Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE ON RED CREEK ROAD
The sheriff arrived twelve minutes later.
By then the men were gone.
The black SUV was gone.
And any illusion that Mara and Eli could simply return to whatever quiet life they had been living was gone with it.
Sheriff Tom Leland had known my family since I was fifteen.
He was older now, with gray hair and the same slow way of speaking that made people mistake patience for stupidity.
Tom was not stupid.
He looked at the broken window.
Then the marks in the mudroom.
Then at me.
“Anything taken?”
“Not that I can see.”
“What were they looking for?”
I glanced toward Mara.
She shook her head once.
Not here.
Not yet.
“A document,” I said.
Tom’s eyes narrowed.
“What kind?”
“One that may relate to an old financial crime.”
“Federal?”
“Possibly.”
“You working it?”
“No.”
That answer mattered.
The moment my father’s letter implicated my own family, I knew I could not touch any investigation officially.
Tom studied me.
“You planning to call your office?”
“Tonight.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Two deputies walked the property.
One found tire impressions.
Another recovered part of a black latex glove near the porch.
Not much.
But more than nothing.
Eli sat at the kitchen table wrapped in one of my father’s old Tennessee Volunteers blankets.
Mara stood beside him like a guard.
I understood why.
She had been guarding him alone since the day he was born.
I walked toward them.
“We can’t stay here.”
“I figured that out when two men broke in.”
“I know a place.”
Mara’s expression said no before I finished.
“It belongs to me.”
“Then absolutely not.”
“It’s not my house.”
“What is it?”
“A cabin.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Of course you have a cabin.”
“It’s Tennessee.”
That almost made her smile.
Almost.
“It’s on Red Creek Road, outside Leiper’s Fork. My mother left it to me. Nobody in the family uses it.”
“Charles knows about it.”
“He knows it exists. He doesn’t know I renovated it.”
“Security?”
“Better than here.”
She considered.
Tom approached.
“I’d take him up on it.”
Mara looked at him.
Tom held out his hands.
“Ma’am, I know you don’t know me. But whoever came here wasn’t looking to scare anybody. They knew the security system. They cut power at the exterior box. That means planning.”
Eli’s face tightened.
Mara saw it.
“All right.”
We left before midnight.
Tom sent a patrol car behind us for the first ten miles.
I drove.
Mara and Eli followed.
Again.
It bothered me more this time.
I wanted them in my car.
Not because I wanted control.
Because some primitive part of me had awakened after seeing Eli and now could not tolerate not knowing exactly where he was.
Red Creek Road was narrow and dark.
The cabin sat behind a gate half a mile from the main road, surrounded by cedar woods.
I had rebuilt it after my mother died.
Not because I used it often.
Because grief makes people repair strange things.
The cabin had once been her favorite place.
Two bedrooms.
A stone fireplace.
Large kitchen.
Wraparound porch.
Nothing luxurious.
Just quiet.
Mara stepped inside.
Her eyes immediately landed on the framed photograph above the fireplace.
Our wedding.
I had forgotten it was there.
She stopped breathing.
So did I.
In the photograph, Mara was twenty-seven.
Her hair was pinned loosely at the back of her head.
She was laughing.
I was looking at her instead of the camera.
Eli walked closer.
“That’s you?”
Mara cleared her throat.
“Yes.”
“You look different.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t say bad.”
I turned away before they could see me smile.
Eli pointed.
“And that’s Nathan?”
Mara looked at me.
“Yes.”
I didn’t know why hearing my son call me Nathan hurt.
He had every right.
I was Nathan to him.
A stranger with his finger and his smile.
Mara touched the frame.
“You kept this?”
“I kept everything.”
Her hand dropped.
The sentence landed harder than I intended.
I did not apologize.
At one in the morning, Eli finally fell asleep.
Mara stood outside his room for several minutes.
“He always sleep that lightly?”
“Since we left Kentucky, yes.”
“You were living in Kentucky?”
“Lexington.”
“What name?”
She hesitated.
“Mara Ellis.”
Her mother’s maiden name.
“And Eli?”
“Eli Ellis.”
I nodded.
“School?”
“He goes to Lexington Classical.”
“Baseball?”
She looked surprised.
“How did you know he plays?”
“His glove was in the rental car.”
For some reason, that pleased me.
Not much.
But enough.
“He plays second base.”
“Good?”
“Very.”
“I played shortstop.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
She nodded.
I leaned against the wall.
The word Dad still sounded strange when applied to Arthur in conversations about my son.
“What else did he tell him?”
Mara crossed her arms.
“Do you really want the answer?”
“Yes.”
“Everything.”
So she did.
My father had visited Lexington four or five times a year.
He had attended school plays under the name Mr. Arthur.
