Chapter 6
Dana moved the evidence before sunset.
Not all of it.
Enough.
The flash drive.
The recorder.
Three binders.
The metal case.
The letter.
The framed photograph of me, though I did not ask her to take that.
She placed it in my hands and said, “He wanted you to have it.”
I looked at the picture.
My father had written on the back.
First uniform.
Last innocent day.
Forgive me for what I did not tell you.
I did not cry.
Not yet.
The body has strange priorities in danger.
It will hold grief in reserve until survival stops needing the space.
At a federal field office in Newark, Dana placed me in a conference room without windows.
There was coffee I did not drink.
A table I did not sit at.
A mirror I assumed was not only a mirror.
An agent asked for my phone.
I handed it over.
He placed it in a signal-blocking bag.
Only then did Dana explain.
“Your father contacted us eight months ago.”
“Why not me?”
“He said you would come immediately.”
“He was right.”
“He also said Elaine would use that.”
I stared at her.
“You keep saying my mother’s name like a suspect.”
Dana did not soften.
“She is a subject of the investigation.”
“Subject is a coward’s word.”
“No.”
“It is an accurate word until evidence defines it further.”
I almost smiled.
My father would have liked her.
That annoyed me.
Dana opened the metal case.
Inside were photographs of Elaine Mercer in hotel lobbies, private dining rooms, and charity events.
Always elegant.
Always smiling.
Always near men who looked forgettable in expensive suits.
Under the photos were wire transfer summaries.
Trust activity.
Insurance documents.
And a copy of my father’s death certificate prepared two days before the crash.
I touched the paper with one finger.
“Before?”
Dana nodded.
“The paperwork existed before Arthur Voss died.”
My throat tightened.
“So the funeral…”
“Was the final step.”
“To close his life legally?”
“To close his access, his accounts, his testimony, and any search for him.”
“Where is he?”
Dana looked toward the mirror.
For the first time, I saw something like reluctance in her face.
“He was supposed to meet us today.”
“At the funeral?”
“No.”
“At Unit 17.”
The room went still.
“He did not arrive.”
Dana’s voice was quiet.
“That is why I am not telling you he is alive.”
The reserve inside me cracked.
Just slightly.
My father had escaped one coffin.
May you like
But maybe not the people who built it.
Read the full story 👉 Dana revealed Thomas was supposed to meet the FBI at Unit 17, but he never arrived.
