CHAPTER 3 — THE NIGHT OF THE CRASH
CHAPTER 3 — THE NIGHT OF THE CRASH
At 2:13 in the morning, Ethan was still awake.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
His mother's confession had shattered everything he thought he knew.
His father had not died in an accident.
Ava's crash had not been an accident.
And somewhere between those two events was a truth Margaret had spent years burying.
Ethan sat at his desk with three folders spread before him.
The first contained his father's death records.
The second contained Ava's accident report.
The third contained every medical document he could obtain from the night Ava was injured.
He opened the first page.
INCIDENT: VEHICLE COLLISION
DATE: OCTOBER 17
TIME: 11:41 P.M.
LOCATION: BLACKWOOD ROAD
DRIVER: AVA HALE
CONDITION: CRITICAL
SECOND VEHICLE: UNKNOWN
Ethan stopped.
Unknown.
That was the first problem.
Ava's car had been found nearly forty feet from the road.
The official report stated she had lost control while driving in heavy rain.
But the weather report from that night said something different.
No rain.
The road had been dry.
Ethan opened the weather archive.
Clear skies.
Temperature: 54 degrees.
Visibility: excellent.
He stared at the report.
“Then why did they write rain?”
He turned to the next page.
The answer wasn't there.
But another inconsistency was.
The police report said the first officer arrived at 11:58.
The hospital record said Ava arrived at 12:03.
Five minutes.
That part made sense.
But the photograph taken at the scene had a timestamp of 11:42.
Sixteen minutes before the officer supposedly arrived.
Ethan leaned back.
Someone had photographed the wreck before the police.
Someone who shouldn't have been there.
He opened the image.
Ava's car was crushed against a tree.
The driver's side door was open.
The windshield was shattered.
The headlights were still on.
And near the rear bumper was a second set of tire marks.
Ethan zoomed in.
The marks weren't from Ava's vehicle.
They came from another car.
A second vehicle had been there.
But the official report contained no mention of it.
Ethan's pulse quickened.
He opened the police photographs one by one.
The first showed the front of Ava's car.
The second showed the driver's side.
The third showed the road.
Then the fourth.
Ethan stopped.
There was something beneath the driver's seat.
A dark rectangular object.
He enlarged it.
A black leather case.
He checked the official evidence inventory.
There was no black case.
“What happened to it?”
He opened the archived evidence log.
Nothing.
He searched again.
Still nothing.
Someone had removed it before the evidence was logged.
At 7:30 the next morning, Ethan arrived at the county archives.
The building smelled of dust and old paper.
A woman behind the counter looked at his request.
“Blackwood Road collision?”
“Yes.”
“That's an old file.”
“I know.”
“Are you family?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
“Immediate family?”
“My wife was the victim.”
The woman nodded.
“I'll need identification.”
He handed it over.
Ten minutes later, she returned with a cardboard box.
“This is everything we have.”
Ethan carried it to a table.
“Everything?”
She hesitated.
“Everything that's available.”
He caught the hesitation.
“What does that mean?”
She looked toward the security desk.
“Some files were transferred.”
“To where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who authorized the transfer?”
She lowered her voice.
“Your family attorney.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Which attorney?”
She checked the record.
“Jonathan Pierce.”
Ethan knew the name.
His mother's attorney.
The same man who had prepared Ava's transfer documents.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
“Can I see the transfer record?”
She hesitated.
Then handed it over.
There it was.
REQUESTED BY: MARGARET HALE
AUTHORIZED BY: JONATHAN PIERCE
DATE: FOUR DAYS AFTER ACCIDENT
Ethan stared at the date.
Four days.
His wife had been unconscious.
His father was already dead.
And his mother had been removing evidence.
He photographed the page.
Then opened the box.
Inside were police statements.
Medical reports.
Photographs.
A damaged vehicle inventory.
And a handwritten note.
Ethan picked it up.
The handwriting belonged to the investigating officer.
Possible evidence missing from scene.
He read the next line.
Instruction received from supervisor to close investigation as single-vehicle collision.
Ethan's heart began pounding.
He found the officer's name.
Detective Samuel Brooks.
Then a second name.
The supervisor.
Chief Raymond Mercer.
Ethan recognized that name too.
Mercer had attended his father's funeral.
He had stood beside Margaret.
He had offered condolences.
He had told Ethan:
“Your father was a good man.”
Ethan suddenly wondered how much of that had been a lie.
He drove to Mercer's old address.
The house was empty.
A neighbor told him Mercer had retired five years earlier.
“Do you know where he went?”
“Florida, I think.”
Ethan thanked her.
Then stopped.
“Did anyone visit him after he retired?”
The woman thought.
“Sometimes a woman came.”
“What woman?”
“Blonde. Elegant. Expensive car.”
“Do you know her name?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see her clearly?”
The neighbor nodded.
“Once.”
Ethan showed her a photograph of Margaret.
Her face changed.
“That woman.”
Ethan's stomach dropped.
“She visited Mercer?”
“Several times.”
“When?”
“Mostly late at night.”
“How long after the accident?”
The woman thought.
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Maybe three.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Three years.
The same number.
He returned to the archive.
This time he asked for Detective Brooks.
The archivist searched.
Then frowned.
“Detective Brooks died.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
Ethan looked at the file.
“Was his death investigated?”
“I don't know.”
He thanked her.
Then walked outside.
His phone rang.
Ava.
He answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice was soft.
“Where are you?”
“I'm investigating the crash.”
Silence.
“Ethan…”
“I found the police report.”
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because I remember something.”
“What?”
Ava took a breath.
“I wasn't driving alone.”
Ethan stopped walking.
