CHAPTER 10 – The Missing Report
The atmosphere inside the Sterling mansion shifted from a domestic investigation to something far more serious.
Sergeant Brooks laid the accident file across the dining room table.
Every page had been preserved with remarkable care.
Except one.
The missing page.
It had been removed so cleanly that the paper fibers along the binding were barely noticeable.
"This wasn't accidental," Brooks said. "Someone wanted this specific document to disappear."
Arthur stared at the empty space in the file.
"For twenty-five years..."
He could barely finish the sentence.
"I believed my father died because he lost control of his car."
Brooks closed the folder.
"That may still be true."
Arthur looked up.
"But we can't ignore the possibility that someone made sure no one would ever ask questions."
One of the detectives entered the room carrying a laptop.
"Sergeant, I contacted the county archives."
Brooks turned.
"Anything?"
"The original detective retired eighteen years ago."
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes."
The detective nodded.
"His name is Harold Mason. He's eighty-one now and lives in a small town about two hours from here."
Brooks didn't hesitate.
"I want to speak with him today."
Arthur stood.
"I'm coming."
Brooks studied him for a moment before nodding.
"Fine."
As they prepared to leave, Clara gently touched Arthur's hand.
"You don't have to do this alone."
Arthur looked at her.
For the first time in months, despite everything she had endured, there was a quiet strength in her eyes.
He squeezed her hand.
"I'm done letting other people carry the pain."
She gave him a faint smile.
"So am I."
Two hours later, Brooks' SUV pulled into a quiet neighborhood lined with old maple trees.
Harold Mason's modest white cottage stood at the end of the street.
The retired detective answered the door himself.
His gray eyes narrowed when he saw the visitors.
"Arthur Sterling?"
Arthur nodded.
"I need to ask you about my father's accident."
The old detective's face changed instantly.
He looked over Arthur's shoulder, making sure no one else was nearby.
Then he quietly said,
"I've been wondering when someone would finally come."
Arthur's pulse quickened.
"You remember the case?"
"I remember every detail."
Harold stepped aside.
"Come in."
The living room walls were covered with decades of photographs from his career.
On a shelf sat dozens of neatly labeled case files.
Harold walked directly to one cabinet.
"I kept copies."
Arthur frowned.
"Copies?"
Harold pulled out a weathered folder marked:
STERLING – CONFIDENTIAL
"I wasn't allowed to close that investigation," Harold said quietly.
"I was forced to."
Arthur felt a chill run down his spine.
"Forced by who?"
Harold slowly looked him in the eyes.
"The person who arrived at the crash scene before any police officer."
Arthur already knew the answer before the old detective spoke.
"It was your mother."
Arthur's hands curled into fists.
Harold opened the confidential folder.
Inside was a single photograph that had never appeared in the official case file.
Arthur stared at it.
His father's car was resting against a tree.
The driver's door was open.
And standing beside the wreck—
perfectly dressed, without a single scratch—
May you like
was Evelyn Sterling.
Smiling.
