[CHAPTER 3]
I told Emma not to look behind us.
Naturally, she looked behind us.
“Is that car following us?”
“No.”
It was.
Eli twisted in his seat.
His face drained of color.
“I’ve seen it before.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Where?”
“Near the shelter.”
“When?”
“Three nights ago.”
I changed lanes.
The sedan changed lanes.
I turned onto a side street.
It followed.
That was enough.
I called Detective Marcus Reed.
Marcus and I had gone to college together before life sent us in opposite directions.
He became a cop.
I inherited a company.
Grace had trusted him.
So did I.
“I’m being followed,” I said.
“Where are you?”
I gave him the intersection.
“Do not go home.”
“I’m going to St. Mark’s.”
“Michael—”
“There’s something there Grace left for me.”
Silence.
Marcus knew that changed everything.
“I’m ten minutes away.”
“We’re five.”
“Stay in the car until I arrive.”
I looked in the mirror.
The black sedan had disappeared.
That did not make me feel safer.
It made me feel worse.
St. Mark’s sat between a laundromat and an old apartment building.
The church itself was dark, but lights glowed behind the shelter.
I parked near the entrance.
“We wait,” I said.
Eli shook his head.
“If somebody knows the key is here—”
“We wait.”
He looked ready to argue.
Emma touched his sleeve.
“My dad gets bossy when he’s scared.”
I turned.
“Emma.”
“What?”
Eli laughed.
It was a small sound.
But it was the first time I heard him sound like a child.
Marcus arrived seven minutes later.
He approached in plain clothes with another officer.
I explained everything quickly.
He stared at Grace’s photograph for a long moment.
“I remember this sweater.”
“So do I.”
He looked at Eli.
“You sure about Nathan?”
Eli nodded.
Marcus didn’t react.
“Show us the locker.”
The shelter volunteer recognized Eli.
“Where have you been?”
“Around.”
She looked at his clothes.
Then at me.
Suspicion entered her face.
“He’s with me.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?”
Under any other circumstances, I might have smiled.
Instead, I gave her my identification.
She studied it.
“Oh.”
“Please don’t ‘oh’ me.”
That did make Eli smile.
Her name was Denise.
She led us downstairs.
Rows of old metal lockers lined one wall.
Eli stopped at number seventeen.
He reached beneath a broken baseboard.
His fingers searched inside the narrow opening.
Then his expression changed.
“No.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“It’s gone.”
Marcus crouched.
“What was here?”
“A little metal box.”
“When did you last check?”
“This morning.”
The room became silent.
I heard footsteps upstairs.
Marcus immediately stood.
His partner moved toward the doorway.
Denise looked frightened.
Then a man appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
I recognized him.
Nathan’s executive assistant.
Caleb Monroe.
He froze when he saw me.
I froze when I saw him.
“Caleb?”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Marcus moved between us.
“Why are you here?”
Caleb stepped backward.
“I volunteer.”
Denise frowned.
“No, you don’t.”
He ran.
Marcus’s partner chased him upstairs.
I started after them.
Marcus grabbed my arm.
“Stay with the kids.”
“I want answers.”
“You’ll get them without getting hit by a car.”
Thirty seconds later, shouting came from the alley.
Then silence.
Marcus left.
Emma moved closer to me.
Eli looked destroyed.
“I should have kept the key with me.”
“No.”
“I promised her.”
“You kept your promise.”
“But it’s gone.”
I crouched in front of him.
“You found Emma.”
He looked at her.
“You gave me Grace’s photograph.”
His eyes filled.
“And now you told us where to look.”
I squeezed his shoulder.
“You have done more than enough.”
The words seemed to hurt him.
He blinked rapidly.
Nobody had ever told him that before.
Marcus returned.
“Caleb’s in custody.”
“Did he have the box?”
“No.”
I cursed under my breath.
Emma heard me.
“Dad.”
“Sorry.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Father of the year.”
“Not tonight.”
He turned serious.
“Caleb says Nathan told him to come here.”
There it was.
The sentence I had feared.
“Why?”
“He won’t say.”
“Then make him.”
Marcus stared at me.
“That’s not how police work.”
“It should be.”
Eli suddenly spoke.
“The key doesn’t open a locker.”
We all looked at him.
“What?”
He pointed to a small drawing on the back of Grace’s photograph.
I hadn’t noticed it.
Three numbers.
“She told me the key belonged to box 317.”
“Where?”
“She said you would know.”
I stared at the numbers.
My mind raced.
March 17.
Grace’s birthday?
No.
Our anniversary was June 4.
Emma’s birthday was October 2.
Then I remembered.
Room 317.
Grace’s hospital room during her first surgery.
But hospital rooms did not have private lockboxes.
Marcus saw recognition on my face.
“What?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
We drove there.
The old oncology wing had been renovated, but Marcus called ahead.
A security supervisor met us.
Room 317 was now an office.
Nothing.
I almost gave up.
Then Eli walked toward the hospital bench near the old entrance.
The same bench from the photograph.
He crouched.
“What are you doing?”
“She sat here when she gave me the key.”
He ran his fingers underneath the bench.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
There was a small metal plate secured beneath it.
Three numbers had been scratched into the paint.
Marcus knelt beside him.
Behind the plate was a narrow compartment.
Inside sat a brass key.
Eli stared.
“That’s not my key.”
My heart pounded.
“What do you mean?”
“My key opened this.”
So Grace had created two stages.
Someone had stolen the first key.
But the second had survived.
I picked it up.
A tag hung from it.
Hart Central Bank.
Private Storage.
Marcus exhaled.
“Your wife really planned this.”
I stared at the little brass key.
Grace had been dying.
And while I had been begging doctors for one more treatment, one more week, one more miracle, she had been preparing for something else.
Something she hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me.
Or something she had been protecting me from.
We reached Hart Central Bank just before midnight.
My family owned part of the institution, so the manager opened the private vault.
Box 317 was registered under Grace’s maiden name.
I inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
A flash drive.
A small notebook.
And another photograph.
This one showed Grace standing beside my brother Nathan.
Neither of them was smiling.
May you like
On the back, Grace had written one sentence.
If Michael is reading this, Nathan finally failed to stop the truth.
