Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT AT HELEN’S HOUSEDetective Ortiz told us not to move.
Andrew ignored her.
The instant he heard that Jason might be heading toward Helen’s house with a gun, he grabbed his keys.
I caught his arm.
“Don’t.”
“He thinks the will is there.”
“It isn’t.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Ortiz was already radioing units.
“We handle this.”
Andrew laughed bitterly.
“Police handled Dad’s death sixteen years ago.”
Ortiz met his gaze.
“And somebody may have made a mistake. Don’t make another one tonight.”
That stopped him.
Barely.
Three patrol cars reached Helen’s house within minutes.
Nobody was there.
No Jason.
No broken doors.
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Noah.
I answered.
“Mom?”
Something was wrong with his voice.
“Where are you?”
“Don’t freak out.”
Every parent knows that phrase guarantees panic.
“Noah.”
“Dad picked me up.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“He said we needed to talk.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Driving.”
Ortiz snatched a notepad.
“Put him on speaker.”
I did.
“Noah, listen to me. Is your father beside you?”
“Yes.”
In the background, Jason said, “Give me the phone.”
Noah’s voice sharpened.
“No.”
Then scuffling.
The call disconnected.
I almost screamed.
Ortiz grabbed my shoulders.
“We can track Noah’s phone.”
“He threw the other one!”
“He has a replacement?”
“Yes. I gave him mine from work.”
“Number?”
I gave it to her.
Within minutes, police located the phone moving north on Interstate 87.
Jason wasn’t going to Helen’s house.
He was taking our son somewhere.
I called again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Jason called me from Noah’s number.
“Stop involving the police.”
“Bring him home.”
“He’s fine.”
“You took him without telling me.”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s nineteen, not luggage.”
Jason’s voice was eerily calm.
“I need the briefcase.”
“You’re not getting it.”
“Then I need the original will.”
“The police have it.”
He swore.
“Of course Andrew gave it to them.”
“Where is Noah?”
“With me.”
“Let me hear him.”
Noah came on.
“I’m okay, Mom.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Then, more quietly:
“Dad doesn’t have a gun.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
Jason took the phone back.
“Tiffany is a liar.”
“She said you took one.”
“She saw me remove it from the safe. I left it with hotel security because I didn’t want it unattended.”
Ortiz made a note.
Maybe true.
Maybe not.
“What do you want?”
“To talk to my son without you poisoning him.”
“You kidnapped him.”
“He got in the car voluntarily.”
“Put him in a rideshare and send him home.”
“No.”
“Jason.”
“Tell Andrew I want Dad’s will.”
“You’re not listening. Police have it.”
“Then tell him to retract the accusation.”
“What accusation?”
“That I had anything to do with Dad’s death.”
“Did you?”
Silence.
My heart pounded.
Finally he said:
“I didn’t kill my father.”
For the first time, I thought he might be telling the truth.
But innocence in one crime did not erase the rest.
“Then come back and explain.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try.”
Another silence.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Ask Andrew where he was the night Dad died.”
My eyes moved toward Andrew.
He went still.
“Why?”
“Ask him.”
The call ended.
Everyone looked at Andrew.
His face drained of color.
Rebecca spoke first.
“Andrew?”
He sat down.
“I was at the cabin.”
I stared at him.
“You told us Jason was there.”
“He was.”
“You neglected to mention yourself.”
Andrew covered his face.
“I arrived later.”
“What happened?”
He looked at Ortiz.
“I’ve lied about this for sixteen years.”
Ortiz pulled out her recorder.
“Then this is a good time to stop.”
Andrew began.
Walter had called him the night he died.
“He sounded upset. He told me Jason had been there and they’d fought. He said he was done protecting both of us.”
Andrew drove to the hunting cabin.
Walter was drinking.
They argued about Andrew’s gambling.
“Dad told me I was weak,” Andrew said. “Said both his sons had become disappointments.”
“What happened next?” Ortiz asked.
“I left.”
“Was he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else arrive?”
Andrew hesitated.
“A car passed me on the access road.”
“Whose?”
“I never saw.”
“Why hide this?”
“Because when Dad was found dead the next morning, Jason told me police would think I did it if they knew I was there.”
“And you believed him.”
“Because I had yelled at Dad. A neighbor had heard us fighting earlier that month. And Jason had planted those transfers.”
Ortiz sat back.
Now there were two sons who had been at the cabin.
Neither admitted being there when Walter died.
The story had become murkier, not clearer.
Meanwhile, police tracked Jason’s car to a lakeside property ninety miles north.
Mercer family land.
A cabin I had forgotten existed.
Walter’s old fishing lodge.
“Noah knows it,” I said.
Ortiz ordered local officers to respond but warned them not to escalate.
Jason was not officially accused of kidnapping because Noah was an adult and had apparently entered the car willingly.
I wanted to drive there.
Ortiz refused.
