Chapter 16 - The Man at the Station
My father called again at 2:11 in the morning.
This time, I answered.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then:
“Come alone.”
My entire body stiffened.
“Where?”
“Central Station.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes.”
Daniel was awake instantly.
“Who is it?”
I covered the microphone.
“Dad.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
I whispered, “He says to come alone.”
“Absolutely not.”
The voice came through again.
“I know Daniel is there.”
We both froze.
Dad continued.
“Bring him.”
The call ended.
We were inside the police vehicle twelve minutes later.
Nobody said much.
Morales insisted on coming.
My mother tried to stop me.
“Don't.”
I turned toward her.
“You don't get to tell me not to meet my father.”
“He's not who you think he is.”
“Neither are you.”
She flinched.
The station was almost empty.
Just a few workers and a handful of passengers.
We waited near an abandoned platform.
The clock read 2:52.
Then a man walked through the far entrance.
I knew him before I saw his face.
The same shoulders.
The same walk.
The same habit of keeping one hand in his coat pocket.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
Arthur Williams turned toward me.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray in his hair.
A scar ran from his temple to his jaw.
But he was alive.
My father.
For four years, I'd visited his grave.
Now he stood ten yards away.
I walked toward him.
Then I slapped him.
The sound echoed through the station.
Daniel didn't stop me.
Neither did the police.
Dad took it.
Then he nodded.
“You deserved that.”
“You let us bury you.”
“I know.”
“You watched us grieve.”
“I know.”
“You let Mom destroy our family.”
“I didn't know what she would do.”
“You left me.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I left you alive.”
I stopped.
“What?”
He looked at Daniel.
“You understand now.”
Daniel stared.
“No.”
Arthur's gaze returned to me.
“Everyone around you had a reason to lie.”
“Except you?”
He looked away.
“Especially me.”
I felt my anger rise.
“Then tell me the truth.”
He hesitated.
“There isn't one truth.”
“Try.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother didn't change the beneficiary because she wanted the money.”
“I know.”
“She changed it because I ordered her to.”
I froze.
“What?”
Arthur continued.
“I needed the insurance money to disappear.”
“Why?”
“To make them believe I'd lost everything.”
“Who?”
“The people following me.”
“Thomas?”
“No.”
“Gerald?”
“No.”
“Evelyn?”
His face tightened.
“Evelyn was trying to save us.”
“Us who?”
“You.”
“And Natalie?”
Arthur went silent.
I stepped closer.
“She is your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
His eyes dropped.
“Her mother was Evelyn.”
I stared.
“You and Evelyn?”
He nodded.
My stomach turned.
“I spent years thinking you and Mom had a normal marriage.”
“We didn't.”
“Did Mom know?”
“Eventually.”
“Was that why Evelyn disappeared?”
“She volunteered to disappear.”
“Why?”
“Because the people I was investigating believed Natalie was the key.”
“To what?”
“The trust.”
Arthur removed an envelope from his coat.
He handed it to me.
Inside was a map.
A series of circles marked locations across the country.
Hospitals.
Banks.
Storage units.
Private residences.
At the bottom was a name.
THOMAS VALE.
I looked at him.
“You said Thomas wasn't above Gerald.”
“He isn't.”
“Then what is he?”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
“My attorney.”
“Your attorney?”
“My oldest friend.”
“Then why did he try to protect Gerald?”
“He didn't.”
“His name is on the trust.”
“Because I asked him to hold it.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew I was going to disappear.”
I stared.
“Did you know Margaret would change the beneficiary?”
“Yes.”
“Then why blame her?”
“I never blamed her.”
“She lied.”
“She was protecting you.”
“She betrayed me.”
Arthur looked directly into my eyes.
“So did I.”
That hurt more than I expected.
I swallowed.
“Who is above Gerald?”
Arthur looked toward the dark tracks.
“That's the question.”
“What is the answer?”
He reached into his coat again.
This time, he pulled out a photograph.
A man stood beside him.
Another man beside Gerald.
Another beside Thomas.
At the far edge stood someone partially hidden.
I recognized the coat.
The posture.
The hand.
My breath stopped.
“That's impossible.”
Arthur nodded.
“I knew you'd say that.”
The man in the photograph was someone I had known for years.
Someone I'd trusted.
Someone who had been standing beside us at my father's funeral.
My mother's attorney.
Mr. Bennett.
I looked at Arthur.
“He works for them.”
Arthur shook his head.
“No.”
“Then why is he there?”
“Because he was working undercover.”
I stared.
“He's on our side?”
“He was.”
“Was?”
Arthur's expression darkened.
“He stopped answering my calls.”
Before I could ask anything else, a gunshot cracked through the station.
Arthur shoved me down.
Daniel pulled me behind a concrete column.
Another shot hit the railing.
Police returned fire.
People screamed.
When I looked back, my father was gone.
Only his coat remained.
Inside the pocket was a folded note.
Claire.
Do not go home.
They have found the real beneficiary.
May you like
And beneath it:
It's not you.
