Chapter 6 - The DealDetective Bell took my phone before I could respond.
“You're not going.”
“He has Vanessa.”
“He wants you emotional.”
“He's threatening to kill her.”
“And if you walk into that cabin alone, he'll have two hostages.”
I stared at him.
“Then what do you propose?”
“We make him believe you're cooperating.”
Mom sat upright in her hospital bed.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
“No more using Emily.”
“Mrs. Carter—”
“My son has spent twenty-three years learning that fear works.”
Her voice was weak, but the words weren't.
“He threatens people. They obey. He lies. They doubt themselves. He hurts someone, then convinces everyone they caused it.”
She looked at me.
“I helped teach him that.”
“Mom—”
“I did.”
“You were afraid.”
“I was his mother.”
“So you were supposed to know how to stop a fifteen-year-old who may have killed Dad?”
Her face collapsed.
I immediately regretted the words.
She looked away.
“I knew he was troubled before your father died.”
“You didn't know this.”
“I knew enough to be frightened.”
Bell interrupted gently.
“Right now Vanessa is alive. That's what matters.”
Police built a controlled response.
I texted Derek.
I have the journal. Let her go.
Three minutes later:
You come first.
I need proof she's alive.
My phone rang.
Video.
Derek's face appeared.
For the first time since I'd returned, he no longer looked polished.
His hair was disheveled.
Dark circles beneath his eyes.
Behind him I saw the cabin.
“Show me Vanessa.”
He turned the phone.
She was tied to the chair, gagged.
Alive.
“Untie her.”
“When you bring what belongs to me.”
“Dad's journal doesn't belong to you.”
His expression changed.
“He was my father too.”
“Then why are you so afraid of what he wrote?”
His eyes hardened.
“Be careful.”
I realized then that Derek had built his entire adult life around one method.
Make everyone else afraid first.
So I smiled.
“You're running out of people to scare.”
The call ended.
Bell stared at me.
“Please stop improvising.”
“Did it help?”
“No.”
Natalie muttered, “A little.”
The plan was simple.
And terrifying.
Police would create a copy of Dad's journal.
I would deliver it to a location Derek selected.
Tracking devices would be hidden in my vehicle and clothing.
Officers would remain far enough away that Derek wouldn't detect them.
Nobody liked the plan.
Especially Mom.
But Derek refused any alternative.
At 4:40 a.m., he sent coordinates.
Not Pine Hollow.
A marina thirty miles north.
Of course.
Water.
I drove alone.
Technically.
Police were everywhere I couldn't see.
Bell's final instruction remained in my ear through a hidden receiver.
“If he tells you to leave the vehicle, stall.”
The marina was nearly deserted.
Fog rolled over the water.
I parked beside an empty boat ramp.
No Derek.
Then my phone buzzed.
Locker 6. Leave journal.
There were storage lockers beside the bait shop.
I carried the bag.
Placed it inside six.
Closed the door.
My phone buzzed again.
Drive home.
I whispered, “He isn't here.”
Bell responded through the earpiece.
“Do exactly what he says.”
I returned to my car.
Thirty seconds later an explosion of police movement erupted behind me.
Someone had approached the locker from the woods.
Not Derek.
A teenage boy.
He had been paid $200 online to retrieve a bag.
Derek had anticipated surveillance.
Bell cursed softly.
Then my phone rang.
Derek.
“You brought cops.”
“No.”
“You always were a terrible liar.”
“You sent a kid to pick up the journal.”
“No one forced him.”
“He's sixteen.”
“So?”
That one word told me more about Derek than years of memories.
“Where's Vanessa?”
“Still breathing.”
“What do you want?”
“Original journal.”
“For what?”
“To correct a family misunderstanding.”
“You murdered Richard.”
Silence.
Then:
“Richard made choices.”
My heart pounded.
“Did Dad make choices too?”
Another pause.
Longer.
“You really want to talk about Dad?”
“Yes.”
“You remember him as a saint.”
“I remember him as my father.”
“He hated me.”
“No.”
“He was sending me away.”
“To get help.”
“Same thing.”
And suddenly his voice contained something I'd never heard from adult Derek.
