Chapter 3 - The Motel Room
Detective Torres called for a second team before she touched the memory card again.
The hospital suddenly felt less like a place of recovery and more like a secure location.
An officer remained outside Ethan’s room.
Another stood near the nursery.
Torres asked me to wait while detectives went to the Desert Sun Motel.
I had no legal role in the investigation.
I was simply the man who broke a window.
But Ethan kept glancing toward the door whenever I stood.
So I stayed.
Three hours later, Torres returned.
“Ethan’s mother is missing.”
His face went white.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“Her motel room was torn apart.”
“Blood?”
“A small amount.”
“Whose?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Ethan began breathing faster.
I moved my chair closer.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“You did exactly what your mom told you.”
His eyes filled.
“I left her.”
“No.”
“She told you to protect Lily.”
“You protected Lily.”
He looked toward his sister.
Torres watched us quietly.
Then she said.
“We found your backpack.”
Ethan froze.
“Where?”
“Behind the motel ice machine.”
“Your mother may have hidden it there.”
Inside the backpack were schoolbooks, two shirts, a flashlight, and a notebook.
The first page read:
IF GRANT FINDS US, CALL DANIEL MERCER.
I stared at my own name.
“That’s impossible.”
Torres looked at me.
“You know Ethan’s mother?”
“No.”
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel Hale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Then Torres showed me a photograph from Rachel’s driver’s license.
My blood went cold.
I knew her.
Not as Rachel Hale.
Fifteen years earlier, she had been Rachel Mercer.
My younger cousin.
The daughter of my father’s estranged brother.
Our families had stopped speaking after a lawsuit destroyed my grandfather’s construction company.
I had not seen Rachel since she was nineteen.
“I thought she moved to Colorado.”
“She did.”
“Why would she write my name?”
Ethan looked confused.
“You’re family?”
I nodded slowly.
“Apparently.”
Torres opened the notebook.
Rachel had written dates.
Bank names.
Account numbers.
Property addresses.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Grant Whitmore.
Another appeared beside it.
Charles Mercer.
My father.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“My father died eleven years ago.”
Torres looked at the page.
“According to this notebook, Rachel believed Grant was moving money through companies your father once controlled.”
“That doesn’t mean Dad was involved.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
I hated how defensive I sounded.
Then Torres showed me the final page.
Rachel had written a message.
Daniel is the only Mercer who refused the settlement money.
If I disappear, tell him the truth about Lake Hollow.
I knew Lake Hollow.
My grandfather owned a cabin there.
The property had burned down when I was seventeen.
Officially, nothing remained.
Torres closed the notebook.
“What happened at Lake Hollow?”
I looked at Ethan.
Then at the detective.
“My grandfather died there.”
“In the fire?”
“No.”
“He died three weeks before it.”
“Then why is Rachel connecting it to Grant?”
I did not know.
At midnight, the hospital security desk called Torres.
A man had arrived claiming to be Ethan’s father.
Ethan heard that sentence.
His entire body stiffened.
“My dad is dead.”
The man downstairs was lying.
May you like
And according to the identification he had given security, his name was Grant Whitmore.
