I called the number back.
It went straight to voicemail.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Chloe stood beside the desk, watching me.
“What are we supposed to do now?”
“I don't know.”
That answer felt inadequate, especially after everything we had uncovered.
Martin Hale had been the investigator assigned to my mother's death. According to my father's records, his investigation had concluded that Sarah Vance's death was an accident. According to the man himself, that conclusion had not reflected the truth.
Worse, he had said someone had ordered him to destroy the original report.
I opened the old investigation file again.
His signature appeared on every major document.
The accident scene report.
The medical examiner's summary.
The witness interviews.
The final recommendation.
My mother had died on September 14, twenty years earlier.
I had been nine.
For twenty years, I had believed she had lost control of her car on a wet road.
Now I wondered whether the road had ever been the real cause.
Chloe pulled out a chair.
“Call Arthur.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“He's on his way.”
We waited in silence.
Ten minutes later, Arthur entered the study carrying his briefcase.
I handed him my phone.
“Martin Hale called.”
Arthur's face tightened.
“What did he say?”
I repeated the conversation.
Arthur listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he sat down.
“Did he give you a location?”
“No.”
“Did he ask for money?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
Arthur looked toward the window.
“Then he may actually have something.”
“You believe him?”
“I believe that Martin Hale was involved in your mother's investigation. I don't yet know whether he's telling the truth about what happened afterward.”
I showed him the original report.
Arthur studied it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your file.”
He shook his head.
“No. This isn't the complete file.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“This is the version Harrison received.”
I stared at him.
“You told me the investigation was closed.”
“It was.”
“Then why is there another version?”
Arthur leaned back.
“Because your father suspected the report had been altered.”
The room seemed suddenly colder.
“How?”
“Harrison compared the report with the notes of another investigator.”
“Who?”
“Martin Hale.”
I remembered the call.
“He kept his own copy.”
Arthur nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Why didn't Dad tell me?”
“Because he never knew whether Hale could be trusted.”
I stood.
“Then how do we find him?”
Arthur opened his briefcase.
“There may be an address.”
Inside the case was a file folder bearing my father's handwriting.
Martin Hale — Private.
The folder had never been opened.
Arthur looked at me.
“Your father told me not to access this unless you specifically asked for everything related to your mother's death.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently I'm finally asking.”
Arthur opened it.
Inside was a single business card.
Hale Investigations.
An address.
A telephone number.
And a handwritten note.
If Hale contacts Clara, take her to him. Do not go alone.
I looked at Arthur.
“He knew this might happen.”
“Yes.”
The next morning, we drove to the address.
It was a small office on the outskirts of town above a closed insurance agency. The windows were dusty. A brass plate beside the door read Hale Investigations.
Arthur knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
The door opened.
Martin Hale looked older than I expected.
He was perhaps seventy, with white hair, narrow shoulders, and the cautious expression of someone who had spent decades watching people lie.
His eyes moved from Arthur to me.
“You brought him.”
Arthur frowned.
“You asked to speak with Clara.”
“I know.”
Hale stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The office smelled of old paper and coffee.
Files covered nearly every wall.
Hale closed the door behind us.
Then he locked it.
Chloe remained in the hallway.
“I want her here,” I said.
Hale hesitated.
“She's part of this too.”
He nodded.
Chloe entered.
Hale looked at both of us.
“You're Harrison's daughters.”
“Yes,” I said.
His gaze settled on Chloe.
“Both of you.”
The emphasis mattered.
He sat behind the desk.
“I owe your family an apology.”
“Why?”
“Because I lied.”
The words were blunt.
“I told the police your mother died in an accident.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“Was that false?”
Hale looked at him.
“Partly.”
My hands went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I couldn't prove murder.”
“Did you believe it was murder?”
“Yes.”
“Who did you suspect?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother.”
I stared.
“My mother?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Not as the victim. As the person who knew something dangerous.”
That made no sense.
Hale opened a drawer.
He removed a photograph.
It showed my mother standing outside a restaurant.
Beside her was Evelyn.
I recognized the building.
The same hotel from the receipt.
“When was this taken?”
“September 13.”
The day before my mother's death.
I stared at the photograph.
“They met?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your mother was confronting her.”
“About Daniel?”
Hale nodded.
“About the money.”
“What money?”
“The money your father believed had been stolen.”
He placed another photograph on the desk.
This one showed Daniel Mercer.
He was standing beside a car.
The timestamp was visible.
September 14.
The day my mother died.
Chloe leaned closer.
“That was my father?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Outside the hotel.”
My pulse raced.
“What was he doing there?”
“I don't know.”
Hale reached for another file.
“That's the problem.”
He opened it.
Inside were witness statements.
One came from a hotel employee.
The employee remembered seeing Sarah arguing with a man the afternoon before her death.
The description matched Daniel.
Another witness had seen Evelyn arrive later.
A third had seen my mother's car leaving the hotel parking lot.
The time was 6:18 p.m.
The official accident report stated she left at 5:42.
I looked at Arthur.
“The times don't match.”
“No,” Hale said.
“Why?”
“Because the official report was changed.”
Silence.
“Who changed it?”
Hale looked at me.
“That is the question I spent twenty years trying to answer.”
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“Did you find out?”
“Yes.”
Chloe whispered, “Who?”
Hale looked at her.
“Not Evelyn.”
I felt something inside me drop.
“Then who?”
Hale reached into another drawer.
He removed a folded page.
“My superior.”
Arthur's face hardened.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
Hale placed the page on the desk.
“He ordered the changes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone paid him.”
“Who?”
Hale shook his head.
“I never found the original payment record.”
I stared at the documents.
Then I noticed a name.
The superior's name.
Robert Mercer.
Chloe went completely still.
“Mercer?”
Hale nodded.
“Daniel's older brother.”
The room fell silent.
I looked at Chloe.
Her face had gone pale.
“My father had a brother?”
Hale nodded.
“An older brother who worked in county administration.”
Arthur stared at the page.
“Your father never mentioned him.”
“Because Harrison didn't know.”
I felt a chill.
“How do you know?”
Hale looked at me.
“Because Robert Mercer was the person who ordered me to change the report.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Name Hidden Inside the Altered Report Led to a Man My Father Had Never Suspected, and Chloe Discovered a Family Secret She Had Never Been Told
I Had Spent Eighteen Years Believing My Father Chose His New Family, Until His Funeral Forced Me Back Through the Door I Swore I Would Never Enter
Part 9 of 30
