Chapter 11 - MY FATHER’S DEATH
My father died eighteen months earlier.
Heart attack.
That was what everyone said.
He was sixty-eight.
Healthy enough.
Busy.
Stubborn.
The medical examiner did not request an autopsy because his physician signed the death certificate.
Cardiac arrest.
I never questioned it.
Until Detective Mason entered my hospital room with two federal agents.
He sat down.
“Claire.”
I knew immediately.
“What?”
“We found messages between Margaret and Dr. Mercer.”
My mouth went dry.
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing.
One of the agents spoke.
“We are not saying your father was murdered.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“We have enough questions to request an exhumation and forensic review.”
I stared at them.
“No.”
The word came automatically.
Not because I disagreed.
Because some part of me needed Dad to stay dead in the simple way I remembered.
A heart stopped.
A life ended.
Grief.
Not conspiracy.
Mason placed a printed message in front of me.
Margaret to Dr. Mercer.
T.H. is becoming difficult.
The doctor replied.
Then keep his stress high and his medication consistent.
Another message.
Margaret.
Would doubling it be detectable?
The doctor.
Not if timing is right.
I could not read the rest.
I dropped the papers.
Dana caught them.
My hands started shaking.
“My father took blood pressure medication.”
Mason nodded.
“We know.”
“Margaret used to organize his pills when she visited.”
Nobody answered.
I remembered her at his house.
Little plastic boxes.
Monday.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
She had called herself useful.
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
One of the federal agents answered.
“Your father had discovered missing foundation funds shortly before he died.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“An email draft recovered from his computer.”
I stared.
“He never sent it.”
“No.”
“What did it say?”
Mason looked at me.
“He intended to remove Margaret from the foundation board.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“And Brandon?”
“We’re still determining what he knew.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time since the fall, I wished I had no evidence.
Because evidence kept taking people away from me.
My husband.
My marriage.
My memory of my father’s death.
Then Mason said something that changed everything again.
“Claire.”
I opened my eyes.
“Your father also left a scheduled message.”
“What?”
“It never sent because the account was disabled after his death.”
My heart stopped.
May you like
“To whom?”
“You.”
