PART 3 — THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
The black notebook felt heavier than it should have.
I stood in the middle of the shelter parking lot, staring at my father's name.
THOMAS CARTER.
Beside it were two words:
STILL ALIVE.
My father had been dead for fifteen years.
At least, that was what I'd been told.
A heart attack.
A funeral.
A sealed coffin.
A grave I had visited every year since I was twenty-two.
I looked toward the road where Felicity's SUV had disappeared.
“Bennett!”
Josephine's voice snapped me back.
She was standing in the shelter doorway, clutching the twins against her chest.
“Get inside!”
I ran toward her.
Another gunshot echoed somewhere in the distance.
Josephine flinched.
I grabbed her shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“The babies?”
“They're okay.”
I looked down.
Both twins were crying now.
One tiny hand had grabbed Josephine's coat.
I suddenly felt something I couldn't explain.
These were my children.
My blood.
My family.
And for twelve months, I'd been absent from their lives because I had believed a lie.
I wanted to hold them.
But I didn't dare ask.
Josephine noticed.
Her expression softened for the first time.
“Do you want to?”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
She carefully moved one baby toward me.
I froze.
“Josephine…”
“You're their father.”
I held out my arms.
The little boy settled against my chest.
He was unbelievably small.
Warm.
Alive.
His eyes opened.
Dark brown.
My eyes.
I couldn't breathe.
His tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine.
And something inside me shattered.
I had missed his first smile.
His first night.
His first fever.
His first laugh.
I had missed everything.
A tear rolled down my face.
Josephine looked away.
I whispered:
“I'm sorry.”
She didn't answer.
I looked at the baby.
“I should have been there.”
Her voice came quietly.
“You should have.”
The words hurt more than any accusation could have.
Because she was right.
I had been manipulated.
But I had also chosen to believe.
I had chosen anger over trust.
And Josephine had paid the price.
My phone suddenly rang.
Winston.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Still at the shelter.”
“Get out.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who shot at you aren't random.”
I looked toward the broken window.
“Who are they?”
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Then what do you know?”
There was silence.
“Winston?”
“I ran the notebook's names through several databases.”
“And?”
“Bennett, there are nine names.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who are they?”
“Your mother. Josephine. You. Your father.”
I swallowed.
“That's four.”
“The other five are all people connected to your mother's death.”
My blood went cold.
“Names.”
“I'll send them.”
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Five names.
I stared at the screen.
The first belonged to my mother's former attorney.
The second was a nurse.
The third was a police detective.
The fourth was a bank executive.
The fifth—
I stopped breathing.
“Winston.”
“Yes?”
“Who is number five?”
Another pause.
“That's what I was hoping you'd tell me.”
I stared at the name.
FELICITY DANFORTH.
My hands went numb.
“She was on the list.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Josephine.
She was watching me.
I showed her the screen.
Her face changed immediately.
“You found it.”
“Found what?”
She stepped closer.
“That list.”
“You knew about it?”
Josephine nodded slowly.
“I saw it once.”
“When?”
“Three days before our divorce.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know who I could trust.”
I almost laughed.
“That sounds familiar.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I tried to tell you, Bennett.”
I lowered my voice.
“Then tell me now.”
She hesitated.
“Your mother wasn't investigating Felicity.”
My heart skipped.
“What?”
“She was investigating your father.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make sense. My father was dead.”
Josephine shook her head.
“That was the lie.”
The room suddenly seemed too small.
I looked at the notebook again.
“Who was my father really?”
Josephine's lips trembled.
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I only know what your mother told me.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said Thomas Carter wasn't the man you thought he was.”
I felt anger rising.
“My father was a good man.”
Josephine looked at me sadly.
“That's what your mother wanted you to believe.”
I stepped back.
“No.”
“Bennett—”
“No. My father worked every day. He raised me. He took care of my mother.”
“Your mother was afraid of him.”
I froze.
“Don't say that.”
“She was.”
“You weren't there.”
“I was there when she called me.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
The room went silent.
I stared at Josephine.
“What did she say?”
Josephine's eyes filled with tears.
“She said, ‘If anything happens to me, don't let Bennett trust his father.’”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“My father was already dead.”
“No.”
Josephine shook her head.
“He wasn't.”
I couldn't speak.
“Then who was buried in that grave?”
“I don't know.”
I grabbed the notebook.
“We're going.”
“Where?”
“My father's grave.”
Josephine immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's exactly where they want you to go.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Josephine pointed toward the notebook.
“Look at the final page.”
I flipped through it.
The last page contained a single handwritten sentence.
