Chapter 6 - Locker Nineteen
Union Station smelled of burnt coffee and wet concrete. Mara parked beside a security booth and spoke into her radio. Two plainclothes officers entered ahead of us. Nobody looked at them twice.
Locker 19 was at the end of a narrow hallway. My hand shook so badly I missed the lock on the first try.
Inside were a flash drive, a thick envelope, and a photograph.
In the photograph, Elise stood beside a silver-haired man outside a downtown office building. He wore a dark coat and a watch I recognized: the square-faced watch my father had bought the year I turned twelve.
My father was older. His hair was gray. But his smile was exactly the same.
On the back, Elise had written: Martin Voss. August 14. He recognized me.
The envelope held copies of payment records. Over sixteen years, a company controlled by Voss had sent money to Owen Pike, a private medical consultant, and a third person listed only as V.H.
“Vivian Hale,” I said.
“Possibly,” Mara answered. “We still need to authenticate this.”
One officer brought over a laptop. The flash drive contained scanned contracts and an audio file dated four days earlier.
I heard Elise's voice first. “You aren't dead. You let us grieve you.”
Then his.
“You weren't supposed to find me.”
“You put a body in your grave. Whose was it?”
A long silence followed. Then Dad said, “You're making me do something I don't want to do.”
I slammed the laptop shut. Mara caught my arm before I could hurl it across the station.
“That's what he wants,” she said. “For you to stop thinking.”
My phone buzzed with a video call from an unknown number. I answered before Mara could stop me.
Mom appeared on screen, sitting in a dark room with her hands bound to a chair. Someone tilted the camera toward her face.
May you like
My father's voice came from behind it.
“Bring me what Elise put in that locker,” he said. “Or your mother won't make it to morning.”
