Chapter 7 - The Man Who Had Been Watching
Peter Lawson had been part of my life for eleven years.
That was the part I couldn't accept.
He knew Rachel.
He knew Ethan.
He knew my finances.
He knew the house.
He knew the trust.
And now I knew he had been involved from the beginning.
I called Detective Cole.
He arrived within an hour.
We showed him the phone messages.
The forged documents.
The photograph.
The trust agreement.
Cole stared at Peter's name.
“I know him.”
“You do?”
“He was questioned once in an unrelated financial fraud case.”
“Why wasn't he charged?”
“Not enough evidence.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's convenient.”
Cole didn't argue.
“Where is he now?”
“His office.”
We drove there.
The building was empty.
His assistant said he had left two hours earlier.
His office looked untouched.
Too untouched.
No computer.
No files.
No personal belongings.
“He knew,” Lauren said.
Cole nodded.
“He knew we were coming.”
Then I saw something on the desk.
A framed photograph.
Rachel.
Me.
Ethan.
The photograph had been taken at our first Christmas together.
Peter stood behind us.
Smiling.
I picked it up.
On the back was a date.
December 23.
The day before Christmas.
I remembered that day.
Rachel had been upset.
She told me someone had been following her.
I had assumed she meant a stranger.
Now I wondered.
We searched the office.
Behind a filing cabinet, we found a hidden compartment.
Inside were passports.
Cash.
A burner phone.
And photographs.
Dozens of them.
Rachel leaving work.
Rachel with Ethan.
Me entering the bank.
Me at the hospital.
Me walking into my house.
Some photographs were recent.
Others were fourteen months old.
“He's been watching us,” I whispered.
Cole took photographs.
Then the burner phone rang.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Peter's voice.
“David.”
“Where are you?”
“You know where I am.”
“Why did you kill Rachel?”
Silence.
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
“Why did Rachel want to expose her own father?”
I looked at Jonathan.
He shook his head.
Peter continued.
“Your father-in-law wasn't the victim.”
“What?”
“He was the architect.”
Jonathan stood.
“Don't listen to him.”
Peter laughed.
“Jonathan told you about Michael?”
I said nothing.
“Of course he did.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere you can't reach.”
“You're going to prison.”
“No.”
“You forged documents.”
“I can prove someone else signed them.”
“Who?”
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Peter laughed again.
“That's the beauty of paperwork.”
The call ended.
Cole looked at me.
“Don't say anything.”
“Why?”
“Because he's trying to provoke you.”
Lauren's phone rang.
She answered.
Then her face went pale.
“What?”
She listened.
“Okay.”
She hung up.
“Your trust was accessed this morning.”
“What?”
“Someone made a withdrawal.”
“How?”
“Through an authorized digital signature.”
I looked at the original trust agreement.
“Who is authorized?”
Lauren read the document.
“Rachel.”
“She is dead.”
“Exactly.”
We stared at one another.
Then I remembered the hospital.
The forged records.
The missing files.
“What if her death certificate is wrong?”
Cole looked at me.
“That's impossible.”
“Is it?”
We checked.
The state database showed Rachel Carter as deceased.
But the digital signature used to authorize the trust withdrawal had been verified that morning.
Rachel's signature.
From a computer.
At 9:42 a.m.
Fourteen months after her death.
Someone was impersonating her.
And they had access to her credentials.
We rushed to the bank.
The withdrawal amount was exactly $500,000.
Destination:
Carter Family Holdings.
A company I had never heard of.
Jonathan went pale when he saw it.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
He looked at me.
“My father created it.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does it have my family's name?”
Jonathan whispered,
“Because it wasn't created for your family.”
“It was created for the people who would inherit it.”
“Who?”
He looked toward Ethan.
“Your son.”
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At 2:17 a.m., I heard the front door open.
I grabbed the flashlight.
Walked downstairs.
Nobody.
The alarm hadn't triggered.
Then I noticed something.
A photograph sat on the kitchen table.
I hadn't put it there.
Rachel and Ethan.
Taken when he was two.
On the back:
YOU'RE GETTING CLOSE.
I turned it over.
There was another message.
LOOK UNDER THE FLOOR.
My blood ran cold.
The kitchen.
The hardwood floor.
The exact floor where Grant had collapsed.
I remembered the renovation.
One section had been older than the rest.
I had assumed it was structural reinforcement.
I moved the cabinet.
There was a seam.
I pulled up the board.
A metal box was hidden beneath it.
Inside was a key.
And a tiny audio recorder.
I pressed play.
Rachel's voice.
“If you're hearing this, Peter knows.”
I froze.
“He knows about the second trust.”
Her breathing sounded uneven.
“He also knows about Ethan's father.”
I stopped the recording.
My heart was pounding.
Ethan's father?
I was Ethan's father.
Unless…
No.
That was impossible.
I pressed play.
Rachel whispered:
“David, I'm sorry.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the recorder.
Then my phone rang.
Jonathan.
“David.”
“What?”
“You need to leave the house.”
“Why?”
“Because Peter just called me.”
“What did he say?”
Jonathan's voice trembled.
“He said the truth about Ethan's biological father is about to become public.”
I couldn't speak.
Then Jonathan said,
“And David…”
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“What?”
“Peter claims Ethan isn't your son.”
