Chapter 7 - THE MISSING VIDEO
Mom sat on the floor.
I picked up the memory card.
“What’s on it?”
She stared at the tiny piece of plastic.
“Your father’s dash camera.”
My hands went cold.
“The night he died?”
She nodded.
“There was a camera in his truck.”
“What happened to it?”
“The police said the card was damaged.”
I held it up.
“This doesn’t look damaged.”
Mom’s breathing quickened.
“I don’t understand.”
I did.
Or at least part of me did.
Grant had the missing evidence.
Inside his locked desk.
I found an old laptop on the shelf.
The memory card fit.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“Emma, maybe we should wait for the police.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“He had this for four years.”
I clicked the file.
A video opened.
Date stamped.
October 17.
Four years earlier.
9:43 p.m.
Dark road.
Rain.
My father’s voice came through the speakers.
“If anything happens to me, this isn’t an accident.”
Mom started crying.
I couldn’t move.
Dad continued talking while driving.
“I met with Grant Mercer tonight.”
My throat tightened.
“He knows I copied the Riverton invoices.”
Mom covered her mouth.
“He offered me money to destroy them.”
The video showed Dad turning onto an industrial road.
“I refused.”
Headlights appeared behind him.
Fast.
Too fast.
Dad checked the mirror.
“Damn it.”
The headlights moved closer.
A vehicle hit the back of Dad’s truck.
Mom screamed.
The video shook.
Dad cursed.
Another hit.
The truck swerved.
The image spun.
Metal crashed.
Then darkness.
For several seconds, there was only rain.
Then footsteps.
Someone approached.
A face appeared briefly through the broken driver’s window.
Grant.
Four years younger.
But unmistakable.
Mom screamed his name.
On the recording, Dad was still alive.
Barely.
Grant leaned inside.
“You should’ve taken the money, Mike.”
My entire body went numb.
Dad whispered something.
Grant moved closer.
“What?”
Dad said, “My family knows.”
Grant smiled.
“No, they don’t.”
Then the screen went black.
The file ended.
Mom collapsed against the desk.
I stared at the frozen screen.
My father hadn’t died in an accident.
Grant had been there.
Grant had hit his truck.
Maybe Grant had killed him.
Then headlights flashed outside our house.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Mom looked at the clock.
2:47 a.m.
“Who is that?”
I looked through the window.
A black SUV.
Grant’s SUV.
The driver’s door opened.
He stepped out.
Mom whispered, “He’s not supposed to be here.”
Grant walked toward the house.
May you like
Then he reached into his jacket.
And pulled out a key.
