Chapter 4: The Photograph From the Night She Died
Richard Hale stood in the doorway with a photograph in his hand and a smile that made my stomach turn.
Fifteen years had changed his face, but not his eyes. They were the same cold, calculating eyes I remembered from the night he stood in my kitchen, screaming that the world owed him something.
Marcus stared at him.
“You've got some nerve showing your face here.””
Richard glanced at Vanessa, then at Daniel's phone.
“Looks like the family reunion has gotten interesting.””
“Get out,” Marcus said.
Richard chuckled.
“You should probably hear what I have to say before you start throwing people out of houses. Apparently, you're getting quite good at that.””
Marcus flinched.
I saw the words hit him. Richard had heard about the slap. He knew what had happened to me, and he was enjoying it.
“Give me the photograph,” I demanded.
Richard turned toward me.
“Still giving orders, Frank?””
“That's my wife's photograph.””
“Your wife had many photographs.”” He held it up between two fingers.
“But this one is special.””
I stepped toward him.
“Give it to me.””
He tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Not until everyone understands why I've come back.””
Vanessa rushed down the steps.
“Richard, you said you weren't going to do this here!””
He turned on her so quickly that she stumbled.
“And you said you could get the deed signed. We all have our disappointments.””
Marcus moved between them.
“You used my wife to steal my father's house?””
Richard raised an eyebrow.
“Used her? That's an ugly word. Vanessa understood the arrangement perfectly.””
“Arrangement?”” Marcus repeated.
Vanessa's face twisted with panic.
“Marcus, don't listen to him. He's trying to turn us against each other.””
Richard laughed.
“You're still doing it? After everything?””
He reached into his jacket and produced a folded document.
“Ask your wife how much money she borrowed from me last year.””
Vanessa went rigid.
Marcus looked at her.
“What money?””
“Nothing,” she whispered.
Richard unfolded the document.
“Forty thousand dollars. Then another twenty-five. The first payment was supposed to come from your father's property. When that didn't happen, she promised me something else.””
“What?”” Marcus demanded.
Richard looked directly at Vanessa.
“Your husband's signature.””
The silence was immediate.
Marcus slowly turned toward his wife.
“Did you forge my signature?””
“No!”” Vanessa cried.
“I never forged anything!””
Richard tapped the document.
“Then perhaps you should explain why I have a loan agreement bearing your husband's name.””
Marcus snatched the paper from his hand.
He scanned the first page, his lips moving silently as he read. I watched his expression change.
“That's my signature,” he whispered.
Vanessa reached for the document.
“Marcus, please—”
He pulled it away.
“But I never signed this.””
“Of course you didn't,” Richard said.
“She did it for you.””
Marcus looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach.
I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to tell him that whatever else happened, he was still my son.
But every time I looked at his face, I remembered the sound of his palm striking mine.
I remembered the broken photograph at my feet.
I remembered standing outside in the cold while my own family returned to the birthday cake.
So I kept my hands at my sides.
Richard noticed.
“Touching, isn't it?”” he said.
“A father and son finally discovering how little they know about each other.””
“Enough,” I said.
He smiled.
“Then let's talk about Eleanor.””
Marcus's head snapped up.
“Leave Mom out of this.””
“Why? Because you don't remember what happened that night?””
“I remember she was sick.””
“She was dying,” Richard corrected.
“Those aren't the same thing.””
Marcus stepped toward him.
“You're not going to stand here and rewrite her life.””
Richard pulled out the photograph.
It showed Eleanor sitting in the passenger seat of a car, her face turned toward the camera. She looked tired, her hair thinner than it had been before the chemotherapy. A streetlamp illuminated the side of her face.
In the corner of the photograph, a date had been stamped.
October 14.
The night she died.
My mouth went dry.
“That picture was taken outside the hospital,” I said.
Richard shook his head.
“No, Frank. It was taken outside your house. Three hours before Eleanor was admitted.””
Marcus stared at the photograph.
“That's impossible.””
“I was there,” Richard replied.
“You told us you were in Ohio that week,” I said.
“I lied.””
“Why?””
Richard's expression changed. For a moment, the amusement vanished.
“Because Eleanor called me. She said she had found something in your study, something that could ruin both of us.””
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“What are you talking about?””
Richard looked at Marcus.
“Your mother was afraid of your father.””
Marcus recoiled.
“Shut up.””
“She discovered financial records. Money moved through accounts she didn't recognize. Property documents she hadn't seen before. She thought your father was hiding something from the family.””
“That's not true,” I said.
Richard tilted his head.
“Then why did she call me?””
I had no answer.
Not because I was guilty, but because I had spent fifteen years wondering why Eleanor had become so distant during the final weeks of her life.
She had stopped sleeping beside me.
She had begun locking her study drawer.
Once, I had found her sitting on the bathroom floor with a folder in her lap, crying so hard she couldn't speak.
When I asked what was wrong, she had said the medication was making her emotional.
I had believed her.
I had wanted to believe her.
Marcus gripped the railing.
“What did Mom find?””
Richard studied him for a long moment.
Then he said, “A second deed.””
My blood ran cold.
“A deed to what?”” Marcus asked.
Richard looked at me.
“The house.””
Nobody moved.
He continued, “The original purchase documents weren't the only papers your father kept. There was another agreement, signed before Eleanor died. An agreement that gave someone else a claim to this property.””
I shook my head.
“There is no second deed.””
“Then you won't mind if we look in your study.””
Richard took a step toward the house.
I blocked his path.
“You are not going into my study.””
His smile returned.
“Then I suppose you'll have to explain why Eleanor hid a key to the safe in my apartment.””
Vanessa made a small choking sound.
Marcus turned toward her.
“You knew about this?””
She shook her head too quickly.
“No. I swear I didn't.””
Richard watched her with contempt.
“Liar.””
He pulled another object from his pocket.
A small brass key.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to the locked cabinet beneath my study desk, where Eleanor and I had kept our most important papers.
But I had changed that lock after her death.
The key shouldn't have worked anymore.
Richard held it up.
“Shall we see what's inside?””
“No,” I said.
His eyes narrowed.
For the first time that night, he looked genuinely surprised.
“Why not, Frank?””
“Because if you have something to say about my wife, you'll say it here. You won't rummage through her belongings like a thief.””
He stared at me.
Then he slipped the key back into his pocket.
“Fine. I'll give you until tomorrow morning.””
“For what?””
“To produce the original agreement.””
“I don't have it.””
Richard leaned closer.
“Then you'll lose more than your house.””
He looked toward Marcus.
“And you'll finally learn why your mother was so afraid of the man who raised you.””
With that, he walked toward the alley.
Marcus started after him.
“Richard! Get back here!””
But Richard kept walking.
At the end of the driveway, he turned around.
“One more thing, Marcus. Ask your father where he was between nine and midnight on the night your mother died.””
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Marcus stood motionless.
I could hear his breathing.
Finally, he turned toward me.
“Dad?””
I looked into my son's eyes.
He was no longer angry.
He was frightened.
“Where were you that night?””
I wanted to tell him everything I knew.
I wanted to tell him about the hospital call, the rain, the locked study, and the envelope I had found beneath Eleanor's pillow after she died.
But before I could speak, Margaret came rushing out of the house.
“Frank!”” she cried.
“Someone has been in your study.””
She held up a white envelope.
The flap had been torn open.
Inside was a photograph of Eleanor, a handwritten note, and a single sentence that made my knees weaken.
If you want to know why your wife died, ask the person who was with her when she took her last breath.
May you like
Below the sentence was a name.
*MARCUS.*
