Everything had been arranged deliberately.
The boxes were labeled by year.
The duffel bags were zipped closed.
The laptop rested on a folded blanket.
A small desk had been placed against the back wall, with a notebook and pen positioned neatly on top.
Bear stepped inside.
He felt as though he had walked into a room his brother had prepared for a conversation that never happened.
Mason picked up the notebook.
“There's writing in here.”
Bear opened the nearest box.
The first folder contained hospital paperwork.
The second contained insurance forms.
The third contained copies of death certificates.
Bear froze.
He pulled out one document.
Then another.
Then another.
There were at least twenty certificates, all belonging to different people.
Different names.
Different dates.
Different counties.
Some were connected to hospitals.
Others appeared to involve private medical facilities.
Several carried the name of Northway Protective Services somewhere in the attached records.
Mason took one of the folders.
“What the hell is this?”
Bear examined the paperwork.
“I don't know.”
He found another stack of documents.
These included transportation records, invoices, contracts, and lists of patient transfers. Several entries appeared to refer to individuals who had been admitted under temporary identities.
The paperwork was complicated, but the pattern became clearer as Bear moved through it.
A patient would be recorded at one facility.
A transport company would record moving that patient to another location.
A separate document would later list the patient as deceased.
In some cases, the dates did not match.
In others, the signatures appeared inconsistent.
Bear stared at the stack.
“How many people?”
Mason shook his head.
“Could be dozens. Could be more.”
Bear opened a folder marked ST. VINCENT.
Inside was Michael's original accident report.
The first page described a motorcycle crash near a ravine in western Pennsylvania.
The motorcycle had been found damaged.
There was no body at the scene.
A private emergency transport service had taken an injured rider to a hospital.
The patient had been admitted under a temporary identity because of the severity of his injuries.
The report stated that the rider had died approximately forty-eight hours later.
The body had been released to a private funeral company.
Bear read the report slowly.
He had never been shown this document.
The death certificate he received had contained far less information.
It had simply stated that Michael Callahan had died following complications from an accident.
Bear looked at the transport records.
A driver's name appeared on one of the pages.
Daniel Voss.
Mason leaned over his shoulder.
“That's our SUV driver.”
Bear looked up.
“You're sure?”
Mason showed him the photograph of the vehicle registration.
The company record listed Daniel Voss as a Northway employee.
Bear felt his pulse quicken.
The same man who had transported Michael six years earlier was now driving the vehicle that had followed Lily.
He placed the report on the desk.
“Where's the laptop?”
Mason lifted it.
“Here.”
The screen turned on, but it required a password.
Bear tried Michael's birthday.
Incorrect.
He tried their mother's birthday.
Incorrect.
Mason suggested the name of their father's garage.
Incorrect.
Bear stared at the screen.
Then he remembered something.
Michael had always used a phrase from their childhood whenever he wanted to remind Bear that family mattered more than pride.
He typed the words.
The laptop unlocked.
Mason looked at him.
“How did you know?”
Bear didn't answer.
A folder appeared on the desktop.
Its name was simple.
READ FIRST.
Inside was a document.
Bear opened it.
The first line read:
Grant, if you're reading this, I am sorry.
Bear sat down.
He began to read.
I know you probably hate me. You have every right to.
I should have called you. I should have found a way to explain what happened. I should have trusted you enough to let you make your own decisions.
But after the accident, I discovered that someone had access to records connected to our family. Someone knew where I was, who I spoke to, and what I was investigating.
I believed that person was Harold.
I don't know whether I was right.
I know what I found, and I know what it cost me.
If you are reading this, I have either failed to reach you or decided that the risk of contacting you is too great.
There is one thing I need you to understand.
I did not stay away because I stopped loving you.
Bear stopped reading.
His eyes burned.
Mason stood quietly beside him.
Bear continued.
I stayed away because I believed that anyone who knew you mattered to me would become a target.
I told myself that keeping you out of the truth would keep you safe.
I know now that it also took six years of your life away from you.
I am sorry.
Bear leaned back in the chair.
He had imagined a thousand explanations for Michael's disappearance.
He had imagined betrayal.
He had imagined shame.
He had imagined that his brother had simply decided to leave the family behind.
He had never imagined that Michael might have spent six years believing that staying away was the only way to protect him.
The document continued.
If Lily finds you, please don't blame her for any of this.
She is brave, but she is still a child.
If Sarah is missing, look for the transport records first.
If the death certificate has my name on it, remember that I never gave up.
And if you see the man who drove the ambulance, ask him why he kept my watch.
Bear looked up.
“His watch?”
Mason turned to the accident report.
The list of personal belongings included a wristwatch.
The same watch that had been placed inside the box Bear received six years earlier.
Bear remembered it clearly.
A silver watch with a scratched face, given to Michael by their father when he turned eighteen.
Bear had held it in his hand at the kitchen table and cried until he couldn't breathe.
Now he wondered whether the watch he had buried with his grief had ever belonged to his brother at all.
He closed the document.
“We find Voss.”
Mason nodded.
“And Sarah.”
“And Sarah.”
Bear shut the laptop and placed it in the duffel bag.