The furious teenager from the tape.
“He stood on that dock and told me I was sick.”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“What happened next?”
Bell whispered in my ear, “Keep him talking.”
Derek laughed.
“You're recording me.”
“Maybe.”
“You think you're smarter than me.”
“I think you're scared.”
His breathing changed.
“He grabbed me.”
“Dad?”
“He put his hands on me.”
“What did you do?”
“Protected myself.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“How?”
Silence.
“Derek?”
“He fell.”
“Into the lake?”
No answer.
“Did you push him?”
“He fell.”
“Did you save him?”
This time I heard something that chilled me.
A laugh.
Quiet.
Almost amused.
“He could swim.”
I shut my eyes.
“Then why did he drown?”
“He hit his head.”
“You knew that?”
“I saw the blood.”
Bell's voice vanished from my awareness.
All I could hear was my brother.
“You saw Dad injured in the water and left him?”
“He shouldn't have touched me.”
Twenty-three years.
Twenty-three years of mystery compressed into five words.
“You killed him.”
“No.”
“You watched him die.”
“He made his decision.”
I whispered, “You were fifteen.”
“And?”
“You've spent your whole life covering what a terrified fifteen-year-old did.”
“I wasn't terrified.”
That answer was worse.
Then Derek said:
“Ask Mom why she lied.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She knew.”
The call disconnected.
I sat motionless.
Bell reached my car minutes later.
“We got it.”
I looked at him.
“Got what?”
“An admission.”
“It wasn't direct.”
“Enough to reopen the death investigation.”
But I could only hear Derek's last words.
Ask Mom why she lied.
When we returned to the hospital, I confronted her.
She didn't deny it.
Mom began crying before I even finished.
“I knew Derek was there.”
“You told police Dad went out alone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Derek came back soaked.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did he say?”
“He told me they argued.”
“And?”
“He said your father slipped.”
“Did you believe him?”
Mom cried harder.
“At first.”
“At first?”
“He had your father's watch.”
I froze.
Dad's watch had never been recovered.
The expensive silver Omega Grandpa gave him.
Mom had told insurance investigators it was lost in the lake.
“Derek took it?”
She nodded.
“He said Dad didn't need it anymore.”
I had to turn away.
“What kind of fifteen-year-old says that?”
Mom whispered, “My son.”
“Why didn't you tell police?”
“I had already lost my husband.”
“And you thought protecting Derek would save your family?”
“Yes.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“Instead you taught him there were no consequences.”
“I know.”
For the first time, Mom said the words without defending herself.
No excuses.
No explanation.
Just:
“I know.”
Then Detective Bell entered.
His expression told me something else had happened.
“What?”
“We found Vanessa.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief nearly dropped me.
“Where?”
“She escaped.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Bell continued.
“She was being held at a second property registered to one of Derek's shell companies.”
“Where is Derek?”
“Gone.”
Of course.
But Vanessa had brought something with her.
Derek's laptop.
He had left it on a desk while going outside to answer a call.
Vanessa grabbed it when she escaped through a bathroom window.
And the laptop contained records.
Thousands.
Bank transfers.
Forged documents.
Messages with Richard Vale.
Videos.
Audio.
Years of fraud.
But one folder was password-protected.
Its name was:
EMILY.
When technicians finally opened it, I understood why Derek had been so confident he could control me from ten thousand miles away.
It contained photographs of me.
Airports.
Hotels.
Office buildings.
Restaurants.
Dating back five years.
Someone had been following me.
At the bottom of the folder was a spreadsheet.
Payments.
Dates.
Names.
And the final entry, made two days before I returned home:
E.C. — contingency: $75,000.
I stared at Bell.
“What does contingency mean?”
His expression was grim.
“We're trying to determine that.”
But Vanessa knew.
She was sitting in another hospital room when I asked her.
Her bruised wrists were bandaged.
Her face was pale.
When I showed her the entry, she started crying.
“Vanessa.”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“Derek found out you were coming home.”
“So?”
“He panicked.”
“What did he pay seventy-five thousand dollars for?”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“To make sure you never reached the house.”
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