“What ledger?” Rachel closed the curtains. “I used to work for Vince.”
“At the gambling rooms?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“When people lost money, some of them borrowed.”
“And?”
“Loans got tracked. Payments. Collections. Where money moved.”
“You handled that?”
“I kept records.”
I gave a bitter laugh. “That’s a nice way to say it.”
“You don’t need every detail.”
“Dad is in some thug’s freezer because of you.” I pointed toward our empty refrigerator. “I think I need some details.”
Rachel went quiet. “The ledger had names.”
“Amounts.”
“Payments.”
“Where certain money went.”
“Not all of it legal.”
“And you stole it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So Vince had a reason not to hurt Noah or me.”
I looked at the empty refrigerator. “That worked great.”
Her face tightened.
* * *
“Where is it?”
“Not your business.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“They have Dad.”
“Dad is dead!” The words slammed into the room.
I stepped toward her. “Say that again.”
“Dad is dead.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down. “Noah isn’t.”
“So Dad doesn’t matter?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then give them the ledger.”
“And after that?” She jabbed a finger toward her chest. “What stops Vince from taking my son?”
I had no answer.
Mara came out of the bedroom. “Both of you stop.”
She looked at the empty refrigerator. Then at me. “When we started this, I thought we were hiding one thing.” Her voice sounded exhausted. “Your dad died.”
“That’s it.”
“Now Lucy has to stay away from the refrigerator. Noah knows how to keep secrets from his mother. Rachel’s being followed. Your father’s body is gone.” She swallowed. “This whole family is living around a dead man.”
“I’m trying to get him back.”
“For what?”
I stared at her. Mara’s eyes filled. “Do you even know what you’re trying to save anymore?”
I didn’t.
* * *
That night, Dad’s phone buzzed again. Once. Twice. I left it in the drawer.
A second voicemail from the pension plan said the verification request was still outstanding and payments could be reviewed if Dad didn’t respond.
Mara turned away from me in bed. “How long are you going to keep ignoring them?”
“Until I get Dad back.”
“And then?”
Nothing. My whole mind had narrowed to one thought. Get Dad back first. Everything else later. Again. Always later.
* * *
The knock came shortly after nine the next morning. Knock. Knock. Knock.
My body stiffened. I opened the camera feed. Mrs. Keller, our building manager, stood outside beside a uniformed patrol officer. My stomach dropped.
“Mr. Mercer?” the officer called through the door. “We just need to check on Walter Mercer.”
Nobody in the apartment moved. I opened the door just enough to stand in the gap. The officer introduced himself and said someone who had worked in the home had called because Dad was seriously ill and had apparently disappeared from regular contact.
Diane. She hadn’t gone to the pension office. She had done something simpler and much worse for me. She had asked someone to make sure Dad was alive.
“He’s okay,” I said.
“Can we speak with him?”
“He’s not here.”
Mrs. Keller frowned. “Where’d he go?”
The old lie came back. “His hometown.”
“With how sick he’s been?”
“He insisted.”
The officer watched me carefully. “Can you have him call you while we’re here?”
My mouth went dry. “He doesn’t always keep his phone on him.”
“Then have him call the building office or the non-emergency number today. We just need to know he’s safe.”
“I will.”
The officer didn’t look convinced, but he had no obvious emergency in front of him and no body to find. Before leaving, Mrs. Keller said quietly: “Diane seemed pretty worried.”
I remembered Diane standing in my doorway. When somebody else comes asking where Walter is, you can explain it.
The door closed. I locked it. Rachel stood behind me.
“What now?”
“Give me the ledger.”
“No.”
“The pension plan is calling. A cop just came looking for Dad. If either one keeps pushing, I’m done.”
“Then turn yourself in.”
“And what about you?”
She went quiet. “What happens when the police ask where Dad’s body is?”
Rachel’s face changed. We were tied together now. One of us couldn’t fall without dragging the other down.
* * *
That afternoon Rachel took Noah out. I stood outside her room for almost a minute. Then went in.
Inside her travel bag, under folded clothes, I found a dark-covered notebook. Names. Numbers. Initials. Codes. I didn’t understand all of it. I understood enough.
One voice in my head said: This belongs to your sister.
Another said: Your father is in someone else’s freezer.
I chose the second voice.
* * *
After midnight, I went into the stairwell and called the number that had sent the threat. Someone answered. No greeting.
“I’m Rachel’s brother.”
Silence.
“I have what you want.”
A soft laugh. “Do you?”
“I want a trade.”
“For what?”
I looked up at the lit apartment windows. Mara. Lucy. Rachel. Noah.
“Give me my father back.”
The man paused. “You sure what you’ve got is real?”
I tightened my grip on the ledger. “Yes.”
It was the only lie I told that night—without knowing it was a lie.
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