Chapter 6
I screamed for my mother to take Noah upstairs.
“Lock the bedroom door.”
She saw my face and did not ask questions.
Buddy started barking before Ryan reached the back porch.
I called 911.
“He’s here.”
The operator told me officers were already on the way.
I locked the kitchen door.
Ryan appeared through the glass seconds later.
He looked exhausted.
Unshaven.
Desperate.
He knocked once.
“Emily.”
I backed away.
“Leave.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I need five minutes.”
“The police are coming.”
His face twisted.
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then get off the property.”
He looked toward the upstairs windows.
“I want to see Noah.”
“You are not seeing him.”
“He’s my son.”
“You helped your mother chain him.”
“I know.”
Something in his voice changed.
Not denial.
Not anger.
Shame.
But I no longer trusted emotion from Ryan.
He had spent months manufacturing mine.
“Go.”
He pressed both palms against the glass.
“Mom is going to blame me for everything.”
“She should blame herself.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“No.”
He glanced toward the driveway.
“She has copies.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
My pulse increased.
“Be specific.”
“The trust files. Your medical records. Your father.”
My skin went cold.
“What about my father?”
Ryan looked behind him.
“Let me in.”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me through the door.”
His eyes closed.
“I met your dad the night he died.”
The world stopped.
I stepped closer despite myself.
“Where?”
“At his office.”
“Why?”
“He confronted me about the money.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“Then?”
“He told me he was changing the trust.”
I could barely breathe.
“Did you follow him?”
Ryan looked at me.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“I wanted him to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Calling the police. Telling you.”
I heard sirens in the distance.
Ryan looked toward the street again.
“I followed him onto Route 17.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Ryan.”
“I swear.”
“What happened to Dad?”
“He was angry. He kept speeding up.”
“Did you hit his car?”
“No.”
“Did you force him off the road?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here telling me this?”
“Because Mom knows I followed him.”
My heart pounded.
“So?”
“She told me if I ever turned against her, she’d tell police I caused the crash.”
I stared at him.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His face crumpled.
“I don’t blame you.”
That almost sounded like the Ryan I once loved.
Almost.
Sirens grew louder.
He spoke quickly.
“Your dad stopped at a gas station before the crash.”
“What?”
“He called someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why does that matter?”
“There were cameras.”
My breath caught.
“Did police get them?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Martin made sure they didn’t.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What did you say?”
Ryan looked terrified now.
“Martin got to the station owner before investigators knew Dad had stopped there.”
“How?”
“He paid him.”
“For what?”
“To erase the footage.”
I heard tires outside.
Police cars.
Ryan looked toward the yard.
“I’m telling you because Martin and Mom are going to bury me.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You helped them.”
“I know.”
“You drugged me.”
“I didn’t.”
“The pills.”
“I bought them.”
“That means you participated.”
“I was going to stop it.”
“When?”
He had no answer.
Officers entered through the side gate.
Ryan raised his hands.
“Don’t shoot.”
No one had drawn a weapon.
Detective Brooks stepped onto the porch.
“Ryan Carter, turn around.”
He looked at me through the glass.
“Emily.”
I did not move.
“Find the gas station.”
Detective Brooks handcuffed him.
He continued.
“Ask for Gerald Wynn.”
Then they took him away.
I stood behind the locked door until the police cars disappeared.
My knees finally gave out.
I sat on the kitchen floor.
Mom came downstairs ten minutes later.
“Noah’s watching a movie.”
I nodded.
Then I told her what Ryan said.
She covered her mouth.
“Your father stopped before the crash?”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t the police know?”
“Martin.”
Mom sat beside me.
She looked older suddenly.
“I trusted that man.”
“So did Dad.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Your father stopped trusting Martin months before he died.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He wanted to change attorneys.”
“Why?”
“He thought Martin was too close to Ryan.”
My head hurt.
Every answer produced another question.
Detective Brooks called that evening.
Ryan had been booked.
Diane too.
Martin Hale had not been charged.
Yet.
But investigators had obtained a warrant for his financial records.
They also located Gerald Wynn.
The gas-station owner had moved to Arizona.
He agreed to speak remotely the following morning.
Rachel joined me for the call.
Gerald appeared on screen wearing glasses and a faded baseball cap.
He remembered Dad immediately.
“James Bennett.”
“Yes.”
Gerald looked uncomfortable.
“He came in that night.”
“What happened?”
“He bought coffee.”
“Was he alone?”
“At first.”
My pulse quickened.
“Then?”
“A dark SUV pulled in.”
“Ryan?”
Gerald nodded.
“He didn’t come inside. Just parked near the pumps.”
Dad’s car crash had happened eleven minutes later.
I forced myself to ask.
“Did you see my father leave?”
“Yes.”
“Did Ryan follow him?”
“About thirty seconds later.”
Rachel asked, “What happened to the surveillance video?”
Gerald looked down.
“A lawyer came the next morning.”
“Martin Hale?”
He nodded.
“He said he represented the family.”
“What did he ask you to do?”
“Delete the footage.”
“Why?”
“He said Mrs. Bennett didn’t want private family matters becoming public.”
My mother, sitting beside me, whispered,
“I never sent him.”
Gerald heard.
His face fell.
“I know that now.”
“How much did he pay you?” Rachel asked.
Gerald hesitated.
“Ten thousand.”
Silence.
“Do you have proof?”
“A deposit record.”
Rachel leaned toward the camera.
“Why are you telling us now?”
Gerald looked directly at me.
“Because your father looked scared.”
My throat tightened.
“Scared of Ryan?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
Gerald rubbed his forehead.
“He was on the phone near the coffee machine.”
“Could you hear him?”
“Some.”
My hands started shaking.
“What did he say?”
Gerald thought for a moment.
“Something about sending a copy somewhere safe.”
“A copy of what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Gerald’s expression changed.
“He said, ‘If anything happens tonight, don’t believe it was an accident.’”
My mother started crying.
I closed my eyes.
Dad had known.
Maybe not exactly what would happen.
But he knew he was in danger.
Gerald continued.
“He left an envelope.”
I opened my eyes.
“What envelope?”
“He put it behind a newspaper rack.”
“Why?”
“He told someone on the phone where it was.”
“Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened to it?”
“Martin took it.”
Rachel sat upright.
“He took the envelope?”
“The next morning.”
“Did he open it?”
“Not in front of me.”
I looked at Detective Brooks.
“Can you arrest him now?”
“We need corroboration.”
Gerald lifted one hand.
“I may have that.”
Everyone stared at him.
He stood and disappeared from the screen.
When he returned, he held an old cellphone.
“I replaced the security system a month later.”
My pulse started racing.
“But I had copied one clip.”
Rachel whispered, “Why?”
Gerald looked ashamed.
“Insurance. In case the lawyer came back.”
He held up the phone.
“I still have video of James walking into the station.”
I leaned closer.
“And Ryan?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
Gerald added one more sentence.
“And another man.”
“Who?”
He turned the phone toward the camera.
The image was grainy.
Dad stood by the coffee counter.
Ryan’s SUV was outside.
Then a man entered through the side door.
Gray suit.
Dark hair.
I knew that face.
Martin Hale.
May you like
Dad’s own lawyer.
The man who later erased the footage had been there before the crash.
