Chapter 4 - The Letters That Never Arrived
Chapter 4 - The Letters That Never Arrived
Ray recovered quickly.
"What's that?"
Daniel folded the receipt and handed it back to Evan.
"Nothing that belongs to you."
Ray walked closer.
"You're filling his head with things you know nothing about."
Daniel stood.
"I'm not discussing this here."
"You show up after twelve years and suddenly you're the hero?"
"No."
"Then stop acting like one."
Daniel looked at him.
"Laura wrote to me."
For the first time, Ray lost control of his expression.
Only slightly.
But Daniel saw it.
"Good for her."
"I found one of the letters."
Ray shrugged.
"Then maybe you should've answered."
"I never received it."
"Convenient."
Daniel stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Did you?"
Ray smiled.
"Did I what?"
"Receive them."
Evan was watching.
Daniel remembered Laura's warning.
Do not confront him.
He stepped back.
"Never mind."
Ray's smile widened.
"That's what I thought."
Daniel left before anger made him careless.
He called a lawyer he trusted, Helen Walsh, who had handled his company's employment matters and knew enough family law to tell him where his limits were.
"Do not enter a storage locker that isn't yours," she said.
"I wasn't planning to."
"You were absolutely planning to."
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"Fine. I was thinking about it."
"Don't. If Laura is incapacitated and the unit is in her name, you need proper authority. Give the information to the police if you believe it relates to her accident."
"What if they say it's just family drama?"
"Then document that you reported it."
Daniel looked at Evan through the glass wall of the hospital family room.
"I think the kid's scared."
"That matters. It does not make you his legal guardian."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Daniel said nothing.
Helen softened.
"Daniel, if what you're thinking is true, this could become very complicated very quickly."
"What exactly do you think I'm thinking?"
"That this boy might be yours."
Daniel looked away.
"I don't know that."
"No. You don't."
He appreciated that too.
By late afternoon, a detective assigned to Laura's crash agreed to take the storage information.
At first, Detective Samuel Ortiz seemed skeptical.
Car accidents happened every day.
Families fought.
Old letters disappeared.
But Laura had left written instructions warning about Ray. That was unusual.
And the unit existed.
Police obtained Laura's key from her personal belongings with hospital authorization and, after consulting the prosecutor's office, secured the locker while they determined the proper legal process for examining its contents.
Daniel hated waiting.
So he did something he could actually control.
He went to Laura's former workplace.
The company had changed names twice, but an old receptionist Daniel remembered still worked there.
Her name was Joan Keller.
She was seventy now and worked three mornings a week.
When Daniel mentioned Laura, Joan leaned back.
"I always wondered what happened to her."
"You remember her?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember why she left?"
Joan's expression changed.
"Officially? Family reasons."
"Unofficially?"
Joan glanced toward the office door.
"She accused someone of moving money."
"Ray?"
Joan did not answer.
She didn't need to.
"Was there an investigation?"
"A quiet one. Management didn't want police. They said it was an accounting misunderstanding."
"And Laura?"
"She quit."
"Why?"
Joan looked at him.
"You were seeing her then."
"Yes."
"She thought somebody was watching her."
Daniel's skin prickled.
"Did she say who?"
"No. But one night, she asked security to walk her to her car."
Daniel sat very still.
Joan continued.
"About a week later, she was gone."
"Did Ray leave too?"
"Not immediately."
"When?"
"Maybe six months later."
"Why?"
"Different story every time you asked."
Daniel thanked her and left.
That evening, Detective Ortiz called.
"We've confirmed the storage unit is rented by Laura Bennett."
"Have you opened it?"
"Not yet."
Daniel tried not to sound impatient.
"Then why call?"
"Because we also reviewed her vehicle."
Daniel stopped walking.
"And?"
"The initial mechanical inspection raised a question."
"What kind?"
"Mr. Mercer, don't get ahead of this."
"What kind?"
"A brake line showed damage."
Daniel gripped the phone.
"Accident damage?"
"Could be. Could also predate the crash. We're sending it for a closer examination."
Daniel thought about Evan saying, She doesn't drive fast.
"Does Ray know?"
"I'm not discussing investigative steps."
Daniel closed his eyes.
"Fine."
Ortiz continued.
"One more thing. Did Laura ever mention financial records to you?"
"No."
"Her employer from twelve years ago found archived material connected to an internal discrepancy."
Daniel opened his eyes.
"Ray?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't need to."
"Mr. Mercer, I need you to stop doing detective work."
Daniel almost laughed.
"You're the second person today who's told me what not to do."
"Maybe listen to one of us."
When Daniel returned to the hospital, Evan was waiting near the elevators.
"Did you find anything?"
Daniel crouched beside him.
"Maybe."
"Bad?"
"I don't know yet."
Evan looked disappointed.
Daniel understood why.
Children wanted clean answers.
Adults mostly lived in maybe.
"Can I ask you something?" Daniel said.
"Okay."
"How did you know my license plate?"
"Mom made me memorize it."
"When?"
"About a month ago."
"Why?"
"She said she didn't want it written down where someone could find it."
That was new.
"Did she show you my picture?"
Evan nodded.
"Online."
"Did she say why she suddenly wanted you to know how to find me?"
"No."
Then he frowned.
"Actually..."
"What?"
"She said, 'Sometimes you need a person who doesn't owe your family anything.'"
Daniel looked toward Laura's room.
The next morning, Ortiz called again.
This time his voice was different.
"We opened the storage unit."
Daniel stood from his desk.
"What was inside?"
"Mostly documents."
"What kind?"
"Financial records. Copies of correspondence. Some digital storage devices."
Daniel's heart beat faster.
"Letters?"
A pause.
"Yes."
"To me?"
"Some addressed to you."
Daniel sat down.
There were many things he could have asked.
Instead, one question came out.
"How many?"
"Mr. Mercer—"
"How many letters?"
Ortiz sighed.
"At least seven."
Daniel stared at the wall.
Seven.
Seven chances.
Seven pieces of a life he had never known existed.
Then Ortiz said, "There's something else."
Daniel closed his eyes.
"What?"
"Your name isn't the only one in those records."
May you like
"Whose is?"
"Ray Bennett's."
