PART 4
The third message arrived before anyone could say another word.
You should have left the past alone.
Daniel stared at the screen.
Then he looked at me.
“What past?”
“I don’t know.”
But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t completely true.
There was something my family had never talked about.
Something that had been buried so deeply that I had almost convinced myself it had never happened.
Daniel handed my phone back.
“Has Evan ever threatened you before?”
“No.”
“Has he ever threatened Lily?”
“No.”
“Has there been a dispute between him and your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Over money?”
I nodded.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“That answer matters.”
“I told you, I don’t know. My father never discusses his finances with me.”
“But Evan does?”
I looked toward the window.
“No.”
Daniel waited.
I finally sighed.
“My brother has always believed Dad owes him something.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not an amount.”
“My parents helped me buy my house years ago. They helped with Lily’s school. They helped me when I was divorced. Evan thinks they favored me.”
“Did they?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel didn’t respond.
I knew what he was thinking.
Neither did I.
The police officer beside him looked at the threat message again.
“We need to take this phone as evidence.”
I handed it over.
He placed it inside an evidence bag.
Then he asked something that made my stomach tighten.
“Where’s your daughter?”
“Upstairs.”
“Can we speak with her?”
“With me present.”
“Of course.”
We found Lily sitting on the edge of her bed, hugging a pillow.
She looked frightened.
“Mom?”
I sat beside her.
“Sweetheart, you’re okay.”
She looked at the officer.
“Am I going to jail?”
“No,” he said. “We’re trying to find out who actually drove your car.”
Lily swallowed.
“I told you I didn’t.”
“We believe you.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“Mom, can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
She hesitated.
Then she reached beneath her bed and pulled out a small backpack.
“I found this this morning.”
She placed it on the bed.
I looked inside.
A pair of black gloves.
A baseball cap.
And a folded piece of paper.
My heart started beating faster.
“Where did you find this?”
“Behind my dresser.”
“Was it yours?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I looked at Daniel.
He carefully removed the paper.
There were only six words written on it.
You were never supposed to know.
Daniel’s face became serious.
“Did you touch anything else?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“When did you find this?”
“This morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
Lily looked at me.
“I thought someone had been in my room.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
“What makes you think that?”
She pointed toward her desk.
“My window was open.”
I looked.
The window was closed now.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Was it locked last night?”
“Yes.”
Daniel walked toward it.
He examined the latch.
Then the sill.
A few seconds later, he found something.
A tiny black mark.
Like rubber had scraped against the painted wood.
He photographed it.
Then he looked outside.
“There’s a footprint.”
We all moved toward the window.
The ground beneath it was damp from last night’s rain.
One shoe impression was clearly visible.
Size twelve, perhaps.
Deep tread.
Daniel crouched beside it without touching it.
“Whoever came through here was wearing heavy boots.”
I looked at Lily.
“Did you hear anything last night?”
She shook her head.
“Until what?”
She looked down.
“I woke up around midnight.”
My heart stopped.
“What time?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twelve.”
“What happened?”
“I heard the garage door.”
Daniel immediately looked at me.
“You heard the garage?”
Lily nodded.
“I thought you were getting something from the car.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“What did you do?”
“I opened my bedroom door.”
“And?”
“I saw someone downstairs.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“A man.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
Lily squeezed the pillow.
“He was holding something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“What kind of key?”
Lily closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“It had a little red tag.”
I looked at Daniel.
The spare key I kept in the kitchen had a red plastic tag.
My heart sank.
“He was standing in the kitchen,” Lily continued. “Then he looked toward the stairs.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What did you do?”
“I went back into my room and locked the door.”
“And then?”
“I heard the garage open.”
A terrible silence filled the room.
“So you heard the person take the Civic?”
Lily nodded.
“I thought it was you.”
I closed my eyes.
She had been awake.
She had heard someone steal the car.
And she had been too frightened to tell me.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I thought maybe you were downstairs.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“You did the right thing by staying inside.”
She started crying.
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“I know.”
Then she whispered something that made me pull back.
“Mom?”
“What?”
“He said my name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The man.”
She wiped her face.
“When he was standing downstairs, he said…”
She swallowed.
“He said, ‘Lily won’t remember this.’”
Nobody moved.
Daniel slowly stood.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
My daughter’s voice shook.
“He knew my name.”
That changed everything.
This wasn’t random.
Whoever had taken the car knew our family.
They knew Lily.
They knew where the spare key was.
They knew about the camera.
Daniel called the detective again.
This time, the response was immediate.
Two additional officers arrived.
They searched the property.
They photographed the footprint.
They collected the note.
They examined Lily’s window.
Then one officer asked me something.
“Does your brother know your daughter well?”
“Yes.”
“Does he visit?”
“Sometimes.”
“Could he have been in the house recently?”
“I don’t know.”
The officer looked at me.
