Chapter 7 - WHAT DAD HID INSIDE THE WATCH
Officer Cole returned while I was trying to open the watch.
“The SUV was registered to a rental company.”
“Under Vanessa’s name?”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
“Dr. Alan Pierce.”
Mr. Harris looked up sharply.
“He is here?”
“According to the rental agreement, he picked it up three days ago.”
I pressed the small release button on the side of the watch.
Nothing happened.
Officer Cole took it from me.
“It may need a jeweler.”
“There is no time.”
I remembered Dad sitting at his workbench.
He used to repair watches for neighbors.
He had a set of tiny tools inside a red metal case.
I found it beneath the bench.
The smallest screwdriver fit the seam.
The back opened.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
The writing was Dad’s.
Not Mom’s.
Not Vanessa’s.
Dad’s.
I unfolded it carefully.
LAKEVIEW ACCESS CODE: 0914-EMILY.
BENEATH THAT LINE, HE HAD WRITTEN:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, CHECK THE CAMERA ABOVE THE NORTH BENCH.
I looked up.
A dusty wooden clock hung over the north workbench.
Behind it was a small camera.
The lens pointed directly toward the place where Dad had died.
Officer Cole removed the device.
“It is old.”
“Can the footage still exist?”
“If it recorded locally.”
He opened the casing.
A memory card remained inside.
My hands trembled.
Dad had installed the camera because he knew Vanessa was coming.
He had expected trouble.
Maybe not death.
But something serious enough to leave a record.
We carried the card into the kitchen.
My laptop recognized it.
Several files appeared.
Most were ordinary workshop recordings.
Dad building shelves.
Dad repairing a chair.
Dad talking to himself while sanding wood.
The final file was dated the night he died.
9:03 p.m.
The image showed Dad standing beside the workbench.
He looked tired but healthy.
A knock sounded off camera.
Dad moved toward the door.
Vanessa entered.
She was younger, but the expression on her face had not changed.
She wore black pants and a red coat.
I remembered that coat.
She had posted a photograph wearing it in San Francisco the next morning.
The caption read:
CALIFORNIA NIGHTS.
The photograph had been a lie.
Dad closed the door.
There was no sound.
The camera recorded only video.
Vanessa placed a folder on the bench.
Dad opened it.
His face hardened.
He pointed toward the pages.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
Dad reached for the phone.
She grabbed his wrist.
He pulled away.
She stepped between him and the door.
For several minutes, they argued silently.
Then Vanessa removed something from her purse.
A small brown bottle.
She poured liquid into Dad’s coffee mug while his back was turned.
My stomach twisted.
“Stop the video,” Mr. Harris said.
“No.”
Dad returned to the bench.
He drank.
Vanessa watched.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Dad touched his chest.
He leaned against the table.
Vanessa did not move to help him.
Dad reached for the phone.
She took it away.
He fell to one knee.
I covered my mouth.
Officer Cole leaned closer to the screen.
Dad tried to stand.
Vanessa pushed the coffee mug out of reach.
Then she bent beside him.
She spoke slowly.
I could not hear her words.
But Dad could.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Disbelief.
Then he collapsed.
Vanessa waited.
She checked his pulse.
She walked to the camera.
For one second, her face filled the screen.
She looked directly at the lens.
Then the recording ended.
No one spoke.
My father had not died alone.
He had not suffered an unexpected heart attack.
His own daughter had watched him collapse and done nothing.
Officer Cole immediately called Detective Reed.
“We have video evidence of a possible homicide.”
Mr. Harris stared at the blank screen.
“I should have believed him.”
“You knew enough,” I said.
“I knew he was afraid.”
“You said the police dismissed it.”
“They believed the heart attack was natural.”
“What about toxicology?”
“There was no autopsy.”
“Mom refused one.”
“She was told there was no reason.”
“By whom?”
Mr. Harris looked toward the laptop.
“Dr. Pierce.”
The pieces came together.
Pierce had already been involved with Vanessa.
He may have certified Dad’s death.
He may have hidden evidence.
He later drugged Mom and helped forge the trust amendment.
This had never been one isolated betrayal.
It was a plan that stretched across years.
Detective Reed arrived with two officers.
He watched the footage once.
Then again.
“Do not copy or send this file,” he said.
“I want the original card secured.”
“Is it enough to arrest her?” I asked.
“It shows suspicious conduct.”
“She put something in his drink.”
“We need to identify the substance.”
“She took his phone.”
“Yes.”
“She refused to help him.”
“Yes.”
“She watched him die.”
“Yes.”
“Then arrest her.”
“I need to do this correctly.”
“She is running.”
“That helps establish consciousness of guilt.”
“It also gives her time.”
“We have alerts on both Vanessa and Dr. Pierce.”
My phone rang.
Mark’s name appeared.
Vanessa’s husband.
I had not spoken to him since the funeral.
I answered on speaker.
“Emily?”
His voice sounded strained.
“Where is Vanessa?”
“I thought she was with you.”
“She is not.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Two days ago.”
“She said she was flying to New York for a conference.”
“She is in Ohio.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“She tried to trap me inside Mom’s house.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mark, did you know about Dr. Pierce?”
“Who?”
“Alan Pierce.”
The room became completely quiet.
Mark’s breathing changed.
“I have never heard that name.”
“He has been involved with Vanessa for years.”
“No.”
“His name is on Mom’s medical records.”
“No.”
“He helped her forge documents.”
“No.”
“His rental SUV was used to follow me.”
“Stop.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“You hate her.”
“I used to defend her.”
“You sued each other.”
“She sued me.”
“Because you manipulated your mother.”
“The judge dismissed her claims.”
“She said the judge was biased.”
“She lied to you.”
Mark’s voice broke.
“She is pregnant.”
The words stunned me.
“What?”
“She told me three weeks ago.”
Vanessa was forty.
Pregnancy was possible.
But nothing about her story made sense anymore.
“How far along?”
“Nearly four months.”
“Has a doctor confirmed it?”
“She showed me an ultrasound.”
“Which doctor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Dr. Pierce?”
He did not answer.
“Mark.”
“What exactly are you accusing her of?”
Before I could respond, a loud crash sounded through his phone.
Mark gasped.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Someone is in the house.”
“Call the police.”
“Emily.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“There is a black SUV outside.”
The call disconnected.
Detective Reed ordered officers in California to respond.
We waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then Detective Reed received a call.
His expression changed as he listened.
“What happened?” I asked.
He ended the call.
“Mark’s house is empty.”
“Empty?”
“No sign of him.”
“What about the SUV?”
“Gone.”
“Was there blood?”
“No.”
“Damage?”
“The back door was open.”
My phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared from an unknown number.
Mark was sitting in a chair.
His hands were tied.
Beside him stood Vanessa.
She held a newspaper displaying that day’s date.
Under the photograph was a message.
May you like
GIVE ME THE MEMORY CARD.
OR MY HUSBAND DIES THE WAY DAD DID.
