Chapter 3 — The Stranger From Owen’s Accident Finally Approached Me
Chapter 3 — The Stranger From Owen’s Accident Finally Approached Me
I didn’t turn around.
Clara’s hand tightened around my wrist.
“Don’t look yet.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then how do you know he followed Owen?”
“I saw him three years ago.”
“Where?”
“At St. Vincent.”
My stomach tightened.
“You saw him at the hospital?”
She nodded.
“The same black sedan was parked outside.”
I kept my eyes on the ballroom mirror across the room.
Its reflection gave me a partial view of the entrance.
A man in a charcoal suit had just walked through the doors.
Mid-fifties.
Silver hair.
No expression.
He stopped beside the reception desk and looked across the room.
Not at Ryan.
Not at the newly engaged couple.
At me.
I whispered, “That’s him.”
Clara nodded.
“Don’t approach him.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows who I am.”
I finally looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Before she could answer, Marcus appeared beside us.
“Daniel.”
I turned.
He looked uncomfortable.
“You okay?”
I studied him.
“You know that man?”
Marcus glanced toward the entrance.
His face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“Yes.”
My voice became colder.
“How?”
Marcus swallowed.
“He used to work for Owen.”
“Doing what?”
“Security.”
Clara looked at Marcus.
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“I never said that.”
“You told me you had never met him.”
Marcus looked at her.
“I said I didn’t know what he was doing.”
I stepped between them.
“What is his name?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Victor Shaw.”
“Why was he watching Owen?”
Marcus looked at the floor.
“Because Owen asked him to.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Owen hired him.”
“Why?”
Marcus finally looked me in the eye.
“Because your brother thought someone was trying to kill him.”
The room seemed to go silent again.
I glanced toward Victor.
He was still watching me.
I walked toward him.
Clara followed.
Marcus stayed behind.
Victor didn’t move as I approached.
When I stopped in front of him, he said my name.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“How do you know me?”
“I’ve known about you for three years.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Victor looked past me toward Clara.
“She finally told you.”
I frowned.
“Told me what?”
“That she was there the night your brother was attacked.”
Clara stepped forward.
“I didn’t attack him.”
“I know.”
Victor looked at her.
“You saved him.”
I turned toward Clara.
“What does he mean?”
She looked at Victor.
“You tell him.”
Victor sighed.
“Three years ago, Owen hired me because he believed someone was following him.”
“Who?”
“We never found out.”
“Then how did the accident happen?”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“I was supposed to follow Owen that night.”
“Supposed to?”
“I was delayed.”
“How long?”
“Seven minutes.”
I stared at him.
“Seven minutes?”
He nodded.
“Seven minutes was enough.”
I felt anger rising.
“You could have saved him.”
Victor didn’t defend himself.
“Yes.”
The simple answer stopped me.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
Clara immediately grabbed my arm.
“Daniel.”
Victor slowly removed a small envelope.
He handed it to me.
“Owen left this for you.”
I stared at it.
“Why didn’t you give it to me three years ago?”
“Because I was told you would be killed if I did.”
“By whom?”
Victor looked around the ballroom.
“Not here.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Owen standing beside Marcus.
They were outside a warehouse.
The date was two days before the accident.
On the back, Owen had written:
If anything happens to me, don’t trust the person who says he was helping me.
I looked at Marcus across the room.
He had gone pale.
I walked toward him.
“Were you helping Owen?”
Marcus didn’t answer.
“Answer me.”
“I was.”
“Then why does my brother’s note say not to trust you?”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Because Owen thought I was working for them.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Then who was?”
Marcus looked at Victor.
Victor shook his head.
Marcus finally whispered:
“Your father.”
I stopped.
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Your father didn’t just own a construction company, Daniel.”
I felt a chill.
“What did he own?”
“A private investment network.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It does when you understand where the money came from.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Your father’s company had been laundering money for years.”
I stared at him.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Owen discovered it.”
“And that’s why someone wanted him dead.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Clara.
She seemed just as shocked.
“What did Owen find?”
Marcus reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a key.
A small brass key with a number stamped into it.
417.
“Owen gave this to me the week before the accident.”
“What does it open?”
“A storage locker.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.”
I stared at the key.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Owen told me not to.”
“Why?”
“He said if you knew what was inside, you’d become a target too.”
I looked toward the entrance.
Victor was watching the doors.
“Is the locker still there?”
“Yes.”
“What’s inside?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I never opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because Owen said only you should.”
Clara touched my arm.
“Daniel, maybe you shouldn’t go tonight.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because whoever was watching Owen knows you have the key now.”
She was right.
I slipped the key into my pocket.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
Stop looking into Owen’s accident.
A second message arrived immediately.
You have until midnight.
Then a third.
A photograph.
I opened it.
It showed my parents’ house.
Taken that afternoon.
Someone had been watching it.
But the final message was the one that made my blood run cold.
Clara is not the woman you think she is.
I slowly looked at her.
She saw my expression.
“What happened?”
I showed her the phone.
She read the message.
Her face went pale.
“I knew this would happen.”
“What does that mean?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached into her handbag.
She removed another photograph.
“This is why I waited three years.”
I took it.
The photograph showed Clara standing beside Owen in the hospital corridor.
But Owen wasn’t unconscious.
He was standing.
And he was holding a folder.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten sentence.
Clara knows where the money went.
I looked at her.
“You knew about my father’s money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She looked toward the ballroom doors.
“Enough to know that your brother wasn’t the only person they tried to silence.”
“Who else?”
She looked directly at me.
“Your mother.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
Clara nodded.
“She didn’t die of a heart attack.”
I couldn’t speak.
Three years ago, I had buried my mother less than a year after Owen’s accident.
The doctors had called it sudden cardiac failure.
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
“Daniel, your mother was investigating the same accounts.”
I stared at her.
“And someone made sure she couldn’t finish.”
Behind us, the music suddenly stopped.
Everyone in the ballroom turned toward the entrance.
Victor looked at his phone.
His face went white.
“What?”
I asked.
He showed me the screen.
A photograph had just been sent to him.
It showed the storage locker at Union Station.
The door was open.
And someone was standing inside.
Victor whispered:
“Someone got there before us.”
Then my phone buzzed one more time.
A final message appeared.
Midnight starts now.