Chapter 2 - Amelia's Voice)
The police played the recording that evening.
Grant insisted Ben and Sophie stay upstairs with their grandmother, Margaret Mercer.
He did not want the children hearing whatever Amelia had left behind.
Officer Hayes placed the old recorder on the kitchen table.
A detective named Samuel Ortiz stood near the window.
Grant sat across from them.
The recorder clicked.
Static filled the room.
Then Amelia spoke.
Grant had prepared himself.
He had been wrong.
Nothing could prepare a person to hear the voice of someone whose funeral he had attended.
"June eighteenth. Eleven forty-three p.m."
Grant gripped the edge of the table.
Amelia sounded tired.
Nervous.
"If you're hearing this, I finally decided I wasn't imagining things."
She paused.
"I don't know who I can trust."
Grant closed his eyes.
Amelia continued.
"Mason says the discrepancies are accounting errors. They aren't."
Grant looked at Ortiz.
The detective remained expressionless.
"I found transfers from the Mercer Foundation into holding companies I don't recognize. The amounts are small enough to avoid quarterly review, but together they're enormous."
Grant's confusion deepened.
He had founded the Mercer Foundation to finance pediatric care, community housing and educational programs.
Amelia served on its oversight board.
Mason managed much of the operational side.
"The transfers began eighteen months ago," Amelia said. "Someone copied Grant's authorization credentials."
Grant whispered, "No."
Hayes glanced toward him.
The recording continued.
"Mason told me to stop asking questions. Then Vanessa told me the same thing."
Grant's eyes snapped toward the recorder.
Amelia knew her.
Not casually.
Well enough to be warned by her.
"Vanessa says I'm misunderstanding what I found. She says Mason is protecting Grant from something bigger."
A faint sound occurred in the recording.
A door closing.
Amelia lowered her voice.
"I don't believe her anymore."
The message ended.
Grant stared at the machine.
Ortiz pressed another button.
The second recording began.
"June twenty-first."
Amelia sounded frightened.
"I followed Vanessa."
Grant felt cold.
"She met Mason at the Riverside Hotel. I couldn't hear everything, but I heard my name. Grant's name. They were arguing about an account in Switzerland."
Grant stood.
Hayes gestured for him to sit.
He did.
"I took photographs. I'm moving copies of everything somewhere outside the house."
Another pause.
"If Mason discovers I'm recording this, he'll know exactly what I've been doing."
The third recording was dated four days before Amelia's death.
Her breathing sounded fast.
"Grant thinks I've been distant because we're fighting."
Grant's throat tightened.
They had been fighting.
He remembered every word.
Amelia accused him of never being home.
Grant accused her of distrusting Mason.
She had tried to tell him something.
He had refused to listen.
"I haven't told Grant yet because I need proof. Mason has been his best friend since college. If I accuse him without evidence, Grant will defend him."
Grant covered his mouth.
She had known him perfectly.
"I found the source of the transfers."
The recording suddenly filled with movement.
Amelia whispered.
"Someone's outside."
A knock sounded.
Then the message ended.
Grant stared at the recorder.
"Is there another one?"
Ortiz nodded.
He played it.
This recording was shorter.
Amelia sounded strangely calm.
"July second. If I don't get another chance, everything is in the place Ben calls the pirate house."
Grant immediately understood.
The shed.
When Ben was four, Grant had built a wooden steering wheel inside and told him it was a pirate ship.
Amelia continued.
"The key is separate."
Grant looked at the blue ribbon.
"I need Grant to know I never betrayed him."
His eyes filled.
"I was trying to protect him."
Then came the sentence that silenced everyone.
"Mason isn't the person I'm most afraid of."
Grant slowly looked toward Hayes.
Amelia's voice dropped almost to a whisper.
"Vanessa is."
The recording ended.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Grant's phone rang.
Mason Rourke.
Grant stared at the screen.
Detective Ortiz said, "Answer it."
Grant pressed the speaker button.
"Mason."
"Grant, thank God. I just heard what happened."
His friend's familiar voice filled the kitchen.
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"Police called me asking questions about Vanessa."
Grant looked at Ortiz.
"Do you know where she is?"
"No. Why would I?"
"You introduced us."
A pause.
"Three years ago."
"You knew she knew Amelia."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Mason sighed.
"Grant, this is complicated."
Grant felt his anger rising.
"Then simplify it."
"Vanessa and Amelia served on the same foundation committee years ago. It wasn't important."
"You told me Vanessa had never met Amelia."
"I didn't say that."
"You absolutely did."
"Grant, you've been through a traumatic afternoon. We should talk when you're calmer."
Grant almost laughed.
"Did you steal money from my foundation?"
Silence.
Then Mason's voice changed.
Not much.
But enough.
"Who told you that?"
Grant looked at the recorder.
"Amelia."
Mason stopped breathing.
Grant heard it.
A tiny inhale.
Then nothing.
"Mason?"
The call disconnected.
Ortiz was already reaching for his phone.
Grant stood.
"He's running."
"Maybe."
"No. I know him."
Grant walked toward the window.
Police lights reflected off the glass.
For twenty years, Mason had been the person Grant called when something went wrong.
College.
First company.
Marriage.
Children.
Amelia's death.
Mason had stood beside Grant at the funeral.
He had carried Sophie's sleeping body to the car afterward.
Grant suddenly remembered something.
At the cemetery, Mason had whispered a sentence.
You'll understand one day that some things are better left buried.
Grant had assumed he meant grief.
Now he wasn't sure.
Officer Hayes walked over.
"Mr. Mercer, there's another issue."
Grant turned.
"What?"
"We examined the photographs from the box."
"And?"
"One of them was taken two days before your wife's crash."
Grant waited.
Hayes placed the photograph on the table.
Amelia stood beside her silver SUV at a gas station.
Vanessa stood facing her.
Behind Vanessa was another man.
The image was blurry.
But Grant recognized him.
Not Mason.
Grant's face drained of color.
"That can't be right."
Ortiz looked at the picture.
"You know him?"
Grant nodded slowly.
The man in the photograph was Daniel Mercer.
Grant's older brother.
A man Grant had not spoken to in eleven years.
A man who was supposed to be living in Europe.
May you like
And according to family records, Daniel had returned to the United States only once in the past decade.
For Amelia's funeral.
