By the time we left Mercer Point, it was after two in the morning.
The correction ledger traveled separately under federal guard.
Carter traveled in another vehicle.
Arthur went with him, furious that being rescued from Carter had not translated into freedom.
Rebecca was taken back to the hospital for her shoulder.
Eleanor was supposed to go too.
She refused until Agent Vance threatened to have a medic sedate her.
That produced compliance.
I rode toward Denver with my grandfather's letter folded inside an evidence sleeve on my lap and Clara's final words repeating in my head.
Thomas Vale had been with Grandpa on the last night of his life.
The photograph waited at my parents' house.
So did my family.
That mattered more.
Federal vehicles filled the street when we arrived.
The electricity had been restored.
Clara met me before I reached the porch.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
She wrapped both arms around me.
I held her tighter than necessary.
"Girls?"
"Asleep."
"Really?"
"Chloe is. Maya is pretending."
"Mom?"
"Furious."
"At who?"
"Everyone."
"Good."
Dad waited at the dining table.
The photograph lay inside a clear kitchen bag because Vance had instructed him not to handle it further.
It showed my grandfather in a hospital bed.
Older than I remembered him.
Thinner.
An oxygen cannula beneath his nose.
Thomas Vale stood beside him.
Even twenty years younger, Vale was unmistakable once Vance pulled up his current photograph.
Tall.
Narrow face.
White hair now, dark gray then.
His hand rested on the rail of Grandfather's bed.
On the bedside table sat the brass compass.
My stomach tightened.
"That's the compass."
Dad nodded.
"I noticed."
"Where did you find this?"
"In the bottom of Dad's tax box."
"Why tonight?"
"I was looking for anything connected to Mercer Point."
Clara sat beside him.
"The back is dated."
Dad turned the bag.
My grandfather's handwriting.
OCTOBER 14.
Three days before the date on his death certificate.
I looked at Dad.
"You said he died at home."
"That's what your grandmother told us."
"You didn't see him?"
"I was traveling for work."
"Mom?"
"Your grandmother called her after."
"Funeral?"
"Closed casket."
I stared.
"Why?"
Dad's voice weakened.
"We were told he'd requested it."
Vance arrived ten minutes later.
He photographed the picture and called St. Anthony's records office.
At three in the morning, nothing moved quickly.
By five, a federal records request had produced the first contradiction.
There was no Arthur Miller admitted on October 14.
There was, however, an unidentified male admitted under restricted privacy protocols.
Age sixty-nine.
Cardiac symptoms.
Private attending physician.
The attending physician's name had been removed from the electronic record.
Vance stared at the screen.
"Records don't remove themselves."
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"What happened to him?"
"We need the archived chart."
"How long?"
"Hours."
I stood.
"Vale."
Vance looked at me.
"What about him?"
"Bring him in."
"For what?"
"You have the ledger."
"Which hasn't been fully authenticated."
"You have Nick's message."
"Which is evidence of communication, not murder."
"You have this photograph."
"Of a lawyer visiting a man in a hospital."
Anger rose.
"He altered the records."
"We don't know that."
"Then what do we know?"
Vance's voice stayed level.
"We know enough to investigate and not enough to arrest an eighty-three-year-old attorney for a homicide that hasn't been established."
I hated that answer.
I also knew why it mattered.
My grandfather had built the correction ledger because powerful people had spent years deciding rules applied only when convenient.
I couldn't demand the same behavior because I wanted a different result.
"Fine."
Vance nodded.
"Good."
"I still want to talk to him."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if Vale has been coordinating cleanup, he already knows Mercer Point failed."
"Then we're past subtlety."
"That doesn't mean I let you walk into his office."
Clara appeared behind me.
"Listen to him."
I turned.
She handed me coffee.
"You're agreeing with a federal agent now?"
"I've had an exhausting night."
By seven, Maya came downstairs.
She looked at the agents outside.
Then at me.
"Is school canceled because we're under federal protection?"
"No."
"That's ridiculous."
"It would be more suspicious if you suddenly stayed home."
"So I have to take algebra because organized criminals know where I live."
"Correct."
She stared.
"Being an adult seems poorly designed."
"Correct again."
Clara laughed for the first time in hours.
The sound helped.
At 8:12, Vance received a call.
The archived hospital chart had been found.
Partial.
Several pages missing.
But one nurse's signature appeared repeatedly.
Marianne Cole.
Retired.
Still living in Lakewood.
Vance looked at me.
"Stay here."
"No."
He sighed.
