Chapter 6 - The Price of Telling the Truth
I called Lena before I called Roman.
That decision mattered to me.
Because whatever feelings existed between Roman and me, he was not the law.
He was not my protector by right.
And he certainly wasn't the person entitled to decide how my brother and I responded to a kidnapping.
Lena answered immediately.
“We have officers with Caleb. Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Stay where you are until an officer can speak with you.”
“What's happening with Mason?”
“We're treating the video as a credible threat. We're working on identifying where it was recorded.”
I swallowed.
“Can you find him?”
“We're doing everything we can.”
It wasn't a promise.
But it was honest.
I told her about Mason's last message.
The prepaid phone.
The storage facility.
The anonymous source.
She asked me to forward everything.
Then she said, “Claire, if anyone contacts you directly, don't agree to meet them. Preserve the message and call us.”
I agreed.
When I hung up, my hands were shaking.
I stood at the kitchen counter, trying to remember the last ordinary conversation I'd had with Mason.
He had complained that Caleb never stocked decent coffee.
He'd joked about my boss looking like an angry luxury watch advertisement.
He had stayed up all night helping us examine documents that weren't his responsibility.
And now he was missing.
Because he had tried to help us.
Roman arrived at my condo around nine.
He came with Darius, but Darius remained downstairs.
Roman had dark circles beneath his eyes.
His jaw was tight.
“What do you know?” he asked.
I told him.
He listened without interruption.
When I finished, he looked toward the window.
“Voss.”
“You think Adrian Voss took Mason?”
“I think he's capable of it. But I'm not certain.”
“Then don't act as though you are.”
Roman looked at me.
“I won't.”
I folded my arms.
“I'm serious. I don't want you sending men around Chicago threatening people.”
His expression darkened.
“Claire, someone kidnapped your friend.”
“And I want him alive.”
“So do I.”
“Then help Lena. Give her whatever information you have about Voss. Don't start a private war.”
Roman was quiet.
For several seconds, I wondered whether I had pushed too far.
Then he nodded.
“Agreed.”
I exhaled.
He moved toward the sofa but stopped.
“May I sit?”
I looked at him.
Despite everything, that small question touched me.
Because Roman Mercer was learning something that seemed simple to everyone else.
Permission mattered.
“Yes.”
He sat.
I remained standing.
“Why did your father trust Victor?” I asked.
Roman stared at his hands.
“Victor helped him build the company.”
“Legally?”
“Not always.”
“Did your father know about the illegal freight operations?”
“Some of them. I don't know how much.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Then August wasn't innocent.”
“No.”
“Even if Victor ordered what happened to my parents.”
“Yes.”
Roman looked up.
“I won't rewrite my father's life to make myself feel better.”
For the first time, I saw the cost of his honesty.
He had inherited more than money.
He had inherited a name built on fear.
A company full of people who depended on him.
And a history that might never be clean.
“Roman,” I said quietly, “what happens if all this becomes public?”
He gave a tired smile.
“Mercer Holdings may not survive.”
“And you?”
“I'll survive.”
He paused.
“Whether I deserve to keep everything I have is another question.”
I stared at him.
For months, I had seen Roman as the most powerful man in every room.
Now he looked like someone discovering that power couldn't protect him from the consequences of the past.
At noon, Lena called with an update.
They had located the storage facility Mason mentioned.
The prepaid phone had been used nearby, but the number had been registered under false information.
Investigators were reviewing footage and access records.
Then she said, “We also confirmed something about Felix Dunn.”
I gripped my phone.
“He's alive?”
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
“Did you speak with him?”
“We did.”
“What did he say?”
A pause.
“He claims he wasn't driving the truck when it struck your parents' car.”
I closed my eyes.
Twelve years.
Twelve years of believing Felix Dunn was the man who had fallen asleep behind the wheel.
“What does he mean?”
“According to his account, someone forced him out of the vehicle shortly before the collision. He says he later signed a false statement because his family was threatened.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who forced him out?”
“He described two men. We are verifying the details.”
“Did he know who they worked for?”
“He believes they were connected to Adrian Voss.”
I looked across the room at Roman.
He saw my expression change.
“Claire?”
I held up one finger.
Lena continued.
“Dunn's account is important, but it still needs corroboration. He has admitted making false statements, and his credibility will be challenged.”
“Does he know why my parents were targeted?”
“He says he heard the name Bennett before the incident.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“His account is that someone told him the vehicle involved belonged to a man who had taken records from Caldera.”
I covered my mouth.
My father.
His audit.
The missing documents.
The meeting near Rockford.
All of it was beginning to connect.
But a connection wasn't yet proof.
“Will he testify?” I whispered.
“That's being discussed with his attorney.”
I ended the call.
Then I told Roman.
