Chapter 6 - the night of the accident)
They escaped inside a catering van.
The driver, Mrs. Dawson, was waiting.
Evan stared at her.
"You knew."
She pulled onto the service road.
"Some of it."
"You told me you never met my mother."
"I didn't."
"Then how?"
"Naomi contacted me two years ago."
Nia leaned forward.
"You know my grandmother?"
Mrs. Dawson looked at her through the mirror.
"Yes."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
Nia's face fell.
Mrs. Dawson continued.
"She called me yesterday morning. She said Richard had found one of her storage units. She told me to prepare for tonight."
"Prepare for what?"
"Getting Evan out."
Evan looked through the rear window.
The Whitmore mansion disappeared behind trees.
He should have felt relieved.
Instead he felt hollow.
His entire life had become a question.
Mrs. Dawson drove toward a small town ten miles away.
"There's a safe apartment above an old pharmacy."
"Police," Evan said.
"We need to go to the police."
Mrs. Dawson shook her head.
"Not yet."
"My father poisoned me."
"Your father donates millions to law enforcement charities. Three former police commissioners are at his party tonight."
"So what?"
"So if we walk into the wrong station with half a recording and a frightened child, Richard has you back before breakfast."
Evan hated that she was right.
Nia looked at the recorder.
"What else is on it?"
They reached the apartment just after eight.
The room was simple.
Two couches.
A small kitchen.
Old wooden floors.
Mrs. Dawson locked every door.
Evan immediately asked for a charger.
His wheelchair used a specialized connection.
Mrs. Dawson had brought one.
"You planned everything."
"Naomi planned everything."
Evan connected the chair.
The lights slowly returned.
He opened the recorder.
There were thirteen files.
The next one was dated the night of the crash.
Claire's voice began.
"October seventeenth. Eleven forty one p.m."
Evan recognized the date.
The accident.
"If this records successfully, I'm leaving the estate with Evan tonight."
His throat tightened.
"I confronted Richard. He admitted enough."
A door slammed on the recording.
Claire whispered.
"He's coming."
Richard's voice entered.
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere you can't reach us."
"Claire."
"Don't."
"You are emotional."
"My son's blood contains medication he never needed."
"You don't understand the treatment."
"Marcus explained it."
A long silence.
Then Richard laughed.
"You trusted Marcus?"
"I trusted the lab."
"You'll destroy this family."
"No, Richard. You already did."
Footsteps.
Evan heard himself crying in the background.
He had been seven.
"Give me the boy."
"Stay away."
Claire sounded frightened.
Then Richard said something Evan would never forget.
"If you take Evan, you take everything."
"He's your son."
"He's the future of the company."
"He is a child."
"He is a Whitmore."
The recording became chaotic.
Something fell.
Evan heard his mother yell.
Then another voice appeared.
A woman.
"Claire, now."
Nia grabbed the photograph.
"Eleanor?"
Possibly.
The recording moved to a car.
Doors slammed.
Claire breathed heavily.
Young Evan cried.
His mother whispered, "It's okay, baby. We're leaving."
A car engine started.
For several minutes there was only road noise.
Then headlights behind them.
Claire cursed.
Another vehicle followed.
The engine accelerated.
Young Evan cried louder.
"Mommy."
"I'm here."
The following vehicle struck them.
Once.
Twice.
Claire screamed.
Tires skidded.
Then the recording stopped.
Evan sat completely still.
He remembered.
Not everything.
But fragments.
Rain.
His mother's hand.
A white truck behind them.
The smell of gasoline.
Then another memory.
Someone carrying him.
Not Richard.
A woman.
Red hair.
"Eleanor."
Nia looked at him.
"You remember her?"
"I think so."
Mrs. Dawson crossed the room.
"Evan, don't force it."
But another image came.
The car upside down.
His mother hanging from the seat belt.
Blood on her forehead.
Alive.
Definitely alive.
A red haired woman pulling Evan through broken glass.
And his mother shouting after them.
"Take him. Go."
Evan gasped.
Nia held his hand.
"What?"
"My mother survived the crash."
No one spoke.
Evan began to cry.
Not because Claire was dead.
Because for the first time, he knew she might not be.
Then the apartment lights went out.
Mrs. Dawson froze.
The wheelchair continued glowing from its battery.
Someone knocked downstairs.
Three times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Nia stood.
"Grandma."
Mrs. Dawson grabbed her.
"Wait."
Another three knocks.
Then a woman's voice called from below.
"Nia?"
Nia broke free.
"Grandma."
She ran toward the stairs.
Mrs. Dawson followed.
Evan drove after them.
Nia opened the downstairs door.
Naomi Brooks stood in the rain.
Her coat was torn.
Her face was bruised.
But she was alive.
Nia threw herself into her arms.
Naomi held her tightly.
Then she looked over Nia's shoulder at Evan.
Her expression changed.
"Claire's son."
Evan moved closer.
"You knew my mother."
Naomi nodded.
"Better than anyone understood."
"Is she alive?"
May you like
Naomi stared at him for a long moment.
Then she said, "The last time I saw your mother was three months after the world buried her."
