We drove toward Nashville before sunrise.
Peter stayed behind.
Marianne came with us.
Rachel insisted on keeping the original accident report in her possession.
Russell carried Daniel's ledger.
I kept Mama's letters.
Nobody trusted anyone enough to travel separately.
The former detective lived in a small farmhouse beyond the city.
His name was Arthur Cole.
When he opened the door, he looked at the ledger in Russell's hands and immediately said, “I wondered when Daniel's book would surface.”
Russell stepped forward.
“You knew my father?”
Arthur looked at him.
“I knew Wayne.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Arthur sighed.
“I knew Daniel better.”
He let us inside.
His living room was filled with old police photographs.
Awards.
Newspaper clippings.
A framed badge.
He poured coffee.
I didn't drink mine.
“Did you remove my accident evidence?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because Wayne ordered me to.”
“You were a police officer.”
“I was.”
“Then why?”
Arthur looked at his hands.
“Because he owned people.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“It isn't.”
He went to a cabinet and removed a file.
“This is what I kept.”
The file contained photographs from the original scene.
The damaged truck.
The brake assembly.
A tire mark.
And a photograph of Wayne standing near the truck before the accident.
I stared.
“You had this?”
“Yes.”
“Why keep it?”
“Because I couldn't destroy everything.”
I looked at the photograph.
The same wrench.
The same truck.
The same night.
Arthur continued.
“Wayne called me after the accident.”
“What did he say?”
“He said the driver had made a mistake.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
“Then why write the report that way?”
“Because he threatened my daughter.”
I looked at him.
“What did he threaten?”
“She was sixteen.”
He swallowed.
“He knew where she went to school.”
I understood.
Fear again.
Always fear.
Arthur pulled another document from the file.
“This is the report I wrote before Wayne forced me to change it.”
The original conclusion was unmistakable.
Evidence consistent with deliberate brake tampering.
Potential premeditated act.
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn't you come forward after Wayne died?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Someone warned me.”
“Who?”
“Harold.”
I looked at Marianne.
Arthur continued.
“He said Wayne was dead, but the people who benefited from him weren't.”
“Who?”
“I never knew all of them.”
He pointed to the ledger.
“Daniel did.”
I opened it.
Arthur pointed to a page.
“Here.”
The entry listed a payment made the week after my accident.
Recipient: A. Cole.
My stomach dropped.
“You were paid.”
Arthur shook his head.
“No.”
“The ledger says you were.”
“I never received that money.”
“Then why is your name there?”
Arthur stared at the page.
“I don't know.”
Peter's warning returned to me.
Names could mean access.
Not guilt.
Arthur examined the entry.
“Someone used my name.”
“Why?”
“To make me look compromised.”
“Just like they're doing to me.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Exactly.”
He pulled out another file.
“Your mother knew.”
I looked up.
“How?”
“She came to see me.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“What did she ask?”
“She wanted proof that Wayne had altered the report.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was tired of being afraid.”
Arthur handed me a photograph.
Mama was standing outside the police station.
She looked younger.
But exhausted.
On the back she had written:
Arthur finally told me.
I felt tears rise.
“She kept this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She believed one day you would need to know she had tried.”
I folded the photograph carefully.
Arthur looked toward the window.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Your mother came back three years ago.”
I stared.
“Three years?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether Wayne had ever ordered anyone to hurt Daniel.”
Arthur paused.
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn't know.”
“Did you?”
“I suspected.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel had told me he was afraid.”
I remembered the ledger.
Daniel's final entry.
I thought he might die.
Arthur continued.
“Two days before Daniel died, he came to me.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did he say?”
“He said if anything happened to him, I should protect Linda.”
I closed my eyes.
Again my name.
Again someone trying to protect me.
Again the truth arriving decades late.
“What else?”
“He gave me a key.”
“To what?”
“A safety deposit box.”
“Where?”
“First County Bank.”
I looked at Russell.
Arthur nodded.
“Daniel told me not to open it.”
“Why?”
“He said the box contained something that could get people killed.”
My heart pounded.
“Did you ever open it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the key disappeared.”
“Who took it?”
Arthur looked at me.
“Wayne.”
I felt cold.
“So the box may still exist.”
“Yes.”
“Does the bank still have it?”
Arthur shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I called Gerald.
He answered almost immediately.
“Linda?”
“Does First County Bank have an old safety deposit box under Daniel Mercer's name?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
My pulse quickened.
“Is it still active?”
“No.”
“Was it ever opened?”
“I can't see that information without authorization.”
“I need you to check.”
“Linda, I can't.”
“Someone is manipulating accounts in my name.”
“I know.”
“Then help me.”
He sighed.
“Give me an hour.”
I hung up.
Arthur looked at me.
“If the box is still there, you need to be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because Wayne wasn't afraid of money.”
He pointed toward the ledger.
“He was afraid of records.”
The drive back to Memphis was quiet.
When Gerald called, his voice was different.
“Linda.”
“What did you find?”
“The box was opened yesterday.”
My heart stopped.
“By whom?”
“The authorization was under Daniel's name.”
“Daniel is dead.”
“I know.”
“Who opened it?”
“I don't know.”
“What was removed?”
“That's the problem.”
“What?”
“There is no record of the contents.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then how do you know it was opened?”
“Because the box is empty.”
I looked at Russell.
“Everything is happening before we arrive.”
“Yes.”
“Someone knows where we're going.”
Gerald lowered his voice.
“Linda, there's one more thing.”
“What?”
“The person who accessed the box used your mother's identification.”
I felt sick.
“Mama's identification?”
“Yes.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
I hung up.
The car was silent.
Then Marianne spoke.
“Someone is trying to make it look as though your mother was involved.”
I looked at her.
“Or make it look as though I am continuing what she started.”
Russell nodded.
“We need to stop chasing them.”
I turned toward him.
“What do you mean?”
“We need to make them come to us.”
I thought about it.
The trust.
The property.
The reopened account.
The safety deposit box.
The threats.
Someone believed we had found something valuable.
Maybe we could use that belief.
I called Peter.
He answered on the first ring.
“We found the detective.”
“What did he say?”
“He confirmed the cover-up.”
“Then you have enough.”
“Not yet.”
“What else do you need?”
“The person behind the recent transfers.”
Peter was silent.
Then he said:
“I think I know.”
“Who?”
“I'll meet you tonight.”
“Where?”
“At your mother's house.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why there?”
“Because there's something your mother left behind that I never found.”
“What?”
Peter's voice dropped.
“A hidden room.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Mama’s Hidden Room Contained the Last Piece of the Puzzle, but What We Found There Forced Me to Face Her Hardest Decision
The Flour Tin Mama Guarded for Decades Held More Than Money, and the First Sentence of Her Letter Changed Everything I Remembered
Part 15 of 20