He listened without moving.
When I finished, he looked almost ill.
“Voss,” he murmured.
I shook my head.
“Don't jump ahead.”
Roman stood.
“You're right.”
He walked toward the window.
Then stopped.
“I need to tell Lena something.”
“What?”
“When I was thirty-two, Adrian Voss came to my office demanding payment from a company I was trying to close.”
I frowned.
“What company?”
“A freight brokerage connected to Caldera.”
“Why was he demanding money?”
“He claimed my father owed him for services performed years earlier.”
“What services?”
“He wouldn't explain.”
“What did you do?”
“I refused.”
I watched him carefully.
“And then?”
“Victor arranged a meeting. Afterward, the demand disappeared.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did you ask Victor what happened?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That he'd settled an old dispute.”
I stared at him.
“Did you believe him?”
“At the time.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Claire, I think I've spent most of my adult life accepting explanations because the alternatives were too ugly to face.”
I said nothing.
He turned toward me.
“I'm going to give Lena everything I have. Every old communication. Every transaction. Even the ones that implicate me.”
For a moment, I saw something in him I hadn't expected.
Not power.
Not dominance.
Courage.
The kind that required a man to stop pretending he was innocent simply because he had never asked enough questions.
“Do that,” I said.
And for the first time, I meant it without anger.
At three-thirty, I received a call from an unknown number.
I forwarded it to Lena's team rather than answering.
The caller left a voicemail.
A man's voice.
Smooth.
Almost pleasant.
“Miss Bennett. My name is Adrian Voss. I believe we have a mutual interest in keeping your friend alive.”
I played it once.
Then again.
My stomach tightened.
The message continued.
“Your father took something that never belonged to him. Your brother has spent twelve years looking for it. Roman Mercer is making this much more complicated than necessary.”
There was a pause.
“Tell your federal friends that if they care about Mason Reed, they should stop treating this like a paperwork dispute.”
The voicemail ended.
I sent it to Lena.
Then sat motionless at my kitchen table.
Adrian Voss had just identified himself.
I didn't know whether that was arrogance, desperation, or a trap.
But I knew one thing.
He wanted us frightened.
And he wanted us to make a mistake.
That evening, Lena asked Caleb and me to come to a secure office.
Roman was there with Mara.
Also present was a federal agent named Daniel Brooks, a calm, broad-shouldered man who spoke very little.
Lena explained that investigators had identified a possible connection between Mason's disappearance and an industrial property near the river.
They were pursuing it through authorized investigative procedures.
“We need you to understand something,” she said. “Do not attempt to make contact or deliver documents independently.”
Caleb nodded.
I did too.
Then Roman spoke.
“I know a building Voss used before.”
Lena looked at him.
“Where?”
Roman gave an address.
Brooks wrote it down.
Roman continued.
“There may be a second access road behind the property.”
Lena asked several questions.
Roman answered them.
No threats.
No promises to handle things himself.
Just information.
It was the most useful I'd seen him be since the investigation began.
At eleven-twenty, my phone rang.
Caleb.
I answered immediately.
“What's happening?”
His voice shook.
“Lena just called. They've found Mason.”
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
Thank God.
“Where is he?”
“At a hospital. He's conscious.”
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then Caleb said, “Claire, he has a broken wrist and a concussion, but the doctors think he'll recover.”
Tears slid down my cheeks.
I sat on the floor.
The relief was so powerful that my body simply stopped holding me upright.
“Can we see him?”
“Not yet. They need to finish examining him.”
I wiped my face.
“How did they find him?”
“Investigators located him at an industrial property. Some people fled before officers arrived.”
“Was Voss there?”
“We don't know.”
I closed my eyes again.
Mason was alive.
It was the first good news I'd had in days.
But relief lasted only until the following morning.
Because when I finally saw Mason in the hospital, he told us something that changed everything.
He lay in bed with his left wrist immobilized.
Purple bruising marked one cheek.
His eyes looked exhausted.
Caleb sat beside him.
I stood near the foot of the bed.
“Mason,” I whispered.
He tried to smile.
“Hey, Claire.”
I nearly cried.
“You idiot.”
“That's fair.”
“You were supposed to go home.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to let the investigators handle it.”
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“Don't ever scare us like that again.”
He looked at Caleb.
“Your sister's terrifying.”
Caleb laughed shakily.
“Always has been.”
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Then Mason's smile faded.
“Claire, there's something I need to tell you.”
I pulled up a chair.
“Okay.”
“The person who contacted me wasn't Victor Shaw.”
I frowned.
“Who was it?”
“Voss.”
My stomach dropped.
“He was the source?”
Mason nodded.
“He wanted the Bennett documents because he believed your father made copies of something August Mercer kept.”
“The ledger?”
“Not exactly.”
