My father's name had never appeared in any of the stories my mother told me.
Not once.
She had spoken about Daniel.
Thomas.
Evelyn.
Harvest.
But my father had always been separate from that world.
Or so I believed.
Thomas lowered his weapon slightly.
“Your father was the one who found the ledger.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My father is dead.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
Ruiz stepped between us.
“Who is he?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Ask Celia.”
I stared at him.
Then the memory came.
My father had died when I was young.
A heart attack, according to the family.
No suspicious circumstances.
No insurance dispute.
No investigation.
Just a death that had always felt too ordinary.
But my mother had changed after it.
She became careful.
Quiet.
Afraid.
I remembered one sentence she had said when I was twelve.
Your father died before he could tell you what he knew.
I had thought she meant grief.
She had meant information.
“What was my father's name in Harvest?”
Thomas answered.
“Richard Mercer.”
My heart stopped.
Richard Sloan.
R.S.
The man who had been arrested after entering my home.
The disposable operative.
The man who claimed he didn't know who ran Harvest.
I looked at Thomas.
“You're saying Richard Sloan was my father?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Not Richard Sloan.”
“Then who?”
“Richard Mercer.”
Ruiz's face changed.
“The man who died?”
“Yes.”
I felt the room tilt.
Thomas continued.
“Daniel Mercer was an identity. Richard Mercer used it after Daniel died.”
I stared at Vaughn.
“Then my father was Daniel?”
Vaughn shook his head.
“No.”
Thomas said quietly, “Your father was the man who became Daniel.”
Everything inside me seemed to collapse.
My father had been part of Harvest.
My mother had known.
And she had spent the rest of her life protecting me from the truth.
“Why did he die?”
“He didn't.”
I looked at Thomas.
“What?”
“He disappeared.”
“Then who did my mother bury?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Someone Daniel had prepared.”
The same method.
The same substitution.
The same fake death.
Harvest had perfected disappearing people by replacing them with bodies no one would question.
Ruiz suddenly looked at the ledger.
“There are dates here.”
He turned several pages.
“Celia, look.”
A sequence of deaths appeared.
Each one was followed by a transfer.
Money moved from insurance companies to shell corporations.
Then to Northgate.
Then into private trusts.
But one final transfer was different.
It had been made into an account belonging to Celia Mercer.
My account.
I recoiled.
“I never received that.”
“You did,” Thomas said.
“No.”
“You just didn't know it.”
The money had been hidden inside the trust my mother established for my children.
The orchard.
The same money Vaughn had described as being “for our future.”
My stomach turned.
“Was that what you were trying to take?”
Vaughn looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel believed the money proved you had the ledger.”
Thomas laughed.
“Daniel believed too many things.”
“Where is he?” Ruiz demanded.
Thomas looked toward the trees.
“Closer.”
A gunshot cracked through the morning.
Thomas jerked backward.
Vaughn shoved me down.
Ruiz fired toward the trees.
The officers scattered.
Another shot struck the stone well.
Then silence.
When we looked up, Thomas was gone.
Only blood remained on the ground.
“Was he hit?” Denise asked.
Ruiz checked the blood.
“Yes.”
“But he's gone.”
We searched the property.
Nothing.
Then Emmett's voice came through my phone.
“Mom?”
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“With Mrs. Weaver.”
“Stay there.”
He began crying.
“Someone called the house.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“He said he was Grandpa.”
I froze.
My father had been dead.
At least according to everything I had ever known.
Ruiz heard the call.
“Celia, hang up.”
But Emmett spoke again.
“He said his name was Richard.”
The call ended.
I couldn't move.
Mrs. Weaver called seconds later.
I answered.
“Celia,” she whispered. “He's here.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
The line went dead.
We drove back to the house.
The front door was open.
No sign of forced entry.
No broken glass.
Nothing disturbed.
That was worse.
Mrs. Weaver was sitting in the living room.
June was beside her.
Emmett stood near the window.
Everyone was alive.
But the wall behind them had changed.
Someone had written a message in black marker.
You were supposed to die before you learned my name.
Underneath was another sentence.
Now I need the seventh page.
I looked at the children.
Then at Mrs. Weaver.
Then at the ledger.
There was no question anymore.
Someone had been inside our lives for years.
Someone who knew every secret.
Someone who knew my mother.
Someone who knew Vaughn.
Someone who knew where the ledger was.
And someone who had just proven he could reach my children whenever he wanted.
Ruiz took the ledger.
“We move everyone now.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“If we run, we lose the advantage.”
“What advantage?”
I held up the seventh page.
“The fact that he thinks this is the only copy.”
Denise understood immediately.
“You want to make a fake ledger.”
“I want him to believe we have given him what he wants.”
Vaughn looked at me.
“You're going to use yourself as bait.”
“No.”
I looked toward the children.
“For the first time, I'm going to make him think I'm exactly where he expects me to be.”
Vaughn's expression hardened.
“Celia, don't.”
I met his eyes.
“You taught me how Harvest thinks.”
He looked away.
“Then help me destroy it.”
