Chapter 4: The Call That Went Silent
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The phone remained pressed against my ear long after Dr. Elaine Foster had disconnected. I could still hear the faint echo of the man's voice in my imagination.
Dr. Foster, we need to talk.
I lowered the phone.
Across the dining car, Adrian was watching me with an expression I had known since childhood. It was the look he wore whenever our father caught us doing something we shouldn't have done.
Except this time, I couldn't remember which one of us was supposed to be innocent.
“Who was that?”” Adrian asked.
I slipped the phone into my pocket.
“Someone who may have information about Simone's death.””
The color drained from his face.
It happened quickly, but not quickly enough.
Camille noticed, too.
She reached for his arm.
“Adrian,” she murmured, “we should go.””
I turned toward her.
“Why?””
She released him.
“Because the evening has become completely inappropriate.””
“Someone may have threatened a medical examiner connected to my first wife's death. I'd say that makes this evening rather important.””
Adrian shook his head.
“You're allowing Nia to manipulate you.””
“My daughter didn't make that call.””
“She put these ideas into your head.””
“Which ideas?””
“That Simone's death wasn't an accident. That Camille is poisoning you. That I'm trying to steal your company.””
I stepped closer.
“Did you cancel a toxicology test five years ago?””
His mouth opened slightly.
Then he laughed.
It was the wrong response.
Not because an innocent person would never laugh at an absurd accusation, but because Adrian's laugh came too quickly, before I had explained what I knew.
“What test?”” he asked.
“A secondary toxicology panel.””
“I have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Dr. Foster says a cancellation request was submitted after Simone died. She says the document bears two signatures.””
Adrian's eyes flickered toward Camille.
She stared at the floor.
“Who signed it?”” he asked.
“I don't know yet.””
He exhaled and straightened his tie.
“Then you don't have anything.””
“Perhaps not.””
“Damon, listen to yourself. You're accusing your own brother of interfering with a death investigation based on an anonymous phone call.””
“And you're asking me to ignore it because we're brothers.””
His expression hardened.
“I am asking you to think rationally.””
I almost laughed.
That word again.
Rational.
The word Camille had used to describe my supposed decline. The word Adrian had used when he presented a document that would strip me of control. The word they seemed determined to place between me and every question I asked.
Before I could respond, Lenora hurried into the dining car.
“Mr. Mercer, the police have secured the staff entrance.””
“Good.””
“They've also found something on the platform.””
“What?””
“A woman's handbag. It was left beside a service staircase near Track Nineteen.””
My heart began to pound.
“Dr. Foster's?””
“We don't know yet.””
An officer approached with a clear evidence bag. Inside lay a dark leather handbag, its clasp bent and one strap torn.
Lenora's face tightened.
“There was an identification card inside.””
I looked through the plastic.
*DR. ELAINE FOSTER.*
The room seemed to tilt.
“Where did they find it?””
“About fifty yards from the rear of the Marigold.””
“Is she there?””
“No, sir.””
I turned to the officer.
“Has anyone searched the area?””
“Transit police are checking the platforms and nearby exits. We've requested additional units.””
“Check the parking garages. The taxi stands. Every vehicle leaving the service entrance.””
The officer nodded and walked away.
Camille moved toward me.
“Damon, this is precisely why you need to calm down. You're treating an abandoned handbag as evidence of a crime.””
I stared at her.
“Then why are your hands shaking?””
She looked down.
Her fingers were trembling against the white silk of her jacket.
“I've had enough of this,” she said.
She grabbed her handbag and headed toward the door.
A security officer stepped into her path.
“Ma'am, I'm afraid you'll need to remain here until the officers finish speaking with everyone.””
Camille looked at him with open contempt.
“Do you know who I am?””
“Yes, ma'am.””
“Then move.””
“I'm sorry. I can't.””
She turned to me.
“Damon, tell him to let me through.””
“No.””
Her face changed.
“You would humiliate me like this?””
