Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
I stared at the name written beneath my mother's final warning.
Brian Mercer.
The man who had supervised my cleaning shifts for nearly three years.
The man who knew when my grandmother was sick, who sometimes let me leave early to collect her prescriptions, and who had called me the morning after the elevator incident to say I was no longer allowed to work.
I had trusted him.
And according to my mother, he knew where the archive had been moved.
Vincent reached toward the notebook.
I closed it before his fingers touched the cover.
"Don't."
He withdrew his hand immediately.
"Claire, I need to see that page."
"Why?"
"Because Brian Mercer has been working in my building for eleven years."
I looked at him.
"Eleven?"
Vincent nodded.
"He started in building operations before transferring to the cleaning contractor."
"Why would someone do that?"
"I don't know."
"Then maybe you should start asking."
Grandma sat down heavily.
Her face had turned almost gray.
I knelt beside her.
"Grandma, do you know Brian?"
She looked at the notebook.
"Not by that name."
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
She swallowed.
"Your mother knew a young man named Benjamin Mercer."
Vincent became very still.
"Benjamin?"
Grandma nodded.
"He was a records clerk at Hayes Tower."
I looked between them.
"Was he related to Daniel Mercer, the journalist?"
Grandma's eyes filled.
"He was Daniel's younger brother."
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I opened the notebook again.
There were dozens of entries I had dismissed as meaningless.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Initials.
But now I noticed that several pages contained the same two letters.
B.M.
And beside them, in my mother's handwriting, were the words:
Access granted.
I looked at Vincent.
"Brian isn't just my supervisor."
"No," he said quietly.
"He may be the person who opened the maintenance corridor."
My phone vibrated.
Brian's name appeared on the screen.
All three of us stared at it.
I answered.
"Claire?"
His voice sounded strained.
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"Are you alone?"
I looked at Vincent.
"Why?"
Brian exhaled.
"Listen carefully."
I said nothing.
"Whatever Vincent Hayes told you, don't believe all of it."
Vincent's expression hardened.
Brian continued.
"His family has been hiding things for decades."
"I know."
The silence on the other end was immediate.
Then Brian whispered, "What did you find?"
I felt my pulse quicken.
"What should I have found?"
"Claire."
His voice changed.
"Did your grandmother give you something?"
I looked at the notebook.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because if she did, you're in more danger than you understand."
"From whom?"
Brian didn't answer.
"From you?"
A long silence followed.
Then he said something that made my blood turn cold.
"Your mother asked me to protect you."
I gripped the phone.
"My mother disappeared twenty-four years ago."
"I know."
"You were there?"
"Claire, please."
"Answer me."
He took a shaky breath.
"Yes."
My knees nearly gave way.
Vincent stepped closer, but I raised my hand.
"Did you hurt her?"
"No."
"Then where is she?"
Brian's breathing became uneven.
"I can't tell you over the phone."
I closed my eyes.
"Then tell me where to meet you."
Vincent shook his head sharply.
I ignored him.
Brian hesitated.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Where?"
"The old municipal records building on Harrison Street."
"Why there?"
"Because that's where your mother wanted the truth to be found."
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Vincent spoke first.
"You're not going alone."
I looked at him.
"That wasn't an invitation for you."
"Claire, he may have helped sabotage the elevator."
"And your father may have destroyed my mother's life."
The words struck him.
He said nothing.
I stood.
"For twenty-four years, everyone has been deciding what I should know."
My voice shook.
"My grandmother hid the notebook."
"Your father hid the archive."
"Brian hid his identity."
"And now you want to tell me where I can go?"
Vincent looked at me for a long moment.
Then he stepped back.
"No."
I blinked.
He continued.
"I want you to understand the risks."
"Then tell me."
He nodded.
"Brian may be protecting someone."
"Or hiding from someone."
"Or both."
I looked at the notebook.
"And if he knows where my mother is?"
Vincent's expression softened.
"Then you deserve to hear it."
For the first time since meeting him, I believed he meant that.
That night, Grandma couldn't sleep.
I found her sitting at the kitchen table shortly after two in the morning.
The old photograph lay in front of her.
She was touching my mother's face with one trembling finger.
"Grandma?"
She looked up.
"I'm sorry, Claire."
I sat beside her.
"You've said that."
"I know."
She wiped her eyes.
"But I need you to understand why I kept quiet."
I waited.
"After Evelyn disappeared, Richard Hayes came here three times."
My stomach tightened.
"He asked about the notebook?"
"At first."
She looked down.
"Then he stopped asking."
"Why?"
"Because he realized I would never tell him anything."
I frowned.
"That doesn't sound like the man you've described."
Grandma shook her head.
"It wasn't mercy."
Her voice trembled.
"He told me that if I loved you, I would let the past die."
I stared at her.
"And you believed him?"
"I was raising a little girl alone."
She looked at me.
"You were four years old when you started asking why your mother never came home."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I had no answers."
I swallowed.
"So you gave me the one you thought would hurt least."
She nodded.
"That she had left."
I looked toward the photograph.
For years, I had imagined my mother choosing another life.
Another city.
Perhaps another family.
I had hated her for it.
Now I wondered whether she had spent those same years trying to return.
Grandma reached for my hand.
"Whatever you find tomorrow, Claire, don't let it take away the life you've built."
I looked around our tiny kitchen.
The leaking kettle.
The chipped blue cups.
The stack of unpaid bills.
The photograph on the refrigerator.
"What life?"
Grandma squeezed my hand.
"The one where you still know how to love people."
May you like
I lowered my head.
And for the first time that night, I cried.
