“I inspected his car myself,” the mechanic continued.
“The steering linkage had been partially cut.”
Every face in the room changed.
Even Calder’s.
“It wasn’t normal wear.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“It looked like somebody had taken a hacksaw to it.”
My hands tightened around the invoice.
“Then why didn’t you call the police?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“They came.”
He looked toward Calder.
“They photographed the car.”
“They took my statement.”
“And then…”
He stopped.
“They told me the damaged parts had disappeared before the vehicle reached the evidence lot.”
I stared at him.
“They disappeared?”
He nodded.
“The sheriff said there wasn’t enough left to prove sabotage.”
Lightning flashed outside.
The mechanic rubbed both hands together.
“I knew somebody was lying.”
“So why stay quiet?”
His shoulders sagged.
“Because three days later someone broke into my garage.”
“They didn’t steal money.”
“They didn’t steal tools.”
“They burned every repair record connected to Lucan’s car.”
He looked directly at Calder.
“But they missed one.”
He pointed at the invoice in my hands.
“I’d taken it home because something about that inspection bothered me.”
Calder laughed suddenly.
It sounded forced.
“This is ridiculous.”
“A piece of paper proves nothing.”
The mechanic reached into his pocket again.
“This does.”
He placed a small cassette tape on the kitchen table.
My eyes widened.
It looked almost identical to the tape Bram had brought inside the metal box.
“I found this beneath the driver’s seat while inspecting the car.”
Calder’s face drained of color.
“You were supposed to destroy that.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
The entire kitchen froze.
Even Calder realized what he had said.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Bram slowly looked up at his older brother.
“You just admitted it.”
Calder’s mouth opened.
Then closed again.
The mechanic gently pushed the cassette toward me.
“I never listened to it.”
“Why not?”
He looked at Mrs. Voss’s photograph.
“She asked me not to.”
“What did she say?”
He smiled sadly.
“She told me…”
“‘If there’s one person my son trusted enough to record his final thoughts for… it won’t be me.’”
He met my eyes.
“It’ll be the child he hoped would hear them someday.”
I reached for the cassette with shaking hands.
On the white label, written in my father’s handwriting, were six words that changed everything.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME…
PLAY THIS FIRST.
PART 5: “MY FATHER’S VOICE CAME BACK AFTER TWENTY-TWO YEARS”
No one touched the cassette.
It rested in the center of the kitchen table like it had been waiting twenty-two years for that exact moment.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
The old radio had fallen silent again.
Calder was the first to move.
He reached toward the tape.
“That belongs to my family.”
I closed my hand over it before his fingers could touch the plastic.
“It belongs to the man who recorded it.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t know what’s on there.”
“No.”
“But you do.”
For the first time since arriving, Calder looked genuinely frightened.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Afraid.
The mechanic slowly removed a small cassette player from the canvas bag hanging over his shoulder.
“I brought this.”
He placed it carefully beside the tape.
“I thought you might need it.”
My hands trembled as I turned the cassette over.
The white label had yellowed with age.
The ink had faded but remained readable.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME…
PLAY THIS FIRST.
I slid the cassette into the player.
The lid clicked shut.
My thumb hovered over the PLAY button.
Then Bram quietly spoke.
“Merrick…”
I looked at him.
“If Lucan recorded names…”
He swallowed hard.
“…mine might be one of them.”
I held his gaze.
“Then we’ll hear whatever he wanted us to hear.”
I pressed PLAY.
The tape hissed.
Static filled the kitchen.
For several long seconds there was nothing else.
Then—
A man’s nervous laugh.
“I’ve never liked talking into machines.”
My heart stopped.
I had never heard my father’s voice before.
It was younger than I imagined.
Calm.
Warm.
Almost gentle.
“If you’re listening to this, something went wrong.”
He paused.
“I hope I’m just being dramatic.”
The same words he had written in the letter.
A chair creaked behind me.
Mrs. Pike quietly wiped tears from her face.
My father continued.
“My name is Lucan Voss.”
“I am recording this on October twelfth.”
“If I make it home tonight, I’ll probably erase the whole thing.”
A faint sound interrupted him.
A door closing somewhere in the background.
He lowered his voice.
“My father has started watching me.”
“He thinks I copied company records.”
“He isn’t completely wrong.”
Another pause.
“I found payments.”
“Cash.”
“Thousands of dollars.”
“No invoices.”
“No customers.”
“Just initials.”
He took a slow breath.
“If anything happens to me…”
“I want someone to keep looking.”
The tape crackled.
Then his voice became softer.
“Elara…”
“If you ever hear this…”
“I’m sorry.”
“I should’ve left months ago.”
“I kept believing I could save my family.”
“I was wrong.”
I looked down at the kitchen table.
The room around me seemed to disappear.
“I should’ve chosen you first.”
A quiet sob escaped Mrs. Pike.
My father continued speaking.
“If our baby is born before this reaches you…”
“I hope they inherit your kindness instead of my stubbornness.”
“I hope they never spend a single day wondering whether I loved them.”
“I already do.”
My vision blurred.
Every year I had imagined asking him why he left.
Now I understood.
He never had the chance.
The recording continued.
“Tomorrow morning I’m meeting someone from the district attorney’s office.”
“I’ve hidden copies where Father will never find them.”
“If I don’t arrive…”
“Tell them to search…”
The tape suddenly screeched.
A loud burst of static exploded through the speaker.
Everyone jumped.
The recording skipped.
Then—
Silence.
I pressed STOP.
Rewind.
Play again.
The same thing happened.
Everything after the words…
“Search…”
…had been erased.
“No…”
The word escaped before I realized I had spoken.
I rewound again.
Nothing.
Only static.
The final minute of the cassette was gone.
Someone had deliberately recorded over it.
Calder folded his arms.
“There.”
He forced a smile.
“Not much help now.”
The mechanic frowned.
“No.”
“It wasn’t always like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I listened to a few seconds years ago.”
“You listened to it?”
“Only by accident.”
“I stopped as soon as I realized Lucan was speaking.”
He stared at the player.
“I remember there was another minute after that.”
“There wasn’t static.”
“There was a location.”
Every eye turned toward him.
“A location?”
He nodded slowly.
“I remember because Lucan repeated it twice.”
He closed his eyes.
“I can’t remember the address.”
“But I remember one thing.”
“What?”
“He said…”
“‘…behind the fourth press.’”
The kitchen fell silent.
Bram’s head snapped upward.
“The fourth press.”
His face lost all color.
“Oh, God…”
I looked at him.
“What is it?”
Bram whispered the answer.
“The fourth printing press wasn’t destroyed.”
“It was sealed behind a brick wall when the factory closed.”
Before anyone could speak again—
A deafening crash came from the living room.
Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.
Someone had thrown a brick through the front window.
Tied around the brick was a single sheet of paper.
I untied the string with shaking hands.
Only seven words were written across the page.
**STOP DIGGING.
YOUR FATHER SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.**