He had taught Eli to fish.
He had shown him photographs of the Cole farm.
He had once driven five hours because Eli had broken his wrist and Mara had been alone in the emergency room.
That one hurt the most.
“You called him?”
“No.”
“He just knew?”
“I panicked and sent him a message.”
“And he came.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever ask you to come back?”
“Every year.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her eyes hardened.
“Because every year Charles still ran the foundation.”
I nodded.
Fair.
“And because I thought you hated me.”
“I never hated you.”
“You might have.”
“If I believed you stole $2.8 million?”
“Yes.”
I considered that.
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You were furious when I used our joint savings to help my mother.”
“That was twelve thousand dollars.”
“The amount doesn’t matter.”
“It does when you compare it to federal fraud.”
“Nathan.”
“Mara, I prosecuted people who lied to their spouses for years. People who created second families. People who stole from dying parents. I spent nine years imagining every version of how you died.”
My voice lowered.
“I would have preferred finding out you stole every dollar the foundation had.”
Her eyes filled.
She looked away.
That was the closest either of us had come to acknowledging what my grief had actually been.
I walked into the kitchen.
“I need to call my boss.”
Helen Ward answered on the fourth ring.
“Nathan?”
“I need to recuse from anything involving the Cole Family Foundation.”
Silence.
Then she was fully awake.
“Why?”
“Because my deceased wife came to my father’s funeral tonight with my nine-year-old son.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“I’m sorry. Your what?”
“My wife.”
“Mara?”
“Yes.”
“The wife who died nine years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And your son?”
“Yes.”
“Nathan, have you been drinking?”
“No.”
“You should start.”
I almost laughed.
Then I told her everything.
Not every emotional detail.
Just facts.
The letter.
Charles.
The old embezzlement allegation.
The break-in.
The key.
When I finished, Helen was silent for several seconds.
“Do not open that safe-deposit box alone.”
“I know.”
“Do not confront Charles.”
“Already did.”
“Of course you did.”
“I didn’t accuse him formally.”
“Congratulations on your restraint.”
She sighed.
“I’m calling the FBI field office in Knoxville. Someone outside your chain.”
“Good.”
“And Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“From this point forward, you are a witness.”
I hated hearing it.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to interrogate people.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to collect evidence.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to become Batman because your family is insane.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Mara appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She heard.
Her expression softened.
Helen continued.
“I’ll have an agent contact you in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up.
Mara leaned against the doorframe.
“Batman?”
“Long story.”
“I remember Helen.”
“She remembers you.”
Mara looked down.
“I suppose everyone thought I was dead.”
“Yes.”
The words sat between us.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
It was the first apology she had given me.
I wanted to say it was enough.
It wasn’t.
But it mattered.
“I know.”
She looked toward Eli’s room.
“I never wanted you to suffer.”
“I believe that.”
“I wanted to call you a thousand times.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She closed her eyes.
“Because the first year, I believed you had abandoned us.”
“And after Dad told you the truth?”
Her eyes opened.
“He didn’t tell me the whole truth until Eli was four.”
My anger returned.
“He waited four years?”
“He said he was trying to protect us.”
“Everyone keeps using that word.”
“I know.”
“What happened after you learned I hadn’t refused to help you?”
Mara looked toward the wedding photograph.
“I had already built a life around staying hidden.”
“You could have called.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her voice cracked.
“Because by then I was ashamed.”
That was not what I expected.
“Ashamed of what?”
“Of what I had done to you.”
She looked at me.
“And afraid you would take Eli.”
I stared at her.
“You thought I’d take my son away from you?”
“You’re a federal prosecutor from a powerful family. I was legally dead, living under another name, raising your child without telling you.”
“I would never—”
“You don’t know what you would have done.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“But I know what I won’t do now.”
She waited.
“I won’t take him from you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I won’t use my job against you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“And I won’t ask him to love me before he knows me.”
Mara looked away quickly.
From the hall came a small voice.
“Mom?”
We both turned.
Eli stood barefoot in the hallway.
He held something in his hand.
A folded piece of paper.
“What are you doing up?” Mara asked.
“I heard you talking.”
He walked toward me.
“This was under my pillow.”
Mara froze.
“What?”
“I thought you put it there.”
He handed it to me.
The paper had been folded twice.
No envelope.
No handwriting on the outside.
I opened it.
Five words.
GO HOME BEFORE SOMEONE DIES.
Mara grabbed Eli.
My eyes moved instantly toward the windows.
Toward the darkness outside.
Toward the security monitor beside the kitchen.
Four cameras.
Three showed nothing.
The fourth showed movement near the rear tree line.
A man.
Standing perfectly still.
May you like
Watching the cabin.
Then the screen went black.
