Chapter 7: A Death Written in Blood
Chapter 7: A Death Written in Blood
The anonymous DNA report remained on Daniel's desk.
He had read it a dozen times.
The numbers never changed.
99.9987%.
Yet the memory it demanded simply did not exist.
Daniel closed the file and locked it inside his safe.
Until he knew who had created the report—and why—he would tell no one else.
There was a more urgent question.
Who killed Aaron Brooks?
Early the next morning, Marcus entered the study carrying a tablet.
"Our people found Richard Fallon."
Daniel looked up immediately.
"The harbor inspector?"
Marcus nodded.
"Not alive."
A heavy silence filled the room.
"Where?"
"A cabin outside Newport."
"Natural causes?"
Marcus slid several photographs across the desk.
"No."
Daniel examined the crime scene.
The cabin had been ransacked.
Papers scattered across the floor.
Furniture overturned.
A broken coffee mug lay beside Fallon's body.
"There was a fire," Marcus continued, "but someone called the fire department before the cabin burned completely."
Daniel narrowed his eyes.
"They wanted the evidence destroyed..."
"...but not the body."
Marcus nodded.
"Exactly."
Daniel turned to the last photograph.
Something beneath the burned desk had survived.
A metal lockbox.
"What was inside?"
Marcus placed a clear evidence bag on the table.
"Only one thing."
A small USB flash drive.
An hour later...
Daniel and Marcus sat before a secure computer in the mansion's underground office.
Marcus inserted the drive.
The screen flickered.
A single folder appeared.
Dock_7_Incident
Inside were surveillance videos.
Daniel's expression hardened.
"I thought they were erased."
"So did everyone else."
Marcus opened the first file.
The black-and-white footage showed Dock Seven on the night Aaron Brooks died.
The timestamp read:
11:42 P.M.
Aaron walked alone across the loading platform, carrying a toolbox.
He paused beside a crane.
Bent to inspect a cable.
Then...
Another man entered the frame.
His face was hidden beneath a hood.
The two exchanged words.
Aaron shook his head.
The stranger stepped closer.
Marcus froze the video.
"They're arguing."
Daniel nodded.
"Keep playing."
Aaron turned as though preparing to leave.
The hooded man reached into his coat.
Not for a weapon.
For an envelope.
Aaron opened it.
His entire body stiffened.
He looked horrified.
Then he pointed toward the harbor, shouting something the camera couldn't hear.
The stranger calmly pulled out a pistol fitted with a suppressor.
One flash.
Aaron staggered backward.
Another shot.
The third struck his chest.
The hooded man looked around.
Then...
He pushed Aaron's lifeless body over the edge of the loading platform.
A moment later, another worker entered the frame.
The killer disappeared into the darkness.
Marcus stopped the video.
Neither man spoke.
After nearly a minute, Daniel finally whispered,
"It was never an accident."
Across town...
Hannah folded tiny baby clothes inside the guest cottage.
Every movement reminded her to be careful.
The doctor's warning echoed constantly in her mind.
Rest.
No stress.
No unnecessary walking.
She tried.
But her thoughts always returned to Aaron.
To Caleb.
To questions without answers.
A soft knock interrupted her.
Martin entered carrying tea.
"You've had another letter."
Hannah frowned.
"Another one?"
Martin handed her a plain envelope.
Inside was only a single key.
Attached to it was a note.
Locker 214. Union Station.
No signature.
No explanation.
Martin watched her carefully.
"What will you do?"
Hannah looked at the key.
"I don't know."
She did.
She would go.
Even if she had to leave the mansion without telling anyone.
Back at the estate...
Daniel replayed the surveillance video again.
And again.
Then something caught his attention.
"Pause."
Marcus stopped the footage.
Daniel pointed toward the corner of the screen.
"There."
A black sedan reflected briefly in a warehouse window.
Its license plate was barely visible.
Marcus enlarged the image.
Blurry.
But readable.
"I'll run it."
Two hours later...
Marcus returned with another file.
"The sedan belonged to Whitlock Logistics."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Charles Whitlock."
"Officially, yes."
"But the vehicle disappeared from company records two days after Aaron died."
Daniel stood.
His voice became dangerously calm.
"I want every financial transaction Whitlock Logistics made that month."
Marcus hesitated.
"Charles Whitlock is Claire's father."
"I know exactly who he is."
That evening...
Daniel drove alone to St. Matthew's Hospital.
He found Dr. Abrams reviewing patient charts.
"I need a favor."
The physician looked up.
"You don't usually ask for favors."
"I need medical records."
Abrams sighed.
"If they're confidential—"
"They belong to Aaron Brooks."
The doctor frowned.
"He's deceased."
"I know."
Abrams searched the archive.
Five minutes later, he returned carrying a thin folder.
"There wasn't much."
Daniel opened it.
The autopsy report listed the official cause of death:
Blunt-force trauma from a fall.
He turned another page.
Then stopped.
"What is this?"
Dr. Abrams adjusted his glasses.
"A handwritten note."
At the bottom of the report, someone had scribbled:
Small circular wound found beneath left clavicle. Possibly pre-impact injury. Further examination recommended.
The recommendation had been crossed out with red ink.
Below it appeared another signature.
Case Closed.
Daniel slowly looked up.
"They ignored a gunshot wound."
Abrams nodded grimly.
"Someone ordered the medical examiner to stop asking questions."
Late that night...
Hannah quietly slipped out of the guest cottage.
She wore a long coat over her maternity dress and carried the mysterious key inside her pocket.
She believed everyone was asleep.
She was wrong.
Marcus watched from the shadows.
He immediately called Daniel.
"Boss."
"What is it?"
"Hannah just left the estate."
"Where is she going?"
"I don't know."
Daniel grabbed his car keys.
"Don't stop her."
"Why not?"
"Because whoever sent that key..."
He started the engine.
"...wants her to lead us somewhere."
Union Station stood nearly empty.
Most of the lockers had long been abandoned.
Hannah found Locker 214.
Her hands trembled as she inserted the key.
The lock clicked open.
Inside lay an old leather journal.
Nothing else.
She opened the first page.
The handwriting was instantly familiar.
Caleb's.
"If you're reading this, I'm either dead... or someone finally found what I hid."
Tears filled Hannah's eyes.
She turned the page.
Inside were names.
Bank account numbers.
Shipping manifests.
Hidden payments.
Every entry pointed toward a massive money-laundering operation.
At the bottom of one page, Caleb had written three words that stole the air from her lungs.
Aaron was murdered.
Before she could read another line—
A loud click echoed behind her.
She turned slowly.
Three masked men stood at the end of the corridor.
One of them raised a pistol.
"Hand over the journal."
Hannah instinctively stepped backward, protecting her unborn baby with both hands.
The leader smiled beneath his mask.
"You should have stayed a maid."
The first shot rang out.
At that exact moment, the station's front doors exploded open.
Daniel Carver stepped inside.
May you like
And for the first time in years...
The Devil of Providence looked truly angry.
