Chapter 51 Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE~
I should have known better than to believe in forever.
The call came on a Tuesday morning, three years after what I'd thought was our happy ending. I was at the Harris Center, working with a family who'd survived corporate fraud, when my phone rang.
Unknown number.
My hands started shaking before I even answered.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Harris?" a man's voice asked.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Detective James Morrison. I'm calling about a cold case that's been reopened. One involving your family."
My stomach dropped. "What cold case?"
"The death of Thomas Reed," Detective Morrison said. "New evidence has surfaced suggesting there was more to his murder than we originally thought."
"Thomas Reed died forty years ago," I said. "James Harris confessed to killing him. Catherine Morrison was convicted for crimes related to it. What new evidence could possibly exist?"
"That's what we'd like to discuss with you," Detective Morrison said. "Can you come to the station?"
I wanted to say no. I wanted to hang up and pretend this wasn't happening.
But I'd learned that running from problems only made them worse.
"I'll be there in an hour," I said.
I called Declan immediately. "We have a problem."
By the time I reached the police station, Declan and our lawyer were already there. Detective Morrison was younger than I'd expected, maybe forty, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Thank you for coming," he said, leading us to an interrogation room.
"What's this about?" our lawyer asked.
Detective Morrison opened a file. "Three weeks ago, a safety deposit box was discovered belonging to Thomas Reed. Inside were journals, letters, and recordings he made before his death."
"Recordings of what?" Declan asked.
"Conversations with James Harris," Detective Morrison said. "Conversations where they discussed more than just business. According to these recordings, James wasn't working alone. He had a partner in his criminal activities. Someone who helped him cover up Thomas's murder."
My blood ran cold. "Who?"
"That's what we're trying to determine," Detective Morrison said. "The recordings are old, sometimes unclear. But there's mention of someone called 'The Doctor.' Someone James trusted completely. Someone who helped him with the more delicate aspects of his business."
"The Doctor," I repeated. "That could be anyone."
"We're investigating everyone who worked closely with James during that time period," Detective Morrison said. "But Mrs. Harris, your name came up in the recordings."
"That's impossible," I said. "I didn't even know James when Thomas died. I wasn't born yet."
"Not you specifically," Detective Morrison clarified. "But your father."
The room went silent.
"My father?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"According to Thomas's notes, James worked with a doctor named Richard Chen. Your father."
"No," I said firmly. "My father is a good man. He would never help James cover up a murder."
"I'm not saying he did," Detective Morrison said. "But we need to investigate. Your father had medical knowledge. He worked at the hospital where Thomas's autopsy was performed. And according to financial records, James paid your father significant sums of money around the time of Thomas's death."
"For what?" Declan demanded.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Detective Morrison said.
I felt sick. My father? Involved in James's crimes?
"I need to talk to my father," I said, standing up.
"Please don't leave town," Detective Morrison said. "We'll have more questions."
I drove to my parents' house in a daze. My mother answered the door, took one look at my face, and knew something was wrong.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Where's Dad?" I asked.
"In his study. Anita, what's wrong?"
I pushed past her and went to my father's study. He was reading, peaceful and content.
"Dad, we need to talk," I said.
He looked up, saw my expression, and his face went pale.
"You know," he said quietly.
"Know what?" I demanded. "That you worked with James Harris? That you helped him cover up a murder?"
"It wasn't like that," my father said, standing up.
"Then what was it like?" I asked. "The police have recordings, Dad. Financial records. They know James paid you money around the time Thomas Reed died."
My father sat down heavily. "I didn't help him cover up a murder."
"Then what did you do?" I pressed.
My father was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I falsified medical records."
My mother gasped from the doorway.
"What?" I asked.
"James came to me after Thomas died," my father explained. "He was panicking. He said Thomas's death was an accident, that he'd pushed him during an argument and Thomas hit his head. He begged me to make sure the autopsy showed accidental death, not suspicious circumstances."
"And you did it," I said, feeling betrayed.
"I was young and stupid and James offered me money I desperately needed," my father said. "Your mother was pregnant with Sarah. We had medical bills, debt. James offered me fifty thousand dollars to adjust some details in the autopsy report."
"You helped a murderer," I said.
"I didn't know he was a murderer," my father protested. "He told me it was an accident. I believed him."
"But you still falsified records," I said. "You still broke the law."
"Yes," my father admitted. "And I've regretted it every day since."
My mother was crying. "Richard, how could you?"
"I was trying to provide for our family," my father said. "I made a terrible mistake. I know that. But I never helped James with anything else. I never covered up any other crimes."
"How do I know that's true?" I asked.
"Because after I did it, I was so consumed with guilt that I refused to speak to James ever again," my father said. "That's why I was so against you marrying Declan. Not because I was prejudiced, but because I knew what James was capable of. I knew what I'd helped him get away with."
I sat down, trying to process this. My father had helped cover up a murder. My father had taken blood money.
"The police are investigating," I said. "They're going to find out what you did."
"I know," my father said. "I've been waiting for this day for forty years."
