The search for Natalie began before we reached the hotel.
Police checked her apartment, her workplace, her bank activity, and the address in Phoenix. Her car was still parked outside her building, but her phone had been switched off.
Inside the apartment, investigators found an open suitcase.
Most of her clothes were gone.
Her passport was missing.
So were several folders from a filing cabinet.
But she had left something behind.
A photograph.
It was tucked beneath a coffee mug on the kitchen counter.
I knew the photograph immediately.
It showed our mother standing beside Derek.
I had never seen it before.
Harris turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
Ask Claire what happened the summer before the wedding.
I stared at the words.
“What summer?”
Harris looked at me.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
He handed me the photograph.
I studied our mother's face.
She looked younger than I remembered. Derek stood beside her with one hand resting casually on her shoulder.
The date was eighteen months before my wedding.
I had met Derek around that time.
At least, I thought I had.
A memory surfaced.
A family barbecue.
My mother insisting that I meet someone who worked with one of Father's old business contacts.
A man standing near the garage.
A handshake.
A laugh.
I had always remembered meeting Derek later.
But now I wasn't sure.
Harris noticed my expression.
“What are you remembering?”
“I don't know.”
“Try.”
I closed my eyes.
There had been another man that summer.
Someone who looked vaguely like Derek from a distance.
But the memory was incomplete.
I opened my eyes.
“I need to see my mother's old records.”
“Where?”
“The house.”
We drove there that afternoon.
My mother's house had been sold after her death, but the buyer had agreed to let me collect several boxes of family documents. I had never bothered to go through all of them.
We found the boxes in the garage.
Birth certificates.
Tax records.
Old letters.
Photographs.
Medical bills.
Receipts.
And one envelope addressed to me.
The handwriting was my mother's.
I opened it carefully.
Claire,
There are things about Derek I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid.
I stopped reading.
My hands were shaking.
The letter continued.
Your father did business with people who were not always honest. Derek became involved after your father's death. I don't know exactly what he did, but I know he was frightened.
I looked at Harris.
“This was written before my mother died.”
He nodded.
I continued.
If anything happens to me, don't let Derek convince you that you owe him loyalty simply because he loves you.
The sentence made my throat tighten.
My mother had never trusted him.
Why hadn't she told me?
The next page answered part of the question.
Because Natalie already knows.
I looked up.
“What?”
Harris took the page.
He read it silently.
Then he looked at me.
“Your mother knew Natalie was involved.”
I sat down on an old wooden chair.
Everything was becoming tangled.
Derek.
Natalie.
My parents.
The insurance scheme.
The house.
The missing money.
How far back did it go?
Harris searched the remaining boxes.
He found an old business ledger belonging to my father.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Derek Morgan.
But beside it was another name.
Daniel Hale.
I stared at the page.
“Daniel Hale.”
The alias from Silver Pine.
Harris photographed it.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“If Daniel Hale was connected to your father before Derek supposedly died, then this wasn't simply a scheme Derek invented after the crash.”
I felt cold.
“You think my father knew him?”
“I think we need to find out.”
That night, investigators searched archived business records.
By midnight, they had an answer.
Daniel Hale had worked as a financial consultant for my father's company.
And he had disappeared shortly after my father died.
I couldn't sleep.
Around 1:30 in the morning, my phone rang.
Natalie.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
She was whispering.
“I don't have much time.”
“Are you safe?”
“For now.”
“Tell me where you are.”
“I can't.”
“Natalie—”
“I need you to listen.”
Her breathing was uneven.
“I lied about Derek.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
She swallowed.
“He isn't the man you think he is.”
I stared at the dark hotel window.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean Derek didn't start this.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who did?”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “Your father.”
I couldn't speak.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“What are you saying?”
“Derek inherited the operation.”
My mind raced.
“What operation?”
“The money. The companies. The insurance policies. Everything.”
“Why would my father do that?”
“Because it wasn't really your father's.”
I sat upright.
“What wasn't?”
“The money.”
The line crackled.
“Natalie?”
Someone was with her.
I heard a door close.
Her breathing changed.
“Claire, listen carefully. The man you know as Derek isn't—”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Harris was already awake.
He had heard enough to understand something was wrong.
“Can you trace it?”
“We're trying.”
Then a message appeared.
Do not trust the man beside you.
I looked at Harris.
He saw the message.
Neither of us spoke.
A second message arrived.
Derek is not the only person watching you.
Harris took my phone.
“We're leaving.”
We moved to a different location before dawn.
The next morning, investigators confirmed that someone had accessed the hotel security system using credentials belonging to a private contractor.
The contractor's name was Dr. Evans.
I felt sick.
The therapist who had treated me after Derek's death.
The man who had documented my supposed instability.
The man who had encouraged me to doubt my memories.
He was connected to the surveillance network.
Harris arranged for an immediate search of his office.
They found nothing.
He had emptied it.
But one computer had been left behind.
On it was a folder containing my medical records.
And beside those records was a payment ledger.
Every payment came from one of Derek's shell companies.
But the oldest payment was dated six months before Derek and I married.
I stared at it.
“He was paying Evans before we were even married.”
Harris nodded.
That was when the real shape of the conspiracy finally began to appear.
Derek hadn't decided to manipulate me after the crash.
He had been preparing for it years earlier.
My marriage itself might have been part of the plan.
Then Harris received another call.
Natalie had been found.
Alive.
But she was injured.
She had been discovered near an abandoned roadside warehouse outside Phoenix.
An ambulance was taking her to a hospital.
We flew back immediately.
When I entered her hospital room, she looked smaller than I remembered.
There was a bruise along her jaw.
Her wrist was bandaged.
She opened her eyes when I entered.
“Claire.”
I sat beside her.
“Who did this?”
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered,
“Derek.”
I stared at her.
“But you said he wasn't the only one.”
“He isn't.”
“Then who?”
Natalie began crying.
“I was wrong about everything.”
She reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
My father stood beside a younger man.
The younger man was Derek.
But the photograph had been taken twenty-six years ago.
I stared at it.
“That can't be.”
Natalie whispered the truth.
“Derek was working for Dad before you ever met him.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Photograph From My Father’s Past Revealed Why Derek Chose Me, and the Truth Made My Entire Marriage Look Like a Carefully Built Trap
At 2:14 PM, My Neighbor Heard a Woman Crying Inside the House I Had Sworn Was Completely Empty
Part 6 of 20
