Nobody moved after the tape stopped.
The machine clicked softly at the end of the cassette, repeating a faint mechanical rhythm until I reached over and pressed the button.
Dad remained seated.
Sebastian stood beside the window, one hand braced against the wall.
Eleanor watched both of them without speaking.
I was the first to find words.
“Survived what?”
Dad looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“What did Mom tell you happened?”
His eyes dropped toward the table.
“She told me she miscarried.”
Sebastian swallowed.
“You knew she was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You just said before that she never had another child.”
“I thought the pregnancy ended.”
“When?”
“Late summer.”
Dad rubbed his face.
“We were supposed to marry in October.”
The words came slowly now, each memory dragged into a present that no longer matched it.
“Rebecca told me she lost the baby in August.”
“After Michael disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“How soon after?”
Dad thought.
“A week. Maybe less.”
Eleanor asked, “Did you see her in the hospital?”
“No.”
“Doctor?”
“No.”
“Medical records?”
Dad’s expression tightened.
“She told me she couldn’t bear to discuss it.”
Nobody had to say the obvious thing.
He had accepted another explanation.
Dad looked toward the ceiling as though ashamed of his own memory.
“I believed her.”
Sebastian pulled out a chair.
“If the baby survived, where did it go?”
The tape had not answered that.
I turned to Eleanor.
“Did Grandma know?”
“She must have.”
“Then why isn’t it in my letter?”
“Because perhaps it is in Arthur’s.”
Everyone looked at Dad.
His envelope sat on the table.
He had carried it from the bank but had not opened it.
His fingers touched the edge.
Then stopped.
Sebastian spoke gently.
“You don’t have to.”
Dad gave him a tired look.
“Yes, I do.”
He opened it.
Inside were several pages and a smaller sealed envelope.
Dad began reading silently.
His face changed almost immediately.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He kept reading.
When he finished the first page, he put it down carefully.
“My mother knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Rebecca and Michael had been involved.”
Sebastian stared.
“How long?”
“Months.”
Dad picked up the second page.
“She confronted Michael.”
“What did he say?”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“He said he loved Rebecca.”
The sentence seemed physically painful.
Eleanor lowered her eyes.
Dad laughed bitterly.
“My own brother.”
I understood his anger.
But there was something in Grandma’s warning that bothered me.
“If Michael loved her, why did Grandma think someone would hurt him?”
Dad continued reading.
Then his expression sharpened.
“She says Rebecca wanted to marry me anyway.”
Sebastian frowned.
“Why?”
Dad looked up.
“Because I was stable.”
Nobody spoke.
He read from the letter, paraphrasing rather than quoting.
Michael had been impulsive.
Restless.
He worked seasonal construction jobs, traveled constantly, and had very little money.
Dad had already begun a successful engineering career.
A house.
Savings.
Plans.
Mom apparently told Michael their relationship was over even after learning she was pregnant.
“But Michael wanted the baby,” Dad said.
“What did Mom want?” I asked.
“To pretend it wasn’t his.”
The room fell silent.
Dad read further.
Grandma believed Mom intended to marry Dad and let him raise Michael’s child without knowing the truth.
Michael threatened to tell him.
Mom threatened Michael in return.
“What kind of threat?” Sebastian asked.
Dad’s eyes moved faster across the page.
Then stopped.
“She knew about something he’d done.”
“What?”
Dad looked up.
“A workplace accident.”
Michael had been operating machinery at a construction site without authorization.
A coworker was badly injured.
The company had covered parts of the incident to avoid regulatory scrutiny, but Michael could still have faced charges if someone produced evidence proving negligence.
Mom had access to photographs and internal paperwork through a friend at the company.
“She said she’d send everything to police?”
“Worse,” Dad answered.
“She said she’d claim he had intentionally caused the accident during an argument.”
Sebastian stared.
“Would anyone believe that?”
“Maybe.”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“Michael already had a temper. He’d been arrested once after a bar fight.”
“So Grandma helped him disappear.”
Dad nodded.
“She thought if he stayed, Rebecca would destroy him.”
“And the baby?”
Dad turned another page.
His face lost color.
“What?”
He handed me the letter.
Grandma wrote that after Michael left, Mom suddenly claimed the pregnancy had ended.
Grandma did not believe her.
She hired a private investigator.
Two months later, she discovered that Rebecca had given birth under another name at a private clinic outside Chicago.
Sebastian stood.
“She had the baby?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
Dad took the page back.
“She arranged an adoption.”
The words hung between us.
I felt something twist in my chest.
A child had been born into our family, hidden from Dad, hidden from Michael, then given away to preserve a lie.
“Boy or girl?” I asked.
Dad continued reading.
“A boy.”
Sebastian looked at me.
Our half-brother.
Or cousin.
The relationship was complicated enough that I stopped trying to name it.
Dad reached the final page.
His face hardened.
“What?”
“My mother found out who adopted him.”
“Who?”
Dad unfolded the smaller envelope.
Inside was a single sheet.
A name.
Daniel Mercer.
Adoptive parents: Thomas and Helen Mercer.
Birth date: September 3, 1998.
Sebastian whispered, “He’s twenty-eight.”
I looked at Dad.
“Do you know that name?”
“No.”
Eleanor did.
Her reaction was small, but I saw it.
“You know him.”
She removed her glasses.
“I know of him.”
“From what?”
“Business.”
