Chapter 6 - The Night They Tried to Kill My Father
For a moment, I couldn't understand what I'd heard.
Thomas Whitaker.
My father.
The man who had raised me alone after my mother died.
The man who had taught Daniel how to ride a bicycle.
The man who had spent his final years sitting on his porch, watching birds gather around the feeder.
Mark had just said that someone intended to kill him.
Daniel replayed the recording.
The words were unmistakable.
"Your father wasn't supposed to die that night."
"Who was supposed to die?"
"Thomas Whitaker."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"No."
Daniel paused the recording.
"Mom?"
I shook my head.
"Dad died of a heart attack."
"I know."
"He died in his sleep."
Daniel looked at me carefully.
"Mom, this is about something that happened years earlier."
I stared at him.
Then I understood.
Robert Whitmore had died eleven years ago.
My father had died five years ago.
Mark was talking about the night Robert died.
I pressed play.
Jenna's voice came through.
"Why would anyone want Thomas dead?"
Mark sounded exhausted.
"Because he'd found the accounts."
"What accounts?"
"The ones Robert used to move the money."
Jenna asked, "Who ordered it?"
Mark hesitated.
Then whispered, "Victor."
My stomach tightened.
Victor Hale.
The name Elaine had mentioned.
The man whose associates might have been watching Daniel's house.
The recording continued.
"Victor believed Thomas had copies of the financial records. He wanted them back."
"And my father?"
"Robert tried to warn him."
"Then why did Robert die?"
A long silence followed.
Finally, Mark said:
"Because Victor found out Robert had been talking to the authorities."
Jenna began crying.
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
"You let me believe my father died in an accident."
"Jenna—"
"You knew!"
Mark raised his voice.
"I was trying to keep everyone alive!"
Then the recording ended.
I sat motionless.
For years, I'd believed my father simply disliked Mark.
Now I understood that Dad had been investigating something dangerous.
Something that had placed his life at risk.
And Mark had known.
Daniel reached for my hand.
"Mom, we need to give this to the police."
I nodded.
But before we could move, my phone rang.
Arthur Collins.
I answered immediately.
"Arthur?"
"Carol, are you somewhere safe?"
His voice sounded urgent.
"Yes. Why?"
"Someone broke into my office last night."
My heart dropped.
"What?"
"They went through the filing cabinets. My desk. The storage room."
"Was anything taken?"
"Several old files."
I closed my eyes.
"Did they get Dad's documents?"
"No. I moved the originals after you visited."
I exhaled.
Then Arthur said something that made me sit straighter.
"Carol, I need to tell you something I should have explained yesterday."
"What?"
"Your father didn't just collect financial records."
I stared at the phone.
"He recorded a conversation with Victor Hale."
Daniel leaned closer.
"Do you still have it?"
Arthur hesitated.
"Not personally."
"Where is it?"
"Thomas placed it somewhere he believed Mark would never search."
My heart began pounding.
"Where?"
Arthur took a breath.
"In the cemetery."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Your father arranged for a small sealed container to be placed beneath the stone bench beside his grave."
I remembered the bench.
Dad had paid for it before he died.
He said he wanted visitors to have somewhere comfortable to sit.
I had always thought it was a sweet gesture.
Now I wondered whether it had served another purpose.
"Arthur, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Thomas instructed me to reveal it only if the original documents were threatened."
I looked at Daniel.
"We need to go."
Arthur's voice sharpened.
"Not alone."
We contacted the detective assigned to the reported break-in.
After hearing a summary of the recording and the documents, she arranged to meet us at the cemetery with another officer.
Her name was Detective Laura Price.
She was calm, careful, and skeptical in exactly the way I wanted a detective to be.
She didn't promise arrests.
She didn't tell us everything would be fine.
She simply asked questions and documented what we knew.
At Willow Creek Cemetery, Arthur showed her the bench.
It was made of gray stone, positioned beneath the maple tree beside Dad's grave.
A maintenance worker arrived with permission from the cemetery.
He removed a small metal plate beneath the seat.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a waterproof container.
My heart pounded as Detective Price opened it.
There was a flash drive.
A sealed envelope.
And a handwritten note.
For Carol.
I recognized Dad's handwriting immediately.
My hands began shaking.
Detective Price photographed everything before allowing me to read the note.
My darling girl,
If you've found this, then the truth has finally become too dangerous to hide.
I tried to protect you by keeping silent.
That was my greatest mistake.
You deserve to know that I never stopped fighting for you.
And you deserve to know that Mark was not the only person who betrayed our family.
I stopped reading.
Daniel stood beside me.
"What does that mean?"
I unfolded the second page.
There is someone close to us who helped Victor Hale conceal the money.
Someone who knew our family well enough to understand where I kept my records.
Someone I trusted.
My stomach tightened.
Then I read the final line.
Carol, if anything happens to me, do not trust my brother, Richard.
I stared at the paper.
My uncle Richard.
The man who had delivered the eulogy at Dad's funeral.
The man who had comforted me when Dad died.
The man who still came to Thanksgiving dinner every year.
I looked at Detective Price.
May you like
And whispered:
"My father's brother helped them."
