PART 4 — THE WARNING
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
I read Colin's message again.
Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't know they were planning to kill you.
My first thought was that it had to be a lie.
A desperate attempt to frighten me.
But then I looked through the window.
Richard Hale was still standing outside.
He wasn't knocking.
He wasn't calling.
He was simply watching the house.
I locked the front door.
Then the back door.
Then every window on the first floor.
I called Stanley.
“Richard is outside.”
His voice immediately became serious.
“Do not let him in.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“I'm contacting the authorities and the title company.”
“I have something you need to see.”
I forwarded him Colin's photograph.
There was a long silence.
“Where did Colin get this?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you zoom in?”
I enlarged the photograph.
It was a page from a document.
At the top was my full name.
Below it was a statement regarding my health, finances, and property.
But there was one sentence that made my stomach turn.
In the event of the owner's incapacity or death, management authority shall transfer to the designated representative.
The designated representative was Richard Hale.
Then I noticed the date.
It was dated three months before Diane died.
That made no sense.
I had never signed anything like this.
And I had certainly never appointed Richard to control my property after my death.
I sent the photograph to Stanley.
“That's enough,” he said.
“What?”
“We're going to have the document examined immediately.”
“What about Colin?”
“Do not confront him yet.”
“But he knows something.”
“Exactly. Which means someone else may know he knows.”
I looked outside.
Richard had disappeared.
My heart raced.
I searched the street.
Nothing.
Then I heard a sound behind me.
A soft click.
I turned.
The basement door was open.
I had locked it earlier.
I grabbed my phone and slowly walked toward it.
“Hello?”
No answer.
The basement was dark.
I reached for the light.
Nothing happened.
The bulb had been removed.
I stopped.
Someone had been inside the house.
I backed away and called 911.
Within minutes, officers arrived.
They searched the basement, attic, garage, and exterior.
No one was there.
But they found something.
A small black device had been attached beneath the basement stairs.
A recording device.
One of the officers carefully removed it.
“How long has it been here?” I asked.
“We can't know yet.”
“Can you tell who installed it?”
“Not immediately.”
I looked at the device.
For three years, Colin and Vanessa had lived in this house.
For three years, they had known where everything was.
For three years, they had access to my study.
The officer asked,
“Do you have anyone who might have had access?”
I thought about my son.
Then I thought about Richard.
And Patricia.
“I have several possibilities.”
That evening, I went to a hotel.
I didn't want to stay in the house another night.
At 10:43 p.m., Stanley called.
“We've recovered something from the device.”
“What?”
“Audio.”
My pulse quickened.
“What does it contain?”
“Two voices.”
“Whose?”
“We're still analyzing them.”
“Can you tell what they were discussing?”
Stanley hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You.”
I sat upright.
“What were they saying?”
“They were discussing your death.”
My throat tightened.
“Tell me exactly.”
“I can't give you the full recording until the forensic team finishes.”
“Stanley.”
He sighed.
“They discussed making your death look accidental.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“There was mention of medication.”
My blood ran cold.
“Medication?”
“Something that would make it appear you suffered a medical emergency.”
I suddenly remembered something.
Two months earlier, Vanessa had started asking strange questions.
What medications did I take?
Whether I ever experienced dizziness.
Whether I had allergies.
I had assumed she was being polite.
She wasn't.
She was collecting information.
Then Stanley said something else.
“The recording mentions Christmas.”
“What about it?”
“They wanted you to remain in the house during the family gathering.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Because thirty people would provide an alibi.”
I stared at the hotel room wall.
Thirty relatives.
Thirty witnesses.
A house full of noise.
A perfect opportunity to hide something.
And then everyone would leave.
Except me.
I whispered,
“They weren't coming for Christmas.”
“No.”
“They were coming for me.”
“Yes.”
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked,
“Where is Colin?”
“I don't know.”
“I need to find him.”
“Why?”
“Because he warned me.”
Stanley paused.
“Or someone wanted you to believe he warned you.”
I hadn't considered that.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
No voice.
Just breathing.
Then a whisper.
“Stop investigating.”
I stood.
“Who is this?”
“Sell the house.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Walk away from everything. Sign whatever they put in front of you.”
“Who are you?”
The caller hung up.
I immediately called the police.
Then another message arrived.
This time from Colin.
Dad, I'm at the old warehouse on Mercer Street. Come alone.
I stared at the screen.
Stanley shouted through the phone,
“Don't go!”
“I have to.”
“No. This is exactly what they want.”
“I can't abandon my son.”
“You don't know that it's Colin.”
I looked at the message.
Then another arrived.
A photograph.
Colin was sitting in a dark room.
His hands appeared tied behind his back.
There was blood on his shirt.
Underneath the photograph were four words:
They know I betrayed them.
My entire body went cold.
I grabbed my coat.
Stanley kept shouting,
“Wait for the police!”
But I was already walking toward the door.
Then I noticed something in the photograph.
Behind Colin was a concrete wall.
And painted across it in faded white letters was an old company name.
I recognized it immediately.
It wasn't a random warehouse.
It belonged to Richard Hale's former construction company.
The same company that had been involved in the first attempted transfer of my property.
I suddenly understood.
The house wasn't the real target.
Neither was my money.
They wanted something far more valuable.
Something Diane had left behind.
Something I had unknowingly kept inside that house for years.
And if they believed Colin had told me the truth, they would assume I knew where it was.
I called Stanley one last time.
“I'm going to the warehouse.”
“Don't.”
“I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
I stopped at the elevator.
“What if Colin is actually there?”
Stanley was silent.
Then he said,
“Then take the police.”
I agreed.
But before the elevator doors closed, my phone buzzed one final time.
It was a message from Richard.
If you bring the police, your son dies.
I stared at those words.
Then I looked at the photograph of Colin.
And for the first time in my life, I realized that saving my son might require me to trust him.
Even after everything.
I stepped into the elevator.
And pressed the button for the parking garage.
Because Christmas was only three days away.
And someone had just given me a choice between my son's life…
and the secret my wife had died protecting.
