Chapter 4 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead)
Rachel drove back to Susan's house without remembering most of the journey.
She carried the photograph in her mind.
Nathan Cole.
Her father.
Alive.
Standing beside Dean.
Standing beside Richard Weller.
The picture had been taken less than a month ago.
For twenty-nine years Rachel had believed the same story.
Her father left.
Her father did not want them.
Her father eventually died somewhere out west.
Evelyn had never given details.
Whenever Rachel asked, her mother would say, "Some doors are safer closed."
As a teenager, Rachel had interpreted that as bitterness.
As an adult, she had interpreted it as grief.
Now she wondered whether it had been a warning.
Susan was in the backyard with Emma when Rachel arrived.
Emma was drawing circles with sidewalk chalk.
The moment she saw her mother, she ran forward.
Rachel lifted her.
Emma touched her face.
"You look sad."
"I'm okay."
"No, you don't."
Rachel smiled despite herself.
Three-year-olds had little patience for adult lies.
Susan watched them from a few feet away.
"You found something."
Rachel nodded.
"Can we talk inside?"
Susan's expression changed.
They gave Emma a cartoon and went into the kitchen.
Rachel put the laptop on the table.
She played the recording first.
Susan listened without interrupting.
When Dean said he could create documentation to portray Rachel as unstable, Susan whispered, "That son of a bitch."
When the recording ended, Rachel showed her the photograph.
Susan went pale.
Rachel noticed immediately.
"You know him."
Susan looked away.
"You know my father."
"Rachel."
"You knew he was alive."
Susan sat down slowly.
Rachel stared at her aunt.
"How long?"
Susan's eyes filled.
"Please understand."
"How long?"
"Your mother made me promise."
"How long?"
Susan whispered, "Always."
Rachel stepped backward.
"You knew for almost thirty years?"
"Yes."
"You let me believe he was dead."
"Your mother believed that was the safest thing."
"Safe from what?"
Susan pressed both hands against the table.
"From him."
Rachel looked at the photograph again.
"Tell me everything."
Susan shook her head.
"Some of this belongs to your mother."
"My mother is dead."
"I know."
"And my father is alive. My husband is trying to steal my house. A man named Richard Weller apparently knew my mother. So whatever secret everybody has spent thirty years protecting me from is no longer protecting me."
Susan stared at her for a long time.
Then she began.
Nathan Cole had not been a poor young father who became overwhelmed and left.
He had worked in property acquisition.
At first legitimately.
Then less so.
He was charming, intelligent and extremely good at discovering what people feared losing.
By the time Rachel was five, Nathan had become involved with a group of investors who specialized in purchasing land before major municipal development decisions became public.
Sometimes they acquired information illegally.
Sometimes they manufactured financial pressure.
Sometimes they forged signatures.
Sometimes they used relationships.
"Your mother discovered what he was doing," Susan said.
"How?"
"Because he used her name."
Rachel's breath caught.
"On what?"
"Documents."
The pattern felt horribly familiar.
"Nathan put loans against this house?"
"Not exactly. The house belonged to your grandmother then."
"So what happened?"
"Evelyn found records showing Nathan's company was buying properties along the western corridor."
"The same area Weller wants now."
Susan nodded.
Rachel sat opposite her.
"What did Mom do?"
"She copied everything."
"And?"
"She threatened to go to federal investigators."
Rachel stared.
"What happened?"
"Nathan disappeared."
"You mean left."
"No."
Susan's face tightened.
"He vanished before she could confront him."
"Because he knew?"
"She believed someone warned him."
"Richard Weller?"
"I don't know."
Rachel stood and walked to the window.
Emma was still visible in the living room.
Safe.
For the moment.
"Why tell me he died?"
"Because several months after Nathan disappeared, your mother received a photograph."
"What photograph?"
"You."
Rachel turned.
"Me?"
"You were walking home from school. The picture had been taken from across the street."
Rachel's stomach turned.
"Was there a message?"
Susan nodded.
"What did it say?"
"Forget Nathan. Raise your daughter."
Rachel felt cold.
"Who sent it?"
"We never knew."
"So Mom lied to protect me."
"Yes."
"And now Nathan is standing beside Weller."
Susan wiped her eyes.
"I wish I knew why."
Rachel thought about Dean.
"When did Mom meet Dean?"
Susan blinked.
"What?"
"Dean and I started dating six months before Mom died."
"I remember."
"Did she like him?"
Susan hesitated.
"No."
Rachel had known that.
Evelyn had been polite to Dean, never warm.
She once told Rachel that Dean asked too many questions about money.
Rachel had accused her mother of judging him.
Six weeks later Evelyn died of a sudden aneurysm.
Rachel closed her eyes.
"Did Mom ever say anything specific about Dean?"
Susan thought.
"She asked me to run a background check."
Rachel turned sharply.
"What?"
"I told her she was being paranoid."
"Did she do it?"
"I don't know."
Rachel felt suddenly furious at everyone.
At Dean.
At Nathan.
At Weller.
At Susan.
At herself.
"What else did she hide?"
Susan stood.
"There's something in the house."
Rachel stared at her.
"What?"
"Your mother had a small lockbox."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"How can you know there was one and not know where?"
"She told me if Nathan ever came back, I should tell you to look behind the blue wall."
Rachel frowned.
"What blue wall?"
"Those were her exact words."
"There is no blue wall in the house."
"There used to be."
Rachel remembered.
When she was a child, the small study beside the dining room had dark blue wallpaper.
Evelyn redecorated it shortly before her death.
Dean had converted that room into his office two years ago.
Rachel felt her pulse accelerate.
"Dean's office."
Susan nodded.
"I think so."
Rachel reached for her keys.
Susan caught her wrist.
"No."
"I need that box."
"And Dean may be waiting for you."
"I won't take Emma."
"That isn't the point."
Rachel looked toward the living room.
She knew Susan was right.
Going alone would be reckless.
So she called the one person who had already betrayed Dean once.
Caleb answered.
When Rachel told him about the blue wall, he said, "Do not go inside that house without someone with you."
"Can you come?"
Caleb did not respond immediately.
Then he said, "Give me twenty minutes."
Forty-three minutes later, Rachel and Caleb stood outside the house.
Dean's truck was gone.
The front door was locked.
Rachel used her key.
The dining room still looked like a battlefield.
Nobody had cleaned anything.
The pet bowl remained beside the doorway.
Rachel looked away.
Caleb followed her into Dean's office.
The walls were pale gray.
Bookshelves covered one side.
A heavy desk stood near the window.
"Where was the blue wall?" Caleb asked.
Rachel pointed toward the wall behind the desk.
"That one."
They moved the desk.
Nothing.
Rachel ran her fingers across the plaster.
Then she noticed a thin vertical seam.
Caleb saw it too.
They removed a narrow wooden trim panel.
Behind it was older drywall.
And beneath that, visible through a small crack, was a strip of dark blue wallpaper.
Rachel's breath caught.
They worked silently for nearly fifteen minutes.
Finally, Caleb loosened a rectangular panel.
Inside the wall was a metal box.
Small.
Black.
Locked.
Rachel stared at it.
"My mother put that there."
Caleb lifted it carefully.
Then a floorboard creaked behind them.
Both turned.
Dean stood in the doorway.
He was holding Rachel's missing deed folder.
May you like
And he was smiling.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find that."
