Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT MY FATHER VANISHED
Roman finally told me everything.
Not pieces.
Not carefully selected truths.
Everything.
We sat in a private medical suite while a doctor stitched the cut across his shoulder.
Roman never flinched.
“My father came home covered in blood the night Elias vanished.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I was seventeen.”
Roman stared at the opposite wall.
“He told me there had been an accident at one of our construction sites.”
“Did you believe him?”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“He burned his clothes.”
My stomach twisted.
Roman continued.
“Two days later, your father was reported missing.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“I did.”
I looked at him.
“Years later.”
“When?”
“After Victor died.”
“And?”
“No body. No direct evidence. Malcolm confirmed my father had been at a construction site that night.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Malcolm gave him an alibi.”
“Yes.”
“Because Malcolm was part of it.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
Roman met my eyes.
“We still don’t know whether Victor killed your father.”
“You think he did.”
Roman said nothing.
That was answer enough.
I stood.
“Where was the construction site?”
“Sadi.”
“Where?”
“An old hotel project near the river.”
“What happened to it?”
“Abandoned.”
“Why?”
“Foundation problems.”
I stared at him.
“Or because someone was buried there.”
Roman’s face went hard.
“We are not going there tonight.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“No.”
I laughed.
“You really haven’t learned anything.”
Roman stood despite the doctor’s protest.
“I learned that someone tried to burn you alive two hours ago.”
“And I learned my father might be under one of your family’s buildings!”
Roman grabbed my shoulders.
Gentle.
Firm.
“I will tear the entire property apart myself if I have to.”
His voice cracked.
“But I am not losing you to solve this.”
For the first time, I saw something behind Roman’s control.
Fear.
Not fear of Trevor.
Not Malcolm.
Fear of losing me.
I touched his wrist.
“Then stop keeping me outside.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Okay.”
The next morning, we went to the abandoned hotel site.
Thirty floors of unfinished concrete rose above the river like a skeleton.
Marcus’s team searched room by room.
I walked through the ground level.
Dust.
Rust.
Graffiti.
Then I saw something strange.
A section of flooring had newer concrete than everything around it.
“Roman.”
He came over.
Marcus crouched.
“This was poured later.”
“How much later?”
“Could be years.”
Roman stared at it.
“Get equipment.”
Three hours later, workers broke through the concrete.
Five feet down, they found a metal box.
Not a body.
A box.
Inside were documents sealed in plastic.
And a wallet.
My father’s wallet.
I collapsed to my knees.
Roman caught me.
Marcus opened another bag.
Inside was a motel key.
Room 214.
The motel was still operating.
Roman looked at the date stamped on the key.
Two days after my father supposedly disappeared.
I stared at him.
“My father survived that night.”
Roman nodded.
Then Marcus pulled out one final object.
A photograph taken years after my father vanished.
My father looked older.
May you like
Alive.
Standing beside a young Trevor Mercer.