“What?”
“There was someone in the passenger seat.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you were alone.”
“I thought I was.”
“What changed?”
“I had a dream last night.”
“What did you see?”
Ava whispered:
“Someone was holding my hand.”
Ethan's heart tightened.
“Who?”
“I couldn't see their face.”
“What else?”
“There was blood.”
“Yours?”
“No.”
Ethan stopped.
“What do you mean?”
Ava began crying.
“It was on the person's sleeve.”
That afternoon, Ethan visited the hospital's medical archives.
He requested Ava's original emergency records.
The administrator looked uncomfortable.
“These files are restricted.”
“I am her husband.”
“I understand.”
“I need the original intake report.”
She disappeared into another room.
When she returned, she carried a thin folder.
“This is all we have.”
Ethan opened it.
The first page was routine.
Patient arrival.
Blood pressure.
Heart rate.
Injuries.
Then he saw something handwritten in the margin.
Patient repeatedly attempting to say one word.
Ethan read the next line.
Possible name: Margaret.
He froze.
Ava had been unconscious.
Barely alive.
Yet she had tried to say Margaret's name.
Ethan continued.
The next note said:
Patient became distressed when asked about collision. Sedated upon family request.
Family request.
Who?
He turned the page.
There it was.
REQUEST AUTHORIZED BY: MARGARET HALE
Ethan's hand began shaking.
His mother had arrived at the hospital.
Before he knew Ava was awake.
Before the police had completed their report.
And she had requested sedation.
Again.
The same pattern.
Medication.
Confusion.
Silence.
Control.
That night Ethan confronted Margaret.
She was sitting in the dining room.
A glass of wine beside her.
“You've been busy.”
Ethan stood across from her.
“Did Ava have someone in the car?”
Margaret's hand stopped.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because the evidence says there was another vehicle.”
She smiled faintly.
“Evidence?”
“Yes.”
“You've been digging.”
“I found the missing files.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Ethan…”
“I found the photograph.”
Silence.
“I found the tire tracks.”
Margaret looked away.
“I found the hospital record.”
Still nothing.
“And I found the note saying Ava tried to say your name.”
Margaret's face went pale.
Ethan stepped closer.
“What happened that night?”
“I told you.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“You lied.”
Margaret stood.
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
She stared at him.
“You think your wife is innocent.”
“She is.”
“You don't know that.”
“Then tell me what she did.”
Margaret said nothing.
“Tell me.”
“I was protecting you.”
“From Ava?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father trusted the wrong person.”
Ethan's face hardened.
“My father?”
Margaret nodded.
“He discovered something.”
“What?”
“He discovered that Ava's family had been hiding money.”
Ethan stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
“What happened to my father?”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“He found out that someone inside his company was stealing millions.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the door.
“Your father was going to expose them.”
“Who?”
Margaret whispered:
“Jonathan Pierce.”
Ethan froze.
His mother's attorney.
The man who had removed the accident records.
The man who had prepared Ava's fraudulent documents.
The man who had been involved from the beginning.
“Why would he kill my father?”
Margaret shook her head.
“He didn't.”
Ethan stared.
“Then who did?”
Margaret's voice broke.
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I know what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your father met someone that night.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
“Where?”
“At Blackwood Road.”
Ethan's blood ran cold.
The same road.
The same night.
He whispered:
“You were there.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew he was going to confront someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Ethan shook his head.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then why were you at Ava's crash?”
Margaret said nothing.
Ethan stepped closer.
“You were there before the police.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I was trying to help.”
“Then why did you remove the evidence?”
“I didn't.”
“The files were transferred under your name.”
“I didn't order that.”
“Who did?”
Margaret's face changed.
For a moment, Ethan saw genuine fear.
Then she whispered:
“Jonathan.”
Ethan's phone vibrated.
A message.
From an unknown number.
STOP DIGGING INTO BLACKWOOD ROAD.
A second message arrived.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE THERE BY ACCIDENT.
Then a third.
AVA WASN'T THE INTENDED VICTIM.
Ethan stared at the screen.
His fingers went cold.
He typed:
Who are you?
The reply came immediately.
Someone who watched your father die.
Ethan's heart stopped.
Another message appeared.
And someone who knows why Ava survived.
He called the number.
It was disconnected.
Ethan looked toward Margaret.
She was crying silently.
“Mom?”
She didn't answer.
He walked toward her.
“Who sent that?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Do you know why Ava survived?”
Margaret whispered:
“Yes.”
Ethan's chest tightened.
“Why?”
Margaret looked toward the dark window.
“Because someone else was supposed to die that night.”
Ethan froze.
“Who?”
Margaret turned toward him.
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
The entire house plunged into darkness.
Ava's voice suddenly came through Ethan's phone.
“Ethan?”
He answered.
“Ava?”
“I heard something.”
“What?”
“A car.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Lock the doors.”
“I already did.”
Then Ava whispered:
“Ethan…”
“What?”
“I can see someone outside.”
Ethan's blood ran cold.
“Don't go near the window.”
“I can't see his face.”
“Stay away from the window.”
“He's wearing a black coat.”
Ethan looked at Margaret.
His mother was staring at the same window.
Then she whispered:
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
Margaret's face had gone completely white.
“That man died three years ago.”
Ethan turned toward the window.
A shadow stood outside.
Still.
Watching.
Then his phone received one final message.
Ask your mother what happened at 11:42.
Ethan looked at Margaret.
“Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Mom.”
“I can't.”
“Tell me!”
Margaret broke down.
And through her tears, she finally said:
“At 11:42…”
She swallowed.
“…your father was still alive.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
May you like
“And I watched someone put him into the second car.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