“What business?”
She hesitated.
“Commercial property.”
Dad leaned forward.
“Tell us.”
Eleanor looked uneasy.
“Daniel Mercer runs Mercer Development Group.”
Sebastian stared.
“I know that company.”
“So do I,” Dad said.
I did too.
Mercer Development owned office towers, residential complexes, and several redevelopment projects across Illinois and Wisconsin.
Their name appeared everywhere.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“Why would Mom care about someone she gave up for adoption twenty-eight years ago?”
Eleanor’s gaze moved toward Grandma’s trust documents.
“Maybe because Daniel eventually learned who he was.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
All four of us looked at it.
I opened the message.
STOP ASKING ABOUT DANIEL.
Sebastian swore.
Dad stood.
“That answers one question.”
I stared at the screen.
Whoever was watching us knew exactly what we were discovering.
Dad dialed the police contact from earlier.
This time the threat was more specific.
The officer advised us not to leave the house and said detectives would follow up.
After the call, Dad went to check the exterior cameras.
I followed.
The security system showed no activity near the doors.
But one camera overlooking the driveway had gone offline twelve minutes earlier.
Dad tapped the screen.
“That never happens.”
“Power?”
“No. The others are fine.”
Sebastian came into the hallway.
“Someone disabled it?”
“Possibly.”
Eleanor called from the dining room.
“There’s another problem.”
We returned.
She had spread Grandma’s trust records across the table.
“What?”
“The Lake Geneva property.”
I looked at the deed transfer showing Sebastian’s name.
Eleanor compared dates.
“The transfer happened four years ago.”
“Yes.”
“The same month Mercer Development filed an acquisition proposal for land bordering the property.”
Dad frowned.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because Evelyn’s lake house sits on one of the last privately held stretches between two parcels Mercer already controls.”
Sebastian leaned over the map.
“So Daniel wanted it.”
“His company did.”
“But it was transferred to me.”
“On paper.”
I understood.
“You think Mom moved it into Sebastian’s name to block the trust from selling it?”
“Or to hide another transaction.”
Dad’s expression became grim.
“Could Rebecca have been working with Daniel?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“She may have been.”
“Her own son?”
“If Daniel knows who his biological parents are, then the relationship may not be what you think.”
Sebastian sat heavily.
“This family keeps getting worse.”
I looked at Grandma’s letter.
“Michael.”
“What about him?” Dad asked.
“If Grandma knew Daniel’s adoptive family, she might have told Michael.”
Dad stared at me.
“And if Michael was alive…”
“He may have found him.”
The possibility changed the room.
For the first time, Michael was not simply a vanished man from 1998.
He might have had a life afterward.
He might have met his son.
He might still be alive.
Dad picked up the envelope labeled MICHAEL that we had left in the safe-deposit box.
Except we had not taken it.
He looked toward Eleanor.
“We need that letter.”
“We need legal authorization.”
“I’m his brother.”
“That may not be enough.”
“Then get enough.”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“I’ll work on it tomorrow.”
Dad looked toward the clock.
It was nearly nine.
The old house felt colder than I remembered.
Mom had not contacted us directly.
No calls.
No messages from her number.
Only anonymous warnings.
That worried me more.
Sebastian was in the kitchen making coffee when the doorbell rang.
Everyone froze.
Dad checked the camera.
A man stood on the porch.
Mid-thirties.
Tall.
Dark coat.
No vehicle visible.
Dad looked at me.
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
Eleanor stepped toward the monitor.
Then stopped.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She pointed.
“That’s Daniel Mercer.”
Nobody spoke.
He rang the bell again.
Sebastian came closer.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve met him twice.”
Dad stared at the screen.
The son Mom had hidden for twenty-eight years stood outside the house.
Our house.
Daniel looked straight into the camera.
Then held up both hands to show he was carrying nothing.
Dad reached for the door.
Eleanor stopped him.
“Wait.”
“He may know where Michael is.”
“He may also be connected to whoever has been threatening Chloe.”
Daniel rang a third time.
Then spoke toward the camera.
“I know you’re in there.”
Dad pressed the intercom.
“What do you want?”
Daniel did not look surprised by his voice.
“I want to talk before Rebecca gets here.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“You know Rebecca?”
Daniel looked directly into the lens.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“She’s my mother.”
Sebastian inhaled sharply.
Dad gripped the edge of the console.
Daniel continued.
“And if she told you I’m the person threatening Chloe, she’s lying.”
I felt my skin go cold.
Dad looked at me.
Then back at the screen.
“How do you know Chloe has been threatened?”
Daniel glanced toward the street.
“Because the man following her used to work for me.”
Eleanor whispered, “Don’t open that door.”
Daniel seemed to hear something outside.
He turned.
A car slowed at the curb.
His expression changed.
Then he stepped closer to the camera.
“You need to decide quickly.”
Dad pressed the intercom again.
“Why?”
Daniel looked back toward the street.
“Because Rebecca isn’t trying to hide what happened in 1998 anymore.”
The car stopped.
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“She’s trying to make sure nobody lives long enough to prove it.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Daniel Mercer Entered The House Claiming Mom Had Used Him Too, Then He Produced Evidence Michael Had Been Alive Only Three Months Earlier
Christmas Dinner Was Almost Over When My Parents Told Me To Leave, Then Mom Asked The Question Dad Was Never Supposed To Hear
Part 6 of 40
