Chapter 4: The Boy Sarah Never Wanted Me to Trust
For three seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears.
Jordan Whitmore.
My stepson.
The boy who had spent the last two years sitting at my kitchen table, asking me for money, borrowing my truck, and calling me Dad whenever he wanted something.
The same boy who had watched Michael kneel on the floor while he ate steak.
I looked at Jordan.
He stared at the document in my hand, his face draining of color.
“That's not possible,” he whispered.
I held the paper toward him.
“Tell me why your name is on a trust your mother has been trying to destroy.””
Jordan backed against the garage door.
“I've never seen that document before.””
“Then explain why your name is on it.””
“I can't!””
“Try.””
He dragged both hands through his hair.
“Mom told me there was some money from Emily's insurance. She said it was supposed to help with Michael's college. That's all I know.””
Michael stepped forward.
“Then why did you tell Mom I couldn't have the box?””
Jordan's eyes snapped toward him.
“I didn't know what was in it!””
“You knew she took it!””
“I knew she was cleaning your room!””
“You watched her carry it downstairs!””
Jordan's jaw tightened.
“Because she told me it was full of junk!””
Michael let out a bitter laugh.
“You always believe her.””
The words struck Jordan harder than I expected.
He looked away.
For a moment, I saw something beneath his arrogance. Fear, perhaps. Or shame.
Then he reached for the document.
“Let me see that.””
I pulled it back.
“Not until I know what's going on.””
“I'm named in the trust. I have a right to know.””
“Not if you're involved in whatever your mother is doing.””
Jordan stared at me as if I'd slapped him.
“You think I helped her kill Emily?””
“I think your name is on a document you claim never to have seen, and a man pretending to be a detective is inside my house looking for it.””
Jordan swallowed.
“I didn't kill anyone.””
“I didn't say you did.””
“But you thought it.””
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was, I no longer knew what to think.
I had spent three years believing my wife died from a sudden medical crisis. I had sat beside her hospital bed, held her cold hand, and begged her to wake up. I had watched doctors explain what they believed had happened.
And now I was standing in my garage with evidence that someone had interfered with her medical records.
Someone had accessed our insurance documents.
Someone had known exactly where Emily kept the evidence.
I looked down at the trust agreement again.
“Jordan, why would Emily name you as successor trustee?””
He shook his head.
“I don't know.””
“Did you ever meet with her privately?””
“No.””
“Did she ever give you anything?””
He hesitated.
The pause was small, but I noticed it.
“What?”” I demanded.
Jordan glanced toward Michael.
“Mom said I shouldn't tell you.””
My stomach tightened.
“Tell me what?””
He rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“Three months before Emily died, she called me into the kitchen. She asked if I would help her with something if she ever needed it.””
“What something?””
“She didn't explain. She just asked whether I could keep a secret.””
Michael's face crumpled.
“And you said yes?””
Jordan's voice rose defensively.
“I was fourteen! I didn't know what she was talking about!””
“What did you promise her?”” I asked.
Jordan looked at the floor.
“She gave me an envelope.””
I stared at him.
“Where is it?””
“Mom has it.””
The garage suddenly felt too small.
“Sarah has an envelope from Emily?””
Jordan nodded.
“She found it in my room after Emily died. She said it was a letter from a dead woman trying to turn me against my own mother.””
Michael whispered, “What did the letter say?””
“I never read it.””
“Why not?””
“Because Mom took it!””
Jordan's voice cracked.
“She told me if I kept asking questions, she'd send me to live with my father in Ohio. I hadn't seen him in years. I was scared.””
For the first time, I understood that Sarah's cruelty might not have been limited to Michael.
She had controlled Jordan through fear, too.
But that didn't erase what he'd done.
“You watched your mother treat Michael like he didn't belong here,” I said.
“You laughed while he ate on the floor.””
Jordan lowered his head.
“I know.””
“You knew he was hurting.””
“I know.””
“And you did nothing.””
His eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't think she'd go this far.””
Michael turned away.
“You never think anything is your fault.””
Jordan opened his mouth, then closed it.
