Each one shorter than the last.
Ellis slowly took the phone from my hand.
“They’re escalating.”
“They?”
“The people watching your house.”
I stared at her.
“They’ve been watching us?”
“For weeks.”
She handed me another folder.
Inside were photographs.
Someone had been taking pictures of my family.
Me leaving work.
Celeste grocery shopping.
My son Ethan getting off his school bus.
My daughter Lily playing soccer.
Every photograph had dates.
Times.
Locations.
Someone knew our routines better than we did.
My hands started shaking.
“Who are these people?”
“We don’t know every name.”
She hesitated.
“But we know one.”
She slid another photograph across the table.
I looked down.
Then immediately wished I hadn’t.
It showed a man standing outside my parents’ house.
Gray overcoat.
Black gloves.
Speaking to my mother on the front porch.
I knew him.
I had known him my entire life.
Uncle Victor.
My father’s younger brother.
The man who hugged me at the funeral.
The man who cried louder than anyone.
“No…”
Ellis didn’t interrupt.
“He was one of the first people your father suspected.”
My knees felt weak.
“Impossible.”
“He practically helped raise me.”
“He also owns three shell companies linked to Black Hollow.”
The words barely registered.
Victor?
The uncle who coached my Little League team?
Who came every Christmas?
Who carried my daughter on his shoulders last Thanksgiving?
Ellis opened another folder.
Bank records.
Wire transfers.
Photos.
Recorded phone transcripts.
Everything pointed to Victor Mercer.
“He sold your father’s location.”
Silence filled the storage unit.
Then my phone rang again.
Mom.
Ellis rejected the call.
Almost instantly another number appeared.
Celeste.
I reached for it.
Ellis caught my wrist.
“No.”
“That’s my wife.”
“I know.”
“What if something happened?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“That’s exactly why you can’t answer.”
