Chapter 8: The Father's Version
By the time I reached St. Matthew’s, the recorder and tin were in Detective Ruiz’s hands, and Sophia’s unfinished sentence was lodged beneath my ribs.
Richard was waiting outside the ICU.
He stood when he saw me. For once, he didn’t look like a man ready to tell me what I should do. His shoulders sagged. His eyes were red-rimmed, though I couldn’t tell whether he’d been crying or simply hadn’t slept.
“Ethan,” he said. “Please. Hear my side before the police ruin what’s left of this family.”
I stopped several feet away.
“You mean before they find out what you did?”
His mouth tightened. “I mean before Dean tells them whatever version makes him look clean.”
The name changed the air between us. Dean Mercer wasn’t a suspicion anymore. He was in Samuel’s photographs, carrying my wife.
“You said Sophia was found in an alley.”
“I panicked.”
“You changed her pickup location. You told the hospital I was unreachable.”
“I thought you were overseas.”
“I spoke to her. You had my number.”
Richard looked toward the ICU doors. Through the narrow window, I could see only a strip of blue curtain and the reflection of fluorescent lights.
“She was asking questions about the business,” he said. “She misunderstood the paperwork. Dean said the loans were temporary. I signed what he put in front of me.”
“And Sophia’s name ended up on guarantees she says she never signed.”
“I didn’t forge anything.”
“You signed them.”
His silence answered before he could.
Ruiz came down the hall carrying a folder. Her expression was set, but not hard. She glanced at Richard, then at me.
“You wanted to hear his side,” she said. “Let’s hear it with the facts in the room.”
Richard shifted. “Detective, I’m trying to help.”
“Then start by answering Ethan’s question.”
I looked at him. “Why did you lie about the alley?”
He swallowed. “I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of Dean. Of the business collapsing. Of Sophia waking up and telling people what she thought she’d found.” His gaze flicked toward the folder in Ruiz’s hand. “I didn’t know she’d made recordings.”
“Did you know she’d kept a ledger?”
His face changed—not much, but enough.
Ruiz set the folder on a chair and opened it. She took out a photograph and turned it toward him.
I’d seen the image before. The van. Dean carrying a limp figure toward the open side door. Richard behind the wheel.
But this time Richard had to see himself.
His lips parted. His fingers curled at his sides.
“I was driving,” he said.
The words sounded small in that bright hallway.
“Samuel saw you,” I said.
“I know.”
“You drove away while Dean carried my wife.”
Richard shut his eyes for a moment. “I helped get her out of the house.”
The confession struck harder than the photograph. Not because I hadn’t known he was there. Because he’d spent days dressing the truth in other people’s words.
“You helped move her,” I said. “Then you told everyone she’d been attacked somewhere else.”
“I was trying to get her help.”
“You could have called an ambulance.”
“I thought—” He stopped, then tried again. “I thought I could get her somewhere safe before things got worse.”
“That’s your version.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Your truth keeps changing.”
His eyes flashed. “You think I don’t know what this looks like?”
“I think you knew exactly what it would look like when you told the hospital I couldn’t be reached.”
Ruiz watched him without interrupting. I wanted her to make him answer every question. I also wanted to grab the front of his shirt and shake until his explanations fell away.
Then Richard looked down at the photograph again, and for one disorienting second, I saw not the man who had lied to me, but the father of the woman behind that glass—afraid, cornered, and old enough to know he’d run out of places to hide.
My anger didn’t disappear. It made room for something worse: pity.
Richard lifted his eyes to mine. “She’s my daughter.”
“Then why wasn’t I there?”
He had no answer.
The ICU doors opened. A nurse stepped through and glanced at Richard. “Only immediate family right now.”
“I am her husband,” I said.
The nurse nodded and let me pass.
Richard stayed in the hall.
I took three steps toward Sophia’s room, then stopped. I could see her through the glass, still and pale beneath the tangle of tubing. The sight pulled me forward and held me in place at once.
Behind me, Richard spoke quietly.
“Ethan. Dean knows the duplicate is gone.”
Ruiz turned. “How does he know that?”
“I don’t know. But he’s been clearing the shop. Files, boxes, whatever he can get his hands on. He thinks Sophia’s original ledger is still out there.”
“Where?” I asked.
Richard’s jaw worked. “I don’t know.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Dean isn’t going to stop at destroying paper.” His eyes moved to the ICU doors. “He’ll come for whatever’s left. He’ll come for you if he thinks you can lead him to it.”
The overhead lights hummed. Beyond the glass, Sophia didn’t move.
May you like
Richard stepped close enough that I could smell the cold air clinging to his coat.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. “Dean is already destroying the records. And when he realizes the original is still out there, he’ll come for it.”