Before I could say another word, a sharp metallic bang came from the other side of the garage.
Someone was trying the side door.
I shoved the trust papers into the black case.
“Both of you, get behind the truck.””
Jordan didn't move.
“Dad—”
“Now!””
He obeyed.
I switched off the garage light and pulled Michael into the narrow space between the truck and the workbench.
Through the gap beneath the garage door, I saw two pairs of shoes cross the driveway.
One belonged to Harris.
The other belonged to Sarah.
Her voice drifted through the door.
“He has the files. I saw him take them.””
Harris answered, “Then we take the case and leave. No arguments.””
“And the boy?””
A pause.
“Which boy?””
“Michael.””
Harris sighed impatiently.
“Sarah, we discussed this.””
“He knows too much.””
“Then you should have thought about that before you started threatening him.””
Jordan's hand flew to his mouth.
Michael clutched my sleeve.
I felt every muscle in my body tighten.
Sarah continued, “I want this finished tonight.””
“And I want my money,” Harris replied.
“Once I get the drive, you can deal with your family however you like.””
Footsteps approached the side door.
I reached for the heavy wrench lying on the workbench.
Then Jordan leaned toward me and whispered, “There's another way out.””
I looked at him.
He pointed toward a narrow service door behind the shelves.
“Mom never uses it. It opens onto the alley.””
I hesitated.
Could I trust him?
He met my gaze.
“I'm not asking you to forgive me. Just let me help.””
The side-door handle rattled.
I made my decision.
“Take Michael. Go through the alley and call the real police. Tell them someone is impersonating an officer.””
Jordan nodded.
“What about you?””
“I'll keep them busy.””
Michael seized my arm.
“No! Dad, please!””
I crouched in front of him.
“Listen to me. You have your mother's evidence. If something happens to me, you make sure it gets to someone who can use it.””
“I'm not leaving you!””
“You're not abandoning me. You're helping me.””
His face twisted with anguish.
Then Jordan grabbed his hand.
“Come on, Michael.””
Michael resisted for one second.
Then the side door burst open.
I stepped into the light with the wrench raised.
Harris stood in the doorway, a gun pointed at my chest.
Sarah was behind him.
Her eyes went straight to the black case.
“Put the wrench down, Marcus,” Harris ordered.
I lowered it slowly.
Sarah walked toward me.
“Give me the case, and we can still fix this.””
“Fix what? My wife's death?””
Her face hardened.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then tell me why Emily put Jordan's name on the trust.””
Sarah stopped.
Something flashed across her face.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You found the agreement,” she whispered.
I held her gaze.
“What's in the envelope you stole from Jordan?””
She looked at Harris.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
That tiny exchange told me more than any confession could have.
Sarah had been working with him for years.
And whatever Emily had given Jordan was important enough that they were willing to risk everything to get it back.
I took a slow breath.
“You're not getting the case.””
Harris raised the gun higher.
Sarah's lips parted.
Then, from somewhere outside the garage, a car horn blared three times.
Harris turned his head.
It was the smallest distraction.
But it was enough.
I swung the wrench at the overhead light.
Glass shattered.
The garage plunged into darkness.
I heard Sarah scream.
Harris fired.
The gunshot exploded through the garage, deafening me.
Something slammed into my shoulder.
I stumbled against the truck, and the black case fell from my hand.
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness.
Harris was reaching for the case.
I lunged, caught his ankle, and pulled.
He fell hard against the concrete.
The flashlight rolled beneath the truck.
I scrambled toward the service door, my shoulder burning.
Outside, Jordan was shouting.
“Michael! Keep running!””
Then another sound split the night.
A second gunshot.
I forced myself through the service door and into the alley.
Michael stood beside Jordan, frozen in terror.
Beyond them, at the mouth of the alley, a black sedan had stopped with its headlights shining directly at us.
The driver's door opened.
A woman stepped out.
She was in her sixties, wearing a dark coat and carrying a leather briefcase.
When she saw me, she shouted a name I hadn't heard in three years.
“Marcus Reed!””
I recognized her immediately.
May you like
Emily's attorney.
*And she was holding the missing envelope.*