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Tell them the truth," my father said. "Face the consequences of my actions."
"You could go to prison," I said.
"I know," my father said quietly. "But I can't run from this anymore. I've carried the guilt for too long."
My mother was still crying. "What about me? What about our family?"
"I'm sorry," my father said. "I'm so sorry for all of it."
I left their house in a daze. My father—my kind, caring father—had helped cover up a murder. Had lied for forty years.
When I got home, Declan was waiting.
"How bad is it?" he asked.
I told him everything.
"Your father falsified the autopsy," Declan said slowly. "That's why the original investigation was shut down. Because the medical evidence supported accident, not murder."
"Because my father lied," I said.
"Does this mean you and I are connected to James's crimes in even more ways?" Declan asked.
I hadn't even thought of that. My father helped cover up the murder. I married the murderer's son.
"We can't escape him," I said. "No matter how many years pass, no matter how hard we try, James Harris keeps destroying our lives."
That night, my father turned himself in to the police. He confessed to falsifying Thomas Reed's autopsy report.
He was arrested and charged with obstruction of justice and falsifying medical records.
The news exploded. "Doctor Helped Cover Up Harris Murder" screamed the headlines.
The Harris Center's phone rang constantly. Reporters. Angry former clients. People demanding answers.
"Should we shut down?" Declan asked as we watched donations dry up.
"No," I said. "The Center helps people. We don't let it die because of my father's mistakes."
But it was hard. The twins were harassed online. Liam's law firm asked him to take a leave of absence. My mother was devastated.
"I didn't know," she kept saying. "All these years, I didn't know."
My father's trial was scheduled for three months later. His lawyer said he'd probably get prison time despite his age and the decades that had passed.
"He aided a murderer," the prosecutor said in preliminary hearings. "That's not something we can ignore."
Peter Dalton called, furious. "Your father helped my father's killer. How am I supposed to feel about that?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't know how any of us are supposed to feel."
Two weeks after my father's arrest, I got another call from Detective Morrison.
"We've been analyzing Thomas Reed's recordings more closely," he said. "And there's something you need to know."
"What?" I asked wearily.
"Thomas didn't just record conversations with James," Detective Morrison said. "He recorded conversations with other people. People James was working with."
"Who?" I asked.
"We're still identifying them," Detective Morrison said. "But Mrs. Harris, one of the voices sounds like a woman. A young woman. And she's discussing how to eliminate threats to James's business."
"When was this recorded?" I asked.
"About two weeks before Thomas died," Detective Morrison said.
My mind raced. A woman working with James forty years ago. Discussing eliminating threats.
"Do you have any idea who it could be?" Detective Morrison asked.
"No," I said. "James worked with a lot of people."
But as I hung up, a terrible thought occurred to me.
What if the woman wasn't working for James?
What if she was family?
What if James had more secrets we didn't know about?
I called Agent Torres, now retired but still a friend.
"I need your help," I said. "I need to know everyone in James's life forty years ago. Every woman he knew, worked with, or was connected to."
"Why?" Agent Torres asked.
"Because I think there's another person involved in Thomas Reed's death," I said. "Someone we don't know about yet."
Agent Torres agreed to help. Over the next week, she compiled a list of every woman connected to James Harris in the early days of Norex.
The list was long. Employees, business partners, social connections.
But one name stood out.
Diana Lawson.
My aunt. Sarah's biological mother.
"She knew James," Agent Torres said. "According to records, they met several times in the months before Thomas Reed's death."
"But Diana tried to blackmail James later," I said. "Why would she help him and then blackmail him?"
"Maybe she knew too much," Agent Torres suggested. "Maybe she helped him with Thomas and then tried to use that knowledge for money."
"And James killed her to keep her quiet," I realized.
It all made sense. Horrible, terrible sense.
Diana helped James kill Thomas Reed. Then years later, when she needed money, she tried to blackmail him with that knowledge. So James killed her too.
"We need to tell Detective Morrison," I said.
But when we contacted him, he had already figured it out.
"The voice on the recording is Diana Lawson," he confirmed. "We had a voice analyst compare it to other recordings of her. It's a match."
"So Diana helped murder Thomas Reed," I said.
"It appears so," Detective Morrison agreed. "Which means your family's connection to James Harris's crimes goes even deeper than we thought."
I called Sarah immediately.
"Diana helped James kill someone," I told her. "Your biological mother was involved in murder."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "I need time to process this."
She hung up.
I understood. Finding out your mother was a murderer was a lot to handle.
But I was worried about what this meant for our family. For Sarah. For the twins who shared Diana's DNA.
Were we all cursed by James Harris's crimes?
Would we ever escape the shadow of what he'd done?
That night, I got a text from an unknown number.
Diana Lawson wasn't the only one who helped James. There are more secrets. More people involved. And they're still out there. Still watch
ing. Still protecting what they did.
Be careful, Anita. The past has teeth.
My hands shook as I showed the message to Declan.
"Not again," he said.
"Again," I confirmed.
Because apparently, the nightmare was never really over.
It just kept finding new ways to destroy us.