“Mostly older homeowners. Widows. People in financial distress. The records are incomplete, but enough names appear that Detective Harris is expanding the inquiry.”
I sank into a chair.
The betrayal had already been personal. Now it had grown wider, uglier, more deliberate.
Evan and Marjorie had not merely trapped Delilah. They had built a method.
Delilah’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Why would someone leave this for me?”
Rachel hesitated.
“There was one file labeled ‘For Delilah.’”
My daughter looked up.
Rachel removed a printed page from her folder and slid it across the table.
It was a letter.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
Delilah unfolded it carefully.
I watched her eyes move across the page. Halfway down, her hand flew to her mouth.
“What is it?” I asked.
She could not speak, so Rachel answered quietly.
“It appears to be from Celeste Grant.”
Delilah began to read aloud, her voice breaking.
Delilah,
I am sorry I waited so long.
I told myself I was only doing office work. I told myself I didn’t know enough to interfere. But I saw your name too many times. I heard too many conversations. When I asked questions, Marjorie said I had misunderstood. When I kept asking, they said I stole money and fired me.
I kept copies because I was afraid.
At first, I meant to protect myself.
Then I realized you might need them more.
There is more on the drive, but not everything. The rest is somewhere they will not think to look.
Do not trust the first story they tell.
C.G.
Delilah lowered the letter.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “Do not trust the first story they tell?”
Rachel’s face showed concern.
“I don’t know yet.”
My phone rang again.
This time it was Detective Harris.
I answered on speaker.
“Mrs. Collins,” he said, “I wanted to update you before rumors reach you another way.”
My body tensed.
“What happened?”
“We located Celeste Grant.”
Delilah grabbed my hand.
“Is she okay?” she asked.
There was a slight pause.
“She’s alive,” Detective Harris said. “But she’s frightened. She agreed to speak with us tomorrow.”
Relief moved through the room, fragile but real.
Then the detective added, “There’s something else. She says she didn’t leave the envelope on Delilah’s car.”
I stared at the phone.
Rachel leaned forward.
“Then who did?”
“We don’t know,” he replied. “But Celeste told us she gave copies of those documents to only one person months ago.”
“Who?” I asked.
Detective Harris exhaled.
“Someone named Arthur Mercer.”
Delilah went rigid.
I looked at her.
“Who is Arthur Mercer?”
Her voice came out thin.
“Evan’s father.”
I frowned. “I thought Evan’s father was dead.”
“That’s what Evan told everyone,” Delilah whispered.
Detective Harris spoke again.
“According to Celeste, Arthur Mercer is very much alive. And he may be the person who has been watching over Delilah from a distance.”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Delilah stared down at the letter, then at the flash drive, then toward the hallway where Noah slept safely beneath my roof.
Her whole marriage shifted in her eyes. Not just the lies she knew about. The ones buried underneath.
And before any of us could speak, a new message appeared on my phone from an unknown number.
Patricia, don’t let Delilah meet Arthur alone.