“You struck my daughter in front of sixty witnesses. I think humiliation stopped being your primary concern a while ago.””
She stared at me as if I had slapped her.
Then she looked at Nia, who stood beside the observation car entrance.
“You have no idea what you've done,” Camille whispered.
Nia's chin lifted.
“I think I do.””
Camille moved toward her.
The security officer stepped between them.
For the first time that night, my wife looked genuinely afraid.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Afraid.
And I wanted to know why.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in a private compartment with Nia, Lenora, and Detective Marcus Reed.
Reed was a broad-shouldered man in his early forties, with a shaved head and a small notebook he kept turning over in his hands. He had introduced himself politely, but his questions were precise enough to make every answer feel like a confession.
He placed a photograph of the handbag on the table.
“Mr. Mercer, when did you last speak with Dr. Foster?””
“Approximately ten minutes before I entered this compartment.””
“Did she say she was in immediate danger?””
“She said someone was standing outside her car.””
“Did she identify that person?””
“No.””
“Did she mention where she was parked?””
I shook my head.
Detective Reed wrote something down.
Then he turned to Nia.
“You said you found documents on your stepmother's laptop. Did you access the laptop yourself?””
“Yes.””
“Did you copy anything besides the delegation document?””
Nia hesitated.
“I took pictures of a few things.””
“What things?””
She unlocked her phone and showed him the images.
Reed studied them in silence.
The first photograph showed the forged authority document.
The second showed a spreadsheet with columns of dates and payments.
The third showed a folder name.
*SIMONE M — LEGACY FILES.*
I leaned forward.
“Where did you find that?””
“On Camille's desktop. It was minimized behind another window.””
“Did you open it?””
“No. I heard her coming, so I took a picture of the screen and left.””
Reed enlarged the image.
“Can you read the file names?””
Nia nodded.
“There's one called Accident Review. Another says Mercer Correspondence. And there's one called M-17.””
The detective's expression changed.
“Do you know what M-17 means?””
“No.””
I looked at him.
“Do you?””
“Not yet.””
He photographed the screen with his own device.
“I'm going to need the original files if we can obtain them lawfully. For now, don't delete anything, don't alter your phone, and don't contact anyone about what we've found.””
Nia looked at me.
“Does that include Dad?””
Reed gave her a small, tired smile.
“You can talk to your father. Just don't let anyone persuade you to erase evidence.””
She nodded.
When Reed left to speak with the other guests, I reached for my daughter's hand.
“You've been carrying this alone for days.””
“Not days.””
She looked down at our joined hands.
“Months.””
The word struck me harder than any accusation.
“Why didn't you come to me sooner?””
“I did.””
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I know.””
“No, Dad. You don't.””
Her voice remained quiet, but every word landed with painful precision.
“When Mom died, you stopped asking questions. You went back to work because you said you needed something to keep you busy. Then Camille came along, and you started smiling again. I was happy for you.””
She swallowed.
“I wanted you to be happy. So when she started telling me that Mom's things made you sad, I stopped bringing them up. When she said you needed peace, I stopped asking about the accident. When she said you were finally moving forward, I tried to move forward too.””
“Nia—”
“But then I found her looking through Mom's old letters. And when I asked why, she told me that some memories were dangerous because they made people believe things that weren't true.””
She wiped her cheek.
“I asked her what she meant. She said I was too young to understand.””
I could barely look at her.
“What did you do?””
“I went to Odessa.””
I looked up sharply.
“What?””
“She was the only person at the company who had known Mom well enough to remember what she was like before she died. I asked her if Mom had ever been afraid of anyone.””
“And?””
Nia's eyes moved toward the compartment door.
“Odessa said Mom had been afraid of someone at the company. She wouldn't tell me who. She said she needed to check something first.””
My stomach tightened.
“When was this?””
“Three weeks ago.””
Three weeks.
Three weeks during which I had eaten dinner with Camille, reviewed launch schedules with Adrian, and congratulated myself on finally giving my family a fresh start.
