Chapter 4 - The Night Before Rebecca DiedI had spent three years believing I knew the final hours of my sister's life.
Rebecca finished her shift.
She drove toward home.
A commercial truck struck her car.
The accident report described poor visibility, freezing temperatures, and a driver who failed to maintain control.
The investigating officers found no evidence of intentional wrongdoing.
I had never questioned those conclusions.
Until Margaret told me Adrian had visited the warehouse shortly before Rebecca was expected to arrive.
I sat at my kitchen table, staring at a photograph of my sister.
She was laughing in the picture.
Her brown hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and she wore the ridiculous yellow sweater I had given her for Christmas.
Rebecca had always been the brave one.
I was careful.
She was fearless.
When we were children, she would climb the tallest trees while I stood below begging her to come down.
She believed every problem could be solved if somebody was willing to ask uncomfortable questions.
And perhaps that was why she had gone looking through company records.
Because I had stopped asking questions about my husband.
Margaret arranged a meeting with a retired investigator named Daniel Mercer.
He had spent twenty-seven years with the Virginia State Police before opening a private investigative practice.
He was careful not to promise anything.
“A meeting at a warehouse does not establish a connection to a later traffic accident,” he told me.
“I understand.”
“And we should not treat suspicion as evidence.”
“I understand that too.”
He studied me.
“Then tell me what you want.”
I took a breath.
“I want to know whether Rebecca actually met Adrian that night. And I want to know why nobody told me she had been investigating company finances.”
Daniel nodded.
“That is something we can examine.”
He began with the access logs.
Rebecca's credential had registered at the warehouse entrance at 10:47 p.m.
Adrian's had registered at 10:09.
Thomas Vail entered at 10:22.
Adrian left at 11:16.
Thomas left eleven minutes later.
Rebecca's credential never registered an exit.
I stared at the screen.
“What does that mean?”
“Not necessarily anything sinister,” Daniel replied. “Credentials can fail to register, or people can leave through other doors.”
“Was there another entrance?”
“Several.”
“Security cameras?”
“We're checking retention and archive records.”
The warehouse had undergone renovations after Rebecca's death.
Most routine footage had long since been overwritten.
But archived backups sometimes survived longer than expected.
Daniel requested preservation of any remaining material through the company's counsel.
Then he examined Rebecca's phone records.
Her last outgoing call had been to me.
At 11:38 p.m.
I remembered that call.
I had been asleep.
My phone was on silent.
Rebecca left no voicemail.
I didn't discover the missed call until the following morning.
By then, she was dead.
For three years, I had wondered whether she needed help.
Now that question felt unbearable.
Daniel noticed my expression.
“Elizabeth, we don't know why she called.”
“I know.”
“She may simply have wanted to talk.”
I nodded.
But the guilt remained.
The following day, Adrian's attorneys filed an emergency motion seeking temporary exclusive use of our former marital residence and restrictions on certain financial accounts.
Catherine called me immediately.
“They're trying to frame the corporate dispute as financial instability caused by you.”
“Can they do that?”
“They can make allegations. They have to support them.”
“What about the boys?”
“Adrian is also seeking a temporary parenting schedule that would give him most school nights.”
I stared across the room, where Samuel's science project covered half the dining table.
“He told the judge I couldn't support them.”
“We'll respond with authenticated financial information and evidence of the children's current routines.”
I took a breath.
“Whatever happens, I don't want the boys dragged through this.”
“Neither do I.”
Catherine paused.
“Elizabeth, I need you to answer something honestly.”
“Of course.”
“Has Adrian ever threatened to take the children because you challenged him financially?”
I thought about the messages.
The comments.
The way he had told Owen I would have to leave because I couldn't afford our house.
“Yes.”
“Save those communications.”
“I have.”
“Good. Do not argue with him over text.”
That evening, Adrian sent another message.
You think you're protecting the boys, but you're destroying their future.
I forwarded it to Catherine.
Then I put my phone away and helped Owen finish his math homework.
Three days later, Daniel Mercer called.
“I found something.”
I stepped outside.
“What?”
“A former security contractor retained an archived incident report from the warehouse.”
“An incident report?”
“There was an access-control malfunction that night. A technician documented the problem and made a local backup of the relevant security-camera segment.”
My heart began pounding.
“Does the video still exist?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen it?”
“A copy has been provided to the company's counsel under a preservation agreement. I reviewed the segment with authorization.”
I closed my eyes.
“Was Rebecca there?”
“Yes.”
“Was Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Did they speak?”
Daniel hesitated.
“The cameras had no audio.”
“Then what happened?”
He took a breath.
“Rebecca entered a conference room. Adrian and Thomas followed her. About twenty minutes later, Thomas came out carrying a document box.”
“And Rebecca?”
“She emerged several minutes after that.”
I gripped the phone.
“Was she hurt?”
“I didn't see any indication of physical injury.”
Relief passed through me.
Then Daniel continued.
“But there's something else you should know.”
“What?”
“Rebecca wasn't alone when she left the warehouse.”
I froze.
“Who was with her?”
May you like
Daniel answered slowly.
“Paige Ellison.”
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