“He may be trying to draw you out.”
“He has my son.”
“Your son told you he is safe.”
“Would that satisfy you if it were yours?”
Her expression softened.
“No.”
Finally, she agreed I could accompany her, but I had to remain outside unless police cleared the property.
We drove north through rain.
At 11:20 p.m., we reached the cabin.
Jason’s Mercedes sat outside.
Lights glowed through the windows.
Officers approached.
No resistance.
Five minutes later, Noah walked out.
I ran to him.
He hugged me hard.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“No.”
“Why did you go?”
Noah looked ashamed.
“Because I wanted answers.”
Behind him, Jason emerged with his hands visible.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Eyes red.
Still wearing the expensive shirt from San Francisco.
For one second, he was not the powerful CEO.
He was the boy Helen had raised.
Then I remembered everything.
Jason glanced at police.
“I’m not armed.”
Ortiz approached.
“Mr. Mercer, we need to talk.”
“I figured.”
His eyes moved to me.
“Emma, Dad’s death was an accident.”
“Then why lie?”
“Because I was there earlier.”
“So was Andrew.”
Jason laughed bitterly.
“He finally admitted it?”
“Yes.”
“Ask him what Dad said when he left.”
“What?”
Jason’s face tightened.
“Dad told Andrew he was changing his will again.”
Andrew, who had followed us in Rebecca’s car despite being told not to, stepped forward.
“That’s a lie.”
“You’ve been lying for sixteen years.”
“So have you!”
The brothers faced each other across the wet gravel.
Jason shouted, “You think Dad was leaving everything to you? He was cutting us both out!”
Andrew froze.
“What?”
“He was giving the company to Mom.”
“Then why forge the other will?”
Jason’s eyes flashed.
“Because Mom couldn’t run it! I was trying to save what Dad built.”
“You stole it.”
“I BUILT IT!”
The shout echoed across the lake.
Jason immediately lowered his voice.
“I built everything after he died.”
“Using property you didn’t own,” I said.
He looked at me.
Then something in him collapsed.
“I was twenty-nine years old.”
“So?”
“I was drowning in debt. Dad was going to destroy me.”
“That doesn’t justify what you did.”
“No.”
It was the first time I had heard Jason say that.
Just no.
No excuse.
No correction.
No attack.
Then he looked at Ortiz.
“But I did not kill him.”
Ortiz said, “You’re going to need to make a formal statement.”
“I will.”
He pointed toward the cabin.
“And I have something you should see.”
Inside, Jason removed a loose floorboard beneath an old cabinet.
A metal box rested underneath.
Andrew stared.
“You knew about this?”
“Dad showed me years before he died.”
Inside were tax records, letters, and another recorder.
Walter had apparently duplicated everything.
One recording had been made the night he died.
We listened.
Walter speaking alone.
A kind of audio diary.
“If anything happens to me, it will not be because either of my sons murdered me. God knows they’ve both given me enough headaches, but neither is a killer.”
Jason closed his eyes.
The recording continued.
“I made mistakes raising those boys. Pushed Jason too hard. Rescued Andrew too often. Helen told me pride would tear this family apart. She was right.”
Then Walter explained his decision.
He planned to place everything in trust under Helen’s control.
He intended to force Jason to repay the stolen funds but not report him if he cooperated.
The recording ended at 10:42 p.m.
Walter’s estimated time of death had been after midnight.
No confession.
No murder.
But enough to show Walter was alive after both brothers likely left.
Ortiz said quietly, “This changes things.”
Andrew began crying.
Jason turned away.
For sixteen years, both men had believed the other might have caused their father’s death.
Jason used the uncertainty to silence Andrew.
Andrew used it to hate Jason.
And Helen had spent the rest of her life trying to repair damage neither son understood.
On the ride home, Noah sat beside me.
“Dad told me something else.”
“What?”
“He said Tiffany stole money from him.”
“I think Jason stole plenty on his own.”
“I know. But he says she copied his banking passwords.”
“Why tell you?”
“Because she has documents.”
“What documents?”
Noah looked at me.
“He thinks Tiffany has proof of something bigger.”
The next morning, Tiffany’s attorney called Rebecca.
She wanted immunity from any civil claim I might bring against her in exchange for evidence.
“Evidence of what?” I asked.
Rebecca listened.
Then her expression changed.
She covered the phone.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“Tiffany says the Maui sale wasn’t actually the endgame.”
I waited.
“She says Jason intended to move most of the sale proceeds into an offshore fund.”
“That we know.”
“No.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“The offshore account wasn’t controlled by Jason.”
“Who controlled it?”
Rebecca listened again.
Then looked directly at me.
“Tiffany did.”
And suddenly the mistress who had laughed at me from Maui no longer looked like a foolish woman sleeping with a married executive.
May you like
She looked like a partner.
Possibly the most dangerous one Jason had ever chosen.
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