Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT SHE NEVER TALKED ABOUT
We left the school immediately.
Nobody spoke in the car.
Mom sat beside me.
Carter drove.
The photograph rested in my lap.
“Mom.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“You knew Reynolds before he became my teacher.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was your father's student.”
“What?”
“Not literally.”
She sighed.
“He worked with your father on the investigation.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Why was he standing with us?”
“Because he helped me after Michael died.”
“Then why did he humiliate me?”
“I don't know.”
Carter glanced at her.
“I think he wanted to see whether Lucas knew anything.”
“About what?”
“The recording.”
I looked down.
“My father recorded everything.”
“Yes.”
“Then Reynolds knows about it.”
“Probably.”
We returned home.
Mom went directly to the old wooden box where she kept the watch.
She removed a photograph.
Then another.
Then a small envelope.
She had never shown me any of them.
“I should have told you years ago.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because every time I tried, I remembered the threat.”
“What threat?”
“They told me if I spoke, you would become leverage.”
I sat down.
“Who told you?”
“Evan.”
I looked at her.
“You thought he was threatening you?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He was warning me.”
That changed everything.
“Then who was threatening you?”
Mom looked at Carter.
“Mercer.”
Carter nodded.
“She had access to everything.”
“She knew where we lived.”
“She knew about Lucas.”
“And she knew Michael had evidence.”
Mom placed one final object on the table.
A small blue bracelet.
I recognized it from my childhood.
“You wore this every day.”
She smiled.
“Your father gave it to me.”
I turned it over.
There was a tiny inscription.
M + R.
Then I noticed a second mark.
The same number.
“The watch.”
Mom nodded.
“Your father used 17 as our family code.”
“For what?”
“For safe locations.”
Carter suddenly stood.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Where was the bracelet when Michael died?”
Mom looked confused.
“With me.”
“No.”
Carter took the photograph.
“Look.”
In the photograph from the crash investigation, Mom wasn't wearing it.
Her face changed.
“I lost it.”
“Where?”
“I don't remember.”
Carter turned the photograph over.
A handwritten note appeared.
RECOVERED FROM AIRFIELD — 17.
My heart raced.
“The bracelet was at the crash site.”
Mom nodded.
“That means someone took it.”
“Or Michael left it there.”
We searched the old family records.
The bracelet had been listed as recovered evidence.
But the evidence box had been signed out.
By Colonel Mercer.
I looked at Mom.
“Then the bracelet could have been carrying something.”
Carter nodded.
“A key.”
“To what?”
“Michael's safe.”
I stared.
“We found the locker.”
“Not the safe.”
Carter was right.
The locker contained the recording.
But perhaps the recording wasn't the real evidence.
We returned to the base.
The safe was hidden behind an old maintenance panel.
The code was 17-04-22.
The same numbers from the watch.
Inside was a small envelope.
My father's handwriting.
Lucas.
If you found this, then your mother finally trusted you with the truth.
I swallowed.
There was another line.
Don't blame her.
I looked at Mom.
She began crying.
“She was trying to save you.”
The next page contained a list of names.
Military officers.
Northstar executives.
Government officials.
And one final name.
William Carter.
I stared.
“Admiral Carter?”
Mom looked shocked.
Carter didn't move.
“It's not what you think.”
“What does my father mean?”
Carter picked up the paper.
“He suspected everyone.”
“Did he suspect you?”
“Yes.”
“Were you involved?”
“No.”
“Then why is your name here?”
Carter looked at me.
“Because I was the person he trusted least.”
“Why?”
“Because I was his commanding officer.”
He handed me another page.
It contained a final note.
WILLIAM IS NOT THE BETRAYAL.
HE IS THE BAIT.
I looked at Carter.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, a car pulled into the base.
Federal agents surrounded it.
A woman stepped out.
Older.
Silver-haired.
Calm.
She looked directly at me.
“Lucas.”
Mom whispered:
“Colonel Mercer.”
Mercer walked toward us.
She held something in her hand.
The missing blue bracelet.
She stopped six feet away.
“I've carried this for fourteen years.”
May you like
She held it out.
“I think it's time you knew why.”
