Chapter 9: The Man Buried in Someone Else's Grave
I couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
My father.
Alive.
Older than I remembered him.
His face thinner, his hair almost completely gray.
But unmistakably him.
I touched the edge of the photograph.
"Where was this taken?""
Grace swallowed.
"A private medical facility in Pennsylvania.""
"How do you know?""
"Because I was there.""
I looked at her.
"You saw him?""
She nodded.
"Twice.""
My chest tightened.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?""
"Because Richard paid everyone involved to keep him hidden.""
I stood so quickly that the table shook.
"Where is he now?""
Grace didn't answer.
"Where is my father?""
She lowered her eyes.
"I don't know.""
I grabbed the photograph.
"You're telling me he's alive, and you don't know where he is?""
"Michael, listen to me.""
"No! I've spent twenty-three years visiting a grave that might not even belong to him!""
The waitress looked toward us.
Detective Bennett stepped closer.
"Michael, lower your voice.""
I turned away, trying to breathe.
My father had been alive.
For twenty-three years.
Somewhere.
And he had never come home.
I looked at Grace again.
"Why did he stay away?""
She hesitated.
"Because Richard threatened you.""
I shook my head.
"That's what everyone keeps saying. Richard threatened me. Richard threatened Mom.
Richard threatened Nia. Was there nobody who could stop him?""
Grace opened the envelope again.
"There was someone.""
She removed another photograph.
This one showed my father sitting beside a hospital window.
Beside him was a woman in a white nurse's uniform.
I recognized her.
Not immediately.
But something about her face was familiar.
"Who is that?""
Grace looked at me.
"Your mother.""
I stared at the picture.
My mother appeared much younger.
She was holding my father's hand.
There was a date written on the back.
Three months after his supposed death.
I felt the room disappear.
"Mom knew?""
Grace nodded.
"She visited him.""
I sat down slowly.
"Why would she let me believe he was dead?""
Grace's voice softened.
"Because your father asked her to.""
I shook my head.
"That doesn't make sense.""
"He was injured badly. Richard had people watching the hospital. Your father believed they would kill you if they discovered he was alive.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Why didn't he come back when I was older?""
Grace hesitated.
"Because the threats never stopped.""
"Then why didn't he contact me secretly?""
"He tried.""
My head snapped up.
"What?""
Grace reached into the envelope and handed me a small stack of letters.
Each one had my name written across the front.
Some were dated when I was twelve.
Others when I was fifteen, eighteen, and twenty-one.
I opened the first.
Michael, I watched you receive your middle school diploma today. I was sitting in the back row. You looked so much like your mother that I almost stood up and called your name.
My eyes blurred.
I opened another.
I heard you got your first job. I'm proud of you, son. I wanted to shake your hand, but I couldn't risk someone following you home.
Another.
I saw you graduate from college. I wish I could have been there.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
My father had been watching my life.
He had seen me grow up.
And he had never hugged me again.
I felt anger rise through the grief.
"Where are these letters from?""
Grace looked down.
"Your mother kept them.""
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
She had carried the truth for twenty-three years.
Detective Bennett quietly spoke.
"Grace, when was the last time you saw your father?""
"Four years ago.""
"Where?""
"At a rehabilitation center outside Philadelphia.""
"Was he still alive?""
Grace nodded.
"He was recovering. He could walk with assistance. He was speaking normally.""
I leaned forward.
"Then what happened?""
"Richard found out.""
She looked at the detective.
"Within a week, the center was closed. The records disappeared. The staff members were paid to leave.""
Bennett wrote something down.
"Do you know the facility's name?""
"Riverside Recovery.""
Bennett looked up sharply.
I noticed.
"What?""
She turned her phone toward me.
"That's the same facility where a missing patient was reported four years ago.""
My heart pounded.
"Who?""
"A man registered under the name Thomas Miller. His medical records were sealed.""
Grace shook her head.
"That was your father.""
Bennett immediately called her office.
"I need the Riverside Recovery records. Four years ago. Patient Thomas Miller. Check every transfer, every discharge, every associated medical provider.""
While she spoke, I examined the remaining papers.
One document caught my attention.
It was a bank transfer.
The recipient was a company called Evergreen Medical Services.
The amount was $600,000.
The transfer date was four years ago.
And the authorization carried Richard's signature.
I showed it to Grace.
"What's this?""
Her expression changed.
"That's the payment Richard made to have your father moved.""
"Moved where?""
Grace shook her head.
"I never found out.""
I looked at the next page.
It contained a handwritten address.
An old warehouse in northern Pennsylvania.
Below it was a name.
Andrew Collins.
I stared at the page.
"Andrew.""
Grace nodded.
"He was the person who arranged the transfer.""
The same Andrew who had attacked my mother.
The same Andrew who had been caught outside my wedding.
I looked toward Detective Bennett.
She had finished her call.
"Detective, we need to find Andrew.""
She frowned.
"He's in custody.""
"Then ask him where my father is.""
Bennett nodded.
"We'll do that.""
My phone vibrated.
A call from the hospital.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?""
A nurse spoke quickly.
"Mr. Carter? Your mother has left her room.""
I stood.
"What?""
"We found the bed empty. Her IV was disconnected.""
My stomach dropped.
"Did she leave the hospital?""
"We're checking the security footage.""
I looked at Grace.
Then at Detective Bennett.
"Someone took my mother.""
Bennett immediately called the hospital security office.
A few seconds later, she turned toward me.
"Michael, listen carefully.""
"What?""
"The camera footage shows your mother leaving through the emergency exit.""
"With who?""
Bennett stared at the screen on her phone.
A man was standing beside my mother.
He wore a dark jacket and a baseball cap.
I recognized him.
Andrew.
But Andrew was supposed to be in police custody.
I looked at Grace.
She was already crying.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Then another message appeared on my phone.
It was from an unknown number.
A photograph.
My mother was sitting in the passenger seat of a black SUV.
Her face was bruised.
Her hands were tied.
Below the photograph was a message.
You wanted your father? Bring the original trust documents to the old Carter house.
Another message followed.
Come alone.
Then a final message appeared.
You have one hour, Michael. After that, Evelyn disappears.
I looked at Detective Bennett.
"We need to go.""
She shook her head.
"We're not going to let you walk into an ambush.""
"That's my mother.""
"I know.""
"Then help me get her back.""
Bennett immediately ordered units to mobilize.
Grace grabbed my arm.
"Michael, there's something you need to know.""
I turned.
She was holding one last document.
It was a medical record.
The patient name was Thomas Miller.
The admission date was four years earlier.
But the discharge section contained something that made my heart stop.
*Patient transferred to: Carter Family Residence.*
I stared at the words.
"That's my mother's house.""
Grace nodded.
"Michael, I think your father has been hiding much closer than any of us realized.""
I looked at the address.
It was the same house where I had spent my childhood.
The same house my mother claimed had burned down.
And beneath the transfer details was one final handwritten note.
Patient requested contact with son. Contact denied by Evelyn Carter.
I couldn't breathe.
My mother hadn't just known my father was alive.
She had apparently refused to let him contact me.
And now, somewhere in the darkness, someone was using that secret to lure me into a trap.
I looked at Detective Bennett.
"Before we go after my mother, I need to ask you something.""
She turned.
"What?""
May you like
"Are we certain my father was the victim?""
Because for the first time in twenty-three years, I wasn't sure which parent had been telling me the truth.