Mason shifted painfully.
“He kept asking about an account called Harbor Seventeen.”
I stared at him.
“Harbor Seventeen?”
“He said your father had the records.”
Caleb looked confused.
“Dad never mentioned that name.”
Mason nodded.
“That's what I told him.”
“What did he do?” I asked.
Mason looked away.
“He didn't believe me.”
I glanced at his injured wrist.
My chest tightened.
Then he continued.
“Before the police arrived, I heard two men arguing outside the room.”
“What about?”
“Money. Old evidence. Someone named Shaw.”
My heart accelerated.
Mason swallowed.
“One of them said Voss should have destroyed the Bennett car before the police arrived.”
I went still.
The car.
My parents' car.
Mason looked directly at me.
“Claire, I don't think the truck was the original plan.”
My throat tightened.
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “One of them said the brakes had already been fixed.”
I stared at him.
The brakes.
A disabled vehicle.
An unexplained emergency call before the collision.
The freight truck arriving later.
Suddenly I could see a possibility so terrible that it made me physically sick.
Someone might have sabotaged my parents' car.
Then used a truck to make the deaths look accidental.
I stood.
Caleb caught my arm gently.
“Claire.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“No, Caleb. They were supposed to come home.”
My brother's face broke.
He pulled me into his arms.
And for the first time in twelve years, we cried together without pretending either of us had to be strong.
Later that afternoon, Roman met me in the hospital courtyard.
He had come to speak with Lena, not to demand access to Mason.
I found him standing beneath a tree, looking at the traffic beyond the fence.
“Mason is going to be okay,” I said.
Roman turned.
The relief on his face was immediate.
“I'm glad.”
I nodded.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I said, “Someone tampered with my parents' brakes.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Claire.”
“That's what Mason overheard.”
“Has Lena confirmed it?”
“Not yet.”
He nodded slowly.
I looked at him.
“If it's true, someone planned to kill them before that truck ever arrived.”
His expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“Someone wanted my father dead badly enough to build an accident around him.”
Roman stared at the ground.
Then he said something I would remember long after the investigation ended.
“Power doesn't make a man important, Claire. It only makes the damage he can do more dangerous.”
I watched him.
“Did your father teach you that?”
Roman shook his head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You did.”
I wanted to tell him not to say things like that.
Not now.
Not when everything between us was tangled in grief and secrets.
But the words caught in my throat.
Instead, I asked, “What happens if Victor and Voss are both involved?”
Roman's expression became unreadable.
“Then their relationship is more complicated than either of them wants us to know.”
“And your father?”
He looked away.
“My father might have helped create the machinery they used. Whether he knew about the murders is still something we have to prove.”
I nodded.
Roman held out a folded piece of paper.
“What is that?”
“A copy of a record Mara found this morning. The investigators have the original.”
I unfolded it.
It was a historical bank statement.
One account had received several large payments over a six-month period after my parents died.
The account belonged to a consulting firm.
The firm's registered owner was Adrian Voss.
And the payments had been authorized through a trust administered by Victor Shaw.
I stared at the amounts.
One hundred thousand.
Seventy-five thousand.
Two hundred thousand.
More than half a million dollars.
My hands began trembling.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“Why would Victor pay Voss this much money?”
Roman's voice was low.
“I think he was paying to keep someone silent.”
I looked up.
“About my parents?”
“Possibly.”
Then he said, “There's something else.”
I waited.
“My father ordered those payments stopped six years ago.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“I found a letter in the legal archive. He accused Victor of hiding financial misconduct.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened?”
“Victor negotiated a settlement. My father was already ill, and the dispute disappeared.”
I stared at the paper.
“Did August ever learn what happened to my parents?”
Roman's eyes darkened.
“I don't know.”
Then he said, “But someone has been trying very hard to make sure neither of us finds out.”
At six-forty that evening, my phone vibrated.
An email.
The sender address was unfamiliar.
The subject line contained only two words.
Harbor Seventeen.
I opened it.
One sentence appeared above an attached photograph.
Your father didn't take the records. He gave them to someone August Mercer trusted more than his own son.
I stared.
Then opened the photograph.
It showed my father standing outside a warehouse.
Beside him was August Mercer.
And between them stood a younger Victor Shaw.
All three men were looking toward the camera.
But the photograph's lower edge contained something else.
A handwritten date.
October 18.
The day before my parents died.
And on the back of the photograph, visible in a second image, someone had written:
If Bennett disappears, check the person who controls August's signature.
I looked at the words.
Then at Roman's name on my phone.
Because twelve years earlier, my father had apparently known he was in danger.
And before he died, he had left a warning.
Not about the most feared man in the Mercer family.
May you like
About the man everyone trusted to handle his affairs.
Victor Shaw.
