Chapter 3 - The Boy Who Had Been Watching Everything
Walter had never broken into a house before.
At 1:12 the following morning, he seriously considered doing exactly that.
Grant’s home sat dark behind a row of maple trees.
Noah’s bedroom window was on the second floor.
Walter could see the dinosaur night-light glowing faintly behind the curtain.
Frank grabbed his arm.
“You go through that door without legal authority, Grant wins.”
“He has my grandson.”
“He is legally Noah’s father.”
“And illegally holding my daughter.”
“Which we still have to prove.”
Walter hated every word because Frank was right.
Then the porch light flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Walter stared.
The upstairs curtain moved.
A small face appeared.
Noah.
The boy held something against the glass.
A sheet of paper.
Three words were written in black marker.
BLUE HOUSE. LAKE.
Walter’s pulse jumped.
Noah disappeared.
Thirty seconds later, Grant entered the room.
Even from the street, Walter could see the child recoil.
Grant shut the curtain.
Walter started toward the house.
Frank blocked him.
“No.”
“He’s threatening him.”
“And if you get arrested, who helps Noah?”
Walter stopped.
The next morning, Frank contacted a former colleague in child protection while Walter searched property records.
Blue house.
Lake.
Grant owned only one known residence.
But corporate records told a different story.
Three years earlier, a company called North Pine Holdings had purchased a secluded property near Lake Arlen.
North Pine Holdings was registered to another company.
That company belonged to a trust administered by Grant.
Walter stared at the screen.
“Found it.”
The property sat on twelve wooded acres.
Two hours north.
Frank insisted on contacting authorities.
This time they brought a warrant based on the shooting report, the suspicious medical evidence, and Grant’s connection to the property.
The blue house was empty.
But it had not been empty long.
Walter walked into a bedroom and froze.
Rebecca’s handwriting covered a stack of notebooks.
Pages and pages.
Some entries made no sense.
Others were painfully clear.
Grant says Dad stopped visiting because he blames me for the accident.
Another:
I dreamed about Noah again. Grant says I never had a baby. Why do I remember holding one?
Walter sat on the edge of the bed.
Frank read over his shoulder.
“They were manipulating her memory.”
A medical cabinet held prescriptions for sedatives and antipsychotics.
The prescribing physician was Dr. Melissa Crane.
The blonde woman.
Walter finally had her name.
Frank found her license.
She had been an emergency-room resident at the hospital where Rebecca was brought after the crash.
She had later lost hospital privileges following accusations of falsifying patient documentation.
Everything connected.
Walter turned another notebook page.
His breath caught.
A drawing.
A little boy.
Underneath, Rebecca had written:
His name is Noah. I know it is.
Walter wiped his eyes.
“She remembered him.”
A deputy called from the basement.
“Frank, you need to see this.”
Behind a false wall sat rows of file boxes.
Bank records.
Property transfers.
Insurance documents.
Copies of Walter’s monthly transfers.
Grant had been sending less than two thousand dollars per month toward Noah’s actual expenses.
The rest moved into investment accounts, shell companies and real estate.
But one file was labeled differently.
HAYES CONTROL EVENT.
Walter opened it.
Inside was a copy of Rebecca’s original family trust.
Walter had forgotten its terms.
When Rebecca turned thirty-five, she would gain voting control over thirty percent of Hayes Industrial Supply.
Grant would receive nothing unless Rebecca personally transferred the shares.
She had disappeared at thirty-two.
Walter looked at Frank.
“He didn’t fake her death for insurance.”
“No.”
“He needed everyone to stop looking for her while he forced her to transfer the company.”
Frank found notarized documents dated two years after Rebecca’s supposed death.
Documents bearing Rebecca’s signature.
Alive.
The signature transferred her future voting rights to Grant.
But there was another page.
A handwritten statement from Rebecca.
I signed because Grant said Noah would die if I didn’t.
Walter’s knees weakened.
A noise came from upstairs.
Glass breaking.
Frank drew his weapon.
“Police!”
Footsteps ran across the back porch.
Walter saw a figure disappear between the trees.
He followed before anyone could stop him.
The runner reached a black sedan.
Walter grabbed the driver’s door before it closed.
Dr. Melissa Crane stared up at him.
“Where is Rebecca?”
“Get away from me.”
Walter held the door.
“You kept my daughter drugged for six years.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Melissa suddenly began crying.
Not theatrically.
Terrified.
“He’ll kill her.”
Walter froze.
“Grant?”
Melissa shook her head.
“No.”
Frank reached them.
Melissa looked from him to Walter.
“You think Grant planned all this?”
“Didn’t he?”
Melissa laughed bitterly.
“Grant is greedy. Grant is cruel. But Grant isn’t smart enough to build this.”
Walter’s skin prickled.
“Who did?”
Melissa looked directly at him.
“Someone who knew Rebecca’s trust before Grant ever married her.”
Walter’s mind raced through attorneys, accountants, relatives.
Then Melissa whispered:
“Your wife.”
Walter stopped breathing.
“My wife has been dead six years.”
Melissa’s face crumpled.
“No, Walter.”
She glanced toward the house.
“Marianne Hayes never died.”
May you like
And before Walter could ask another question, a rifle shot cracked through the trees.
Melissa collapsed.