“Mrs. Collins, we found something else.”
He held up a small plastic bag.
Inside was a silver keychain.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to Evan.
I had given it to him years ago.
A tiny metal compass.
“What is that doing here?”
“We found it under your daughter’s bed.”
My stomach twisted.
“I don’t understand.”
The officer glanced at Daniel.
“Neither do we.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Okay. Don’t touch anything. We’re coming.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We found the Civic.”
“Where?”
“About three miles from here.”
“Is Evan there?”
“No.”
“Then who is?”
The officer looked at me.
“Nobody.”
I didn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
“The car was abandoned behind an old warehouse.”
“Was it damaged?”
“Yes.”
“Was there blood?”
“No.”
“Fingerprints?”
“We’re processing it now.”
Then he said something that made my stomach turn.
“The driver’s seat had been moved.”
“What does that mean?”
“It was pushed all the way back.”
I stared at him.
Lily was five-foot-three.
She couldn’t comfortably reach the pedals with the seat pushed that far back.
Neither could I.
The person driving the car had been much taller.
Then another officer entered the room.
He was holding an evidence bag.
Inside was a torn piece of fabric.
Dark navy.
And attached to it was a small silver button.
I knew that button.
I had seen it yesterday.
On my brother’s jacket.
The police left to process the evidence.
Daniel stayed behind.
I walked into the kitchen and poured myself water.
My hand was shaking so badly I spilled half of it.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.
“What doesn’t?”
“If Evan did it, why would he leave his keychain in Lily’s room?”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“Maybe he didn’t.”
I looked at him.
“You think someone is framing Evan too?”
“I think we’re dealing with someone who wants you to believe whatever story is most convenient at the moment.”
The words settled heavily between us.
I looked toward the hallway.
“What if Evan isn’t the person who took the car?”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that’s the problem.”
My phone was still with the police.
I suddenly remembered something.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“My parents’ house.”
“What about it?”
“The crash happened outside their house.”
“Correct.”
“My mother said my father saw Lily.”
“Yes.”
“But if Evan wasn’t there…”
I stopped.
Daniel understood immediately.
“Then we need to talk to your father.”
We drove to Oakridge Lane.
My parents’ house was surrounded by police tape.
The silver Civic had crashed into a large oak tree less than fifty yards from their driveway.
The front end was destroyed.
Glass covered the pavement.
I stood there staring at the wreckage.
That car had been brand-new less than two weeks ago.
But the damage wasn’t what frightened me.
It was the location.
The Civic had hit the tree directly across from my parents’ front window.
Whoever drove it had wanted someone inside the house to see.
My mother opened the door before we knocked.
Her face was pale.
“You came.”
“Where’s Dad?”
She hesitated.
“Upstairs.”
“I need to speak with him.”
“He’s sleeping.”
“No, he’s not.”
My mother’s eyes flickered.
She knew.
“Mom.”
She stepped aside.
I walked in.
The house smelled exactly as it always had.
Coffee.
Old books.
Furniture polish.
But something felt different.
Wrong.
I walked toward my father’s study.
Before I could open the door, I heard his voice.
“Come in.”
I entered.
My father was sitting behind his desk.
He looked tired.
Older than he had the day before.
“Dad,” I said.
He stared at me.
Then he looked at Daniel.
“Who’s this?”
“My attorney.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“Why did you bring an attorney into my house?”
“Because my daughter has been accused of a crime.”
“I didn’t accuse her.”
“You told police you saw her.”
“I saw someone who looked like her.”
My blood ran cold.
“You told them it was Lily.”
“I told them what I believed.”
“You believed my fifteen-year-old daughter drove my car at midnight?”
He looked away.
“I saw a girl.”
“What girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you say it was Lily?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Dad.”
Finally, he looked at me.
“I was told to.”
The room became completely silent.
Daniel straightened.
“By whom?”
My father stared at his hands.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because they have something on me.”
I felt a chill.
“What do they have?”
My father looked directly at me.
Then he whispered:
“They have the original copy of your mother’s will.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you knew what she left behind.”
My father opened a drawer.
Inside was an old photograph.
My mother.
My father.
And a young man standing between them.
I recognized him.
But he couldn’t be there.
Because he had been dead for twenty-seven years.
My father saw the confusion on my face.
“That photograph,” he said, “is why your brother has been fighting with us.”
I picked it up.
“Who is this?”
My father’s eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Fear.
“That,” he whispered, “is the man who was supposed to have died with your uncle.”
I looked at the photograph again.
And then I noticed something.
The man in the picture had the same distinctive scar across the back of his left hand.
The same scar the police had seen on the driver of my Civic.
My fingers went numb.
“Dad…”
He closed his eyes.
“We’ve been lying to you for twenty-seven years.”
Then someone downstairs screamed.
It was my mother.
And a second later, we heard the sound of glass shattering.
