screen.
“Play it again.”
Collins restarted the clip.
“What?”
“The hand.”
The unknown person lifted a glass.
A ring was visible.
Large.
Silver.
An unusual symbol engraved on its surface.
Sarah had seen it before.
Not on Thomas.
Not on Martin.
On someone else.
At David’s funeral.
A man stood near the back throughout the service.
Sarah had assumed he was a business contact.
She remembered the ring because he had shaken her hand afterward.
He had said one sentence.
“David was trying to protect more people than he realized.”
She never learned his name.
But someone had.
A funeral photograph showed him clearly.
Officer Collins ran facial recognition through available law enforcement databases.
No match.
Then Rebecca Sloan saw the picture.
Her face changed.
“That’s impossible.”
Sarah leaned forward.
“You know him?”
Rebecca stared at the photograph.
“That’s my brother.”
May you like
Robert Sloan.
The federal investigator who had supposedly disappeared four years before David died.
