Finnley spent the night in his car rather than return to the motel. He parked behind a twenty-four-hour grocery store, reclined the seat, and kept Camden’s papers inside his jacket. Sleep came in fragments. Every time headlights swept across the windshield, his eyes opened.
At dawn, he drove to a small law office on the older side of town. The brass plaque beside the entrance read MARCUS HALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. Finnley had never met him, but Camden’s name was familiar enough to get him through the receptionist’s first question.
“Mr. Dennis?” she asked.
“Finnley Dennis.”
She looked at the appointment book, then back at him.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But I think my father was supposed to see him.”
The receptionist hesitated.
“What was your father’s name?”
“Camden Dennis.”
Something in her expression changed.
She picked up the phone.
Finnley waited while she spoke quietly to someone in the back office. A few minutes later, the door opened and a gray-haired man stepped out. He was in his sixties, dressed plainly, with a folder tucked under one arm.
He looked at Finnley for a long moment.
“You’re Camden’s son.”
Finnley nodded.
The lawyer glanced toward the receptionist.
“Give us the conference room.”
Once they were alone, Marcus Hale closed the door.
“I heard you were released.”
“Yesterday.”
“And you went to the Silver Lake house.”
“Yes.”
“What did Reagan tell you?”
“That my father had been dead for a year. That he died of cancer. That he was buried at Pinecrest. She also told me the house wasn't mine.”
Marcus lowered his eyes.
“Did she show you a death certificate?”
“No.”
“Did you see a grave?”
“No.”
“Did you see a doctor’s report?”
“No.”
The lawyer exhaled slowly.
“Then we have a problem.”
Finnley placed the ownership document on the table.
Marcus read it without speaking.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father left it in a storage unit.”
“Storage Unit 108?”
Finnley looked sharply at him.
“You know about it?”
Marcus nodded.
“I helped Camden establish the storage arrangement.”
Finnley leaned forward.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Camden instructed me not to contact you unless certain conditions were met.”
“What conditions?”
“That you were released and came looking for him.”
Finnley stared at him.
“My father knew I would come back?”
“He was convinced you would.”
Marcus opened the folder he had brought from his office.
“There is something else you need to understand. Your father did not consider your conviction settled.”
Finnley said nothing.
“He believed the financial records used against you had been manipulated.”
“I found the records.”
Marcus looked at him.
“What else did you find?”
“A photograph of Carter outside the accounting office on the night of one of the transfers.”
The lawyer's face tightened.
“That matters.”
“I know.”
“No. Finnley, you don't yet know how much it matters.”
Marcus pulled a document from his folder.
“This was never introduced at your trial.”
Finnley took it.
It was an access report from the company’s security system.
His name appeared several times.
So did Carter’s.
Finnley scanned the dates.
Then he stopped.
One of the entries showed Carter's access card being used shortly before a disputed transaction.
“He said he wasn't there.”
Marcus nodded.
“He said a lot of things.”
Finnley looked up.
“Why didn't you use this?”
“Because Camden obtained it after your trial. By then, the company’s internal system had been changed, and the original records were difficult to authenticate.”
“Difficult isn't impossible.”
“No.”
Marcus tapped the page.
“But Camden was working on that.”
Finnley looked at the document again.
“Then what happened?”
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked, “Did you receive a message last night?”
Finnley froze.
“How did you know?”
Marcus's expression darkened.
“What did it say?”
Finnley showed him the photograph of the message.
Marcus read it.
“You should stop looking.”
He leaned back.
“That is exactly the kind of message Camden was afraid you would receive.”
Finnley felt a cold pressure settle behind his ribs.
“You're telling me my father expected someone to threaten me?”
“I’m telling you Camden believed whoever was responsible would become desperate if you returned.”
“Who?”
Marcus looked toward the window.
“We never proved it.”
“Never?”
“Not before your father died.”
Finnley clenched his hands.
“Then help me prove it now.”
Marcus studied him.
“You have to understand what you're asking. If Reagan is involved, this is no longer simply a family dispute. If Carter is involved, there may be financial crimes. If someone helped construct the case against you, reopening your conviction becomes another matter entirely.”
Finnley nodded.
“I've already lost three years.”
Marcus's voice softened.
“I know.”
“No,” Finnley said. “You know what happened on paper. I know what three years feels like.”
The lawyer accepted the correction without argument.
After a moment, he opened another file.
“There is one person who may still have the missing piece.”
“Who?”
“Elaine Mercer.”
Finnley frowned.
“Who is she?”
“She worked in your father's accounting department. She resigned six months before your trial.”
“Why?”
“Officially? Personal reasons.”
“And unofficially?”
Marcus looked directly at him.
“She told Camden she was afraid someone inside the company was altering financial records.”
Finnley felt the room tighten around him.
“Where is she now?”
Marcus slid a handwritten address across the table.
“She moved twice. This is the last address Camden had.”
Finnley picked it up.
Before he could stand, Marcus stopped him.
“There is something else.”
Finnley looked back.
“Don't tell Reagan you met with me.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“And don't confront Carter yet.”
Finnley gave a humorless smile.
“I've learned patience.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good. Because if Camden was right, they have spent years believing you had no evidence.”
Finnley slipped the address into his pocket.
For the first time since leaving prison, he felt something close to possibility.
Not hope.
Not yet.
Possibility.
As he walked out of the office, Marcus called after him.
“Finnley.”
He turned.
“Your father left one instruction for me that I never understood.”
“What was it?”
Marcus hesitated.
“He said, ‘When my son comes home, make sure he knows the house is not where the truth begins.’”
Finnley stood still.
Then he left.
Outside, the morning had fully arrived.
He looked at the address in his hand.
Elaine Mercer might know why Carter had lied.
She might know who used the second key.
She might know why Camden had been afraid.
But as Finnley started the car, he understood something else.
If Elaine had been frightened enough to leave the company, there was a chance someone else had already found her.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Elaine Mercer Had Kept Quiet for Years, Until Finnley Placed Camden’s Photograph on Her Table and Asked the Question She Feared Most
Three Years Behind Bars Ended at a Locked Door, Where Finnley Learned the Man He Came Home For Had Been Dead Without Him
Part 5 of 20
