Chapter 2 - THE BLOOD ON HER FLOOR
The gray-haired stranger kept one hand against my shoulder while the paramedics worked around my injured leg.
“Ma'am, stay still,” one of them said.
I nodded.
My mother stood six feet away, arms folded.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “She has always been dramatic.”
The stranger looked up at her.
“You kicked her.”
Mom's face hardened.
“I barely touched her.”
“I saw exactly what happened.”
For the first time that evening, my mother looked nervous.
Not guilty.
Nervous.
There was a difference.
The paramedic cut away more of my pant leg and examined the old surgical scar.
“It's reopened badly,” he said. “You need to go in.”
“I'll drive her,” Mom said quickly.
“No,” the gray-haired man answered.
Mom turned toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“I'll go with her.”
She stared at him.
“You don't even know her.”
He stood.
“My name is Daniel Mercer. Retired Army medical officer.”
His eyes moved toward my leg.
“And I know exactly what that scar means.”
I looked at him.
He had seen something I hadn't.
He wasn't just another guest.
He knew military injuries.
He knew the difference between an accident and an intentional blow.
The paramedics lifted me onto the stretcher.
As they carried me toward the front door, I looked back.
My mother was standing beside Chloe.
My sister wasn't smiling anymore.
Mom whispered something to her.
Chloe shook her head.
Then Mom noticed the black folder sitting on the kitchen counter.
My folder.
The one containing copies of the seven companies.
Her expression changed completely.
I knew then that she wasn't afraid of what I had told her.
She was afraid of what I had not told her.
At the hospital, doctors cleaned the reopened wound and examined the damaged tissue around my reconstructed leg.
Thankfully, nothing had fractured.
But the scar had been torn open badly enough that I needed several stitches.
Daniel waited outside.
When the nurse finally allowed him in, he carried a paper cup of coffee.
“You don't know me,” I said.
“No.”
“Then why did you stay?”
He looked at my leg.
“Because someone once stayed for me.”
I didn't ask him to explain.
Instead, I asked, “How did you know I wasn't having an episode?”
His expression changed.
“Because I watched the kick.”
I looked down.
He continued.
“More importantly, I watched your mother look at the blood.”
“What about it?”
“She didn't look shocked.”
I went still.
“She looked irritated.”
I remembered her words.
We just had these floors refinished.
Daniel leaned back.
“People reveal themselves in small moments.”
I looked toward the window.
“I need to tell you something.”
He waited.
“My father is sick.”
“How sick?”
“Heart disease.”
“And your mother is responsible for his medication?”
“I don't know if responsible is the right word.”
I told him about the $38,000.
The overdue pharmacy notices.
The rationed medication.
The renovations.
The seven companies.
Daniel listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he asked one question.
“Have you told your father?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know what my mother might do if she realizes he knows.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“That answer tells me you already understand this is bigger than money.”
I looked at him.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He reached into his jacket and removed an old military photograph.
Three soldiers stood beside a field hospital.
One was Daniel.
The second was a younger version of himself.
The third was a man I recognized.
My father.
I stared at the photograph.
“That's my dad.”
Daniel smiled sadly.
“Eighteen years ago, your father saved my life.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“Your father was my commanding officer.”
I had never known.
Dad rarely talked about his service.
Daniel continued.
“He pulled me out of a vehicle after an explosion.”
I touched the photograph.
“So you knew him before me.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't I ever heard your name?”
“Because I left the military shortly after that.”
He hesitated.
“Your father and I lost touch.”
I looked at the photograph again.
There was something written on the back.
A date.
And a name.
MERCER — MEDICAL INCIDENT REVIEW.
“What is that?”
Daniel's expression became serious.
“That's why I stayed tonight.”
I waited.
“Your father contacted me three weeks ago.”
My heart stopped.
“About what?”
“He said someone was using his name to authorize financial transfers.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“He wanted to protect you.”
The answer sounded painfully familiar.
Everyone wanted to protect me.
No one wanted to tell me the truth.
“What did he ask you to do?”
Daniel looked toward the hospital door.
“He asked me to find out who had access to his financial records.”
My hands went cold.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took out his phone.
On the screen was a photograph of a document.
A signature.
My father's.
But underneath it was a second signature.
Mine.
My stomach dropped.
“That isn't my signature.”
“I know.”
“Then who made it?”
Daniel zoomed in.
There was a small notation at the bottom.
Authorized Representative: C. Bennett.
Chloe.
I stared.
My sister had access to my father's financial accounts.
I had never known.
But then Daniel shook his head.
“That's the part that bothered me.”
“What?”
“Chloe didn't open the account.”
“Who did?”
He turned the phone toward me.
The account had been created three years earlier.
The listed administrator was:
Shayla Bennett.
My name.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I was deployed.”
“I know.”
“I was in Germany.”
“I know.”
“Then how did I open an account in Colorado?”
Daniel looked at me.
“You didn't.”
He paused.
“Someone used your identity before the seven companies appeared.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Dad.
Shayla, don't come home tonight.
I stared at the words.
Then another message arrived.
Your mother knows you found the companies.
And then a third.
She just took me somewhere.
I stood too quickly.
Pain shot through my leg.
Daniel caught my arm.
“Where is your father?”
I looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Then my phone buzzed one final time.
This time, it was a photograph.
Dad was sitting in the back seat of a car.
His face was pale.
And beside him was my mother.
May you like
Under the photograph was one sentence.
Stop digging, or your father pays for your curiosity.