Three weeks during which my daughter had been quietly searching for the truth about her mother's death.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
Nia looked at me.
“Stop apologizing if you're going to keep doing the same thing.””
I had no defense.
She pulled her hand away and stood.
“I need some air.””
I let her go as far as the compartment doorway before speaking.
“Nia?””
She turned.
“I believe you.””
Her eyes filled again.
For a moment, she looked sixteen.
Not like a witness. Not like a young woman who had just watched her family turn against itself.
Just sixteen.
“Then prove it,” she said.
She stepped into the corridor.
I remained seated, staring at the empty chair opposite me.
A minute later, Detective Reed returned.
“Mr. Mercer, we have an update.””
I stood.
“Did you find Dr. Foster?””
“Not yet.””
“What did you find?””
He placed a printed photograph on the table.
It showed a black sedan parked beside the station's service entrance.
The image was grainy, taken from a security camera mounted above the loading bay.
The driver's face was hidden by the roofline, but the rear license plate was clear enough to read.
Reed tapped the photograph.
“The vehicle is registered to a company called Bellweather Consulting.””
I felt my blood run cold.
I had seen that name before.
On the payment spreadsheet Nia had photographed.
“Who owns it?”” I asked.
Reed looked at me.
“The registered director is Adrian Mercer.””
Adrian was escorted into the compartment fifteen minutes later.
He came in without his tie, his jacket draped over one arm. Two officers stood outside the door.
He looked at the photograph on the table.
Then at me.
“I suppose this is where you accuse me of kidnapping someone.””
“I haven't accused you of anything.””
“You've had the police searching my car, questioning my staff, and freezing my access to the company files.””
“I haven't frozen anything yet.””
“Then perhaps you should tell your detective to stop spreading rumors.””
Detective Reed folded his hands.
“Mr. Mercer, do you own a vehicle registered to Bellweather Consulting?””
Adrian stared at him.
“No.””
“Have you ever used that company to conduct business?””
“No.””
“Have you ever authorized payments to it?””
“No.””
Reed slid the spreadsheet photograph across the table.
“Your name appears on several payment authorizations.””
Adrian glanced at the page.
“That proves nothing.””
“What about the sedan parked beside the service entrance?””
“I don't know what sedan you're talking about.””
Reed showed him the photograph.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“That's a company vehicle.””
“Which company?””
“Mercer Rail Services.””
“The registration says Bellweather Consulting.””
“Then the registration is wrong.””
“Who drives it?””
Adrian looked at me.
“Damon, this is getting ridiculous.””
I stepped closer.
“Answer the question.””
He looked away.
“Camille has access to the vehicle.””
The words fell into the room like a dropped blade.
Detective Reed wrote something down.
I stared at my brother.
“You told me you didn't know the company.””
“I don't.””
“But you know Camille uses its car?””
Adrian rubbed his forehead.
“I saw her with it once. I assumed it was a rental.””
“Why didn't you say that?””
“Because I didn't think it mattered.””
“Nothing seems to matter until someone asks you a direct question.””
His eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what I've done for this family.””
“Then tell me.””
For a moment, I thought he might.
His shoulders sagged. His lips parted.
Then he looked at the detective.
“I want a lawyer.””
Reed nodded.
“That's your right.””
As the officers escorted him out, Adrian stopped beside me.
“Damon,” he said quietly, “whatever happens next, remember that Simone wasn't the only person who suffered after that night.””
I grabbed his arm.
“What does that mean?””
He looked at me, and for the first time in years, I saw genuine grief in his face.
“Ask Camille what happened at the hospital.””
Then he walked away.
I stood motionless.
Behind me, Detective Reed closed his notebook.
“Mr. Mercer, I think we'd better speak to your wife again.””
But before either of us could move, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
No greeting.
No explanation.
Just a photograph of Nia standing outside the observation car.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
May you like
Beneath it were eight words.
*YOUR DAUGHTER KNOWS MORE THAN SHE HAS TOLD YOU.*