WHEN BENNETT DISCOVERS THE TRUTH, HE WILL RETURN TO THE GRAVE.
My blood ran cold.
Someone had predicted exactly what I was doing.
Then another line appeared underneath.
AND THAT IS WHERE WE WILL TAKE HIM.
A sound came from outside.
An engine.
I rushed to the window.
A dark sedan was parked across the road.
No headlights.
No movement.
I couldn't see the driver.
Josephine whispered:
“Bennett…”
I turned.
She was staring at the twins.
“What?”
“The babies.”
“What about them?”
“They weren't born at the county hospital.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Josephine looked terrified.
“I told Winston that because I thought it would protect them.”
My mind raced.
“Then where were they born?”
She didn't answer.
“Josephine.”
“I gave birth in a private clinic.”
“Where?”
Her lips trembled.
“Your father's old property.”
I felt the air disappear from my lungs.
“My father's property?”
She nodded.
“And Bennett…”
“What?”
“Your father was there.”
I stared at her.
Impossible.
“You're telling me my dead father was present when my children were born?”
“He wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Josephine looked toward the window.
Then she whispered:
“Felicity.”
My stomach twisted.
“No.”
“I saw her.”
“That's impossible.”
“She was there.”
“You're lying.”
Josephine flinched.
The moment the word left my mouth, I regretted it.
Because I'd seen that expression before.
I'd seen it the day I accused her of stealing my mother's necklace.
The day I accused her of cheating.
The day I told her to leave.
I had made the same mistake again.
I was choosing suspicion before evidence.
Josephine turned away.
“I knew you wouldn't believe me.”
I reached for her.
“Josephine—”
She stepped back.
Then the front door suddenly burst open.
A man in a black tactical vest stormed inside.
I pushed Josephine behind me.
“Who are you?”
He raised his weapon.
“Don't move.”
I looked at Josephine.
“Take the babies and get down.”
She obeyed.
The man took two steps toward us.
Then he lowered his weapon.
“Bennett Carter?”
“Yes.”
He reached inside his jacket.
I prepared to attack.
Instead, he pulled out an old photograph.
He threw it onto the floor.
I picked it up.
My hands started shaking.
It showed my mother.
My father.
Felicity.
And Josephine.
All standing together.
But the photograph was dated fifteen years ago.
The year my father supposedly died.
I looked at the stranger.
“Who are you?”
He answered calmly.
“My name is Daniel Reeves.”
I stared at him.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because I was there the night your father disappeared.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is he?”
Daniel looked at Josephine.
Then at the twins.
Then back at me.
“He's alive.”
My knees almost gave out.
“Where?”
Daniel's expression became grim.
“That's the problem.”
He stepped closer.
“Your father isn't hiding from you, Bennett.”
“Then who is he hiding from?”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Everyone.”
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
He answered.
“Reeves.”
A woman's voice came through the speaker.
I couldn't hear the words clearly.
But Daniel's face changed.
“What?”
He turned toward me.
“Bennett…”
“What?”
“They found your house.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about it?”
“They broke into your study.”
“Did they take anything?”
Daniel looked at the photograph in my hand.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The original copy of this photograph.”
I stared at him.
“But you have it.”
Daniel shook his head.
“This isn't the original.”
He turned the photograph over.
There was another image printed on the back.
I looked at it.
My heart nearly stopped.
It was a photograph of my father.
Standing alive.
Older.
Different.
And beside him stood a teenage girl.
I recognized her immediately.
Felicity.
But there was something else.
A date.
Three days before my mother's death.
And underneath the photograph, someone had written:
FELICITY WASN'T THE WOMAN WHO DESTROYED YOUR FAMILY.
My eyes moved to the final line.
SHE WAS THE GIRL WHO TRIED TO SAVE IT.
I looked at Josephine.
She was crying.
“Bennett,” she whispered.
“What?”
“There is something I never told you.”
I waited.
Josephine looked at the twins.
Then at me.
“The person who ordered your mother's murder…”
Her voice broke.
“…wasn't Felicity.”
The lights suddenly went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the shelter.
A second later, every phone inside the room began ringing at once.
Mine.
Josephine's.
Daniel's.
Winston's.
All at the same time.
I answered mine.
A distorted voice whispered:
“Hello, Bennett.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
The voice laughed softly.
Then said five words that made my blood turn to ice.
“Ask your wife about the twins.”
The call ended.
I slowly turned toward Josephine.
She was staring at me.
And for the first time since I'd found her beside that dusty road…
I saw something in her eyes that terrified me more than Felicity ever had.
Guilt.