"Sebastian."
"She knew my grandfather."
"Possibly."
"I'm coming."
Clara raised her mug.
"I vote yes."
Vance looked betrayed.
"Yesterday you were sensible."
"Yesterday was simpler."
Marianne Cole lived in a small brick townhouse with roses growing beside the porch.
She opened the door wearing slippers and holding a crossword puzzle.
When Vance showed his badge, she frowned.
When I showed her the photograph, the crossword slipped from her hand.
"I remember him."
My chest tightened.
"Arthur Miller?"
She looked at me.
"You're family."
"His grandson."
Her expression softened.
"You have his eyes."
I had heard that all my life.
For some reason, hearing it from her almost broke me.
Vance asked whether we could come inside.
Marianne led us to a sitting room.
"What happened that night?"
She looked at the photograph again.
"Arthur was frightened."
"Of Vale?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"Himself."
I frowned.
"He thought he'd made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"He kept asking for something."
"The compass?"
"No."
She closed her eyes, searching memory.
"A book."
"The correction ledger."
"I don't know."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'I opened the door for the wrong man.'"
Vance and I exchanged a look.
"Who was the wrong man?"
"He wouldn't say."
"Was Thomas Vale there?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Hours."
"Was anyone else?"
Marianne hesitated.
"One woman."
"Eleanor?"
"I don't know that name."
Vance showed photographs.
Eleanor.
Rebecca.
Margaret from an older family record.
Marianne shook her head at each.
Then Vance displayed a photograph from the Vanguard investigation.
Marianne pointed.
"Her."
I stared.
Jenny.
Vanguard's receptionist.
The woman who had whispered be careful when I returned for my desk.
"You're certain?"
"She was younger."
"Twenty years younger."
"Yes."
My stomach tightened.
"Jenny knew my grandfather?"
Marianne nodded.
"She came after midnight."
"Full name?"
"Jennifer Vale."
I stared at Vance.
Vale.
Jenny.
Thomas Vale.
"His daughter?" I asked.
Marianne looked surprised.
"I assumed so."
Vance was already searching.
Jennifer Vale.
Age forty-six.
Employment history.
Vanguard Creative Group.
Reception and executive administration.
Father: Thomas Edward Vale.
My skin went cold.
Jenny had worked twenty feet from the elevators for nine years.
She saw everyone entering Vanguard.
Every visitor.
Every client.
Every package.
Every late-night meeting.
And she had recognized me long before I recognized her.
"What happened after she arrived?"
Marianne folded her hands.
"She argued with Thomas."
"About?"
"Arthur."
"My grandfather."
"She wanted Thomas to leave him alone."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"What did Vale want?"
"Arthur had something Thomas needed."
"The ledger?"
"Maybe."
Marianne looked at me.
"Your grandfather made me promise something."
I leaned forward.
"What?"
"If anyone ever came asking about that night, I was supposed to ask them one question."
"What question?"
She looked directly into my eyes.
"What did Arthur give the girl at the front desk?"
I froze.
Jenny.
Front desk.
Even then?
"I don't know."
Marianne studied my face.
"Then he said not to trust you."
"Grandpa said that?"
"He said the right person would know."
Vance leaned forward.
"Did he say girl or woman?"
"Girl."
Jenny would have been twenty-six.
"What did he give her?"
Marianne shook her head.
"That's your question to answer."
My phone vibrated.
Jenny.
I stared at her name.
Vance saw.
"Don't answer."
The phone rang again.
Then stopped.
A message appeared.
SEBASTIAN, IF YOU'RE WITH MARIANNE, YOU'RE ALREADY LATE.
Another.
MY FATHER KNOWS YOU HAVE THE REGISTER.
Another.
HE DOESN'T WANT THE MONEY.
I typed before Vance could stop me.
WHAT DOES HE WANT?
The response came immediately.
THE PAGE YOUR GRANDFATHER TORE OUT.
I looked at Vance.
"What page?"
He shook his head.
Jenny sent one final message.
I HAVE IT.
COME TO VANGUARD.
ALONE.
Then a photograph appeared.
Jenny standing in the empty Vanguard lobby.
Behind her, seated in a chair with his hands bound, was Marcus Lee.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Jenny Vale Had Guarded My Grandfather’s Missing Page for Twenty Years, but Marcus Knew Why Her Father Needed It Before Sunrise
The Woman Beside Route Six Knew My Name Before Her Heart Stopped, and Somehow My Boss Knew I Had Found Her
Part 13 of 20
