Chapter 16 - The Call Richard Didn't Tell Me About
My father disappeared on Thursday.
At 6:30 a.m., his timecard was empty.
That had not happened once in two years.
At 6:37, I called him.
Straight to voicemail.
At 6:42, I checked the efficiency apartment above the warehouse.
His bed was made.
Coffee mug washed.
Work clothes gone.
The small blue duffel he used for overnight trips was missing.
On the kitchen table sat an envelope.
Nolan.
My stomach twisted.
Inside was a single page.
Son,
There are some mistakes a father should not ask his children to fix.
I started this by giving Harper access to everything she wanted and ignoring every warning. If there is a chance I can end this without risking your people, I have to try.
Don’t follow me.
Dad.
I shouted a word that made Leon look up from the yard.
“Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know.”
But I knew exactly why.
Someone had contacted Richard.
I checked his recent phone records through the company account.
One unknown number had called him at 10:18 the previous night.
Seven minutes.
I sent it to Marcus Bell.
Then I called Harper.
“Did Dad say anything strange?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“He asked me about the hotel.”
“What exactly?”
“He asked whether Mercer ever mentioned a hunting lodge.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere near Lake Freeman maybe.”
Vern did.
When I told him, he swore.
“Mercer owns an old place outside Monticello.”
Bell ordered me to stay put.
I ignored him.
He knew I would.
Leon came with me.
So did Adam.
Harper wanted to come.
I refused.
“You stay with Milo.”
“He’s my father too.”
“And that’s your son.”
That ended the argument.
We drove north through freezing rain.
Bell and state officers were thirty minutes behind us.
I didn’t intend to confront anyone.
I intended to find Richard.
At least that was what I told myself.
Mercer’s lodge sat beyond a gravel road surrounded by bare trees and frozen fields.
Richard’s old pickup was parked outside.
So was a black Cadillac.
I killed my headlights.
Leon touched my arm.
“Wait for police.”
Then we heard shouting inside.
I moved.
The front door was unlocked.
Richard stood in the center of the room.
Across from him was Glen Mercer.
Two other men stood near the fireplace.
Mercer looked exactly like his photograph.
Expensive coat.
Silver hair.
Calm smile.
“Nolan,” Dad said.
Mercer sighed.
“I specifically asked you to come alone, Richard.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“No,” I said. “You just underestimated how bad my father is at disappearing.”
Mercer smiled.
“You’re the tow-truck son.”
“I’m the guy whose land you’re trying to steal.”
“Such emotional language.”
I saw no weapons.
That didn’t make me comfortable.
Mercer gestured toward the table.
A contract waited there.
“What’s that?”
“A solution.”
Richard looked furious.
“He wants me to sign a statement saying Vern sold me the land.”
I laughed.
Mercer didn’t.
“In exchange,” Dad continued, “he drops the claim against your company.”
“So Dad commits perjury and you walk away?”
“Your father corrects an old misunderstanding.”
“You forged a deed.”
“Prove it.”
The confidence in his voice told me something.
Mercer believed Cynthia Hale would never testify.
I stepped closer.
“You’re scared.”
That erased part of his smile.
“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t cut brake lines.”
One of the men near the fireplace shifted.
Mercer looked at him sharply.
There.
A reaction.
I noticed.
So did Leon.
Mercer recovered.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I pulled out my phone.
“You should explain it to Marcus Bell.”
Mercer’s smile vanished.
“Police are coming?”
“Several.”
The two men moved toward the back door.
Mercer shouted, “Stay!”
They didn’t.
Richard stepped beside me.
For the first time, Mercer looked uncertain.
Then he leaned toward us.
“You think Cynthia Hale is going to save you?”
Nobody responded.
Mercer smiled again.
“She won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Cynthia knows what happens to people who confuse guilt with courage.”
A siren became audible in the distance.
Mercer grabbed his coat.
“You’ll regret dragging this out.”
“No,” Richard said.
His voice was steady.
“I regret spending most of my life being afraid of the wrong things.”
Mercer turned.
Dad pointed at the unsigned statement.
“You wanted the old Richard Reed. The man who would lie, borrow, sacrifice, or destroy anything to protect appearances.”
He shook his head.
“That man is gone.”
Red lights flashed through the trees.
May you like
Mercer stared at us.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I watched fear enter his eyes.
