Daniel did not recognize his brother at first.
The photograph was nearly three decades old. Paul Mercer was barely twenty, his hair longer than Daniel had ever remembered it, his face narrow with youth. Blood covered one side of his shirt. A bruise had already begun swelling beneath his left eye.
But there was no mistaking him once Daniel looked closely.
"That's Paul."
His voice sounded distant.
Hart placed the photograph flat on the interview-room table.
"How old would he have been?"
"Twenty."
"And you?"
"Eleven."
Daniel sat down.
Brian remained standing near the wall, staring at the image of his parents beside Paul.
The photograph had been taken the morning after Karen's death. Richard stood to Paul's right. Patricia stood several feet away with her arms folded.
Nobody looked happy.
"Where was your family living then?" Hart asked Daniel.
"Cedar County."
"Did Paul know the Brooks family?"
"Not that I knew."
"Warren?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Our father did some construction work around the courthouse. That's the only connection I can think of."
"What was his name?"
"Michael Mercer."
Hart wrote it down.
"Alive?"
"No. He died twelve years ago."
"Occupation?"
"Carpenter. General contractor. Whatever paid."
Daniel kept looking at the photograph.
"I remember Paul disappearing for a few days around then."
Hart stopped writing.
"How many?"
"I don't know. Two, maybe three."
"What explanation did your parents give?"
Daniel frowned as he searched his memory.
"They said he'd gone camping."
"Did he come home injured?"
A long pause.
"Yes."
Daniel's face changed.
"I remember Mom putting something on his eye."
"What did Paul tell you?"
"That he fell."
Hart looked at the photograph again.
"Maybe he did."
Daniel didn't seem convinced.
Robert Warren was being held separately while investigators sorted through the growing number of allegations. His attorney had instructed him to answer nothing.
Paul Mercer was still missing.
His last confirmed appearance remained the attempted entry into Samuel's hospital floor.
Hart ordered a statewide alert.
Then he did something Daniel clearly hated.
He treated him like a possible source of evidence rather than my attorney.
Daniel surrendered old family photographs, addresses, names, and access to his father's surviving records.
"I'm stepping away from Angela's case until this is resolved," he told me afterward.
"You don't have to."
"I do."
"Daniel, nobody thinks you did anything."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
He looked at me.
For months he'd been the person telling me not to confuse belief with proof.
Now I returned the lesson.
"I don't have evidence you did anything."
A tired smile touched his face.
"Fair."
Another attorney from Daniel's firm temporarily took over my divorce matter, though the divorce itself remained suspended.
That afternoon, Hart interviewed Patricia again.
This time Brian attended.
I did not.
He told me afterward what happened.
Hart placed the photograph of Paul on the table.
Patricia looked at it and said, "I wondered when you'd find him."
Brian nearly walked out.
"You knew Paul Mercer?"
"I knew of him."
"Stop doing that."
Patricia looked at her son.
"Doing what?"
"Giving the smallest possible truth and waiting until someone proves the rest."
Her expression tightened.
Brian pushed the photograph toward her.
"Why was he at Lake Aaron?"
Patricia looked toward her attorney.
The attorney advised silence.
Patricia ignored him.
"Paul worked for Warren."
"At twenty?"
"Not officially."
"What does that mean?"
"Warren paid young men to do things he didn't want connected to himself."
Hart asked, "What things?"
"Follow people. Deliver envelopes. Frighten tenants. Move documents."
"Sabotage cars?"
Patricia went still.
Brian noticed.
"So that's it."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Hart leaned forward.
"Was Paul involved in Karen's crash?"
"I don't know."
"Why was he bleeding the next morning?"
Patricia rubbed her thumb across the edge of the table.
"Richard found him near the cabin."
"Doing what?"
"Trying to burn it."
Brian stared.
"The cabin?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Warren thought Karen had left documents there."
"Had she?"
"No."
"What happened?"
Patricia said Richard returned from the crash site shortly after one in the morning. He was frantic. He told her Karen's car had been forced off the road.
Richard wanted to call police.
Patricia stopped him.
Brian's face hardened.
"Of course you did."
"I was afraid."
"For yourself."
"For all of us."
"There's always an 'all of us' when you mean yourself."
Patricia flinched.
She said Richard finally agreed to wait until daylight.
They remained at the cabin.
Shortly before dawn, Richard smelled smoke.
A small fire had started near the rear porch.
He ran outside and found Paul carrying a gasoline can.
"They fought," Patricia said.
"That's why Paul was injured?"
"Richard hit him."
"Then?"
"Paul told him Warren had sent him."
"To burn the cabin?"
"Yes."
Hart asked, "Why photograph him?"
"Richard kept a camera there."
"He took the picture as insurance?"
Patricia nodded.
"Richard told Paul he could go to prison for arson and whatever happened to Karen."
"Did Paul admit involvement in the crash?"
"No."
"What did he say?"
"That he hadn't been driving."
Hart stopped.
"Not driving what?"
Patricia looked toward the one-way glass.
"The black Lincoln."
Brian slowly leaned back.
"So Paul knew about the car."
"Yes."
"Who was driving?"
"He wouldn't say."
Hart asked, "What did Richard do with Paul?"
"Let him go."
Brian laughed bitterly.
"Dad caught a man trying to burn evidence after the woman he loved died, and he let him walk."
"Paul offered information."
"What information?"
Patricia hesitated.
"He said Warren wasn't the person Richard needed to fear most."
"Who was?"
"He wouldn't tell us."
Brian stared at her.
"You took twenty-five thousand dollars from Warren six days later."
Patricia's face closed.
"Why?"
Her attorney interrupted.
She raised one hand.
"No. He deserves this."
Brian said nothing.
Patricia looked directly at him.
"Warren paid me to convince Richard that Karen's death was an accident."
Brian's disgust was immediate.
"You took it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted the entire thing finished."
"A woman was dead."
"A woman who had slept with my husband."
"And that made twenty-five thousand dollars enough?"
Patricia slammed her palm on the table.
"You weren't there."
"No. I was seventeen while every adult around me decided lying was easier than being decent."
Patricia's anger disappeared.
Brian stood.
"Did Dad know you took it?"
"Not then."
"When did he find out?"
"Years later."
"Is that why he stopped trusting you?"
Patricia looked away.
Brian had his answer.
Hart returned to Paul.
"Where did he go after Richard released him?"
"I don't know."
"Did you see him again?"
"Once."
"When?"
"At Richard's funeral."
Brian froze.
"I saw Samuel there."
"So did Paul."
"I don't remember him."
"He stayed in a car."
"With Warren?"
"No."
"Who?"
Patricia shook her head.
"I couldn't see."
Hart ended the interview shortly afterward.
While police worked through old records, I went to see Melissa.
Ethan had been released from the hospital but remained under observation with his mother. He sat at the kitchen table sorting baseball cards into plastic sleeves.
He looked up when I entered.
"You're Angela."
I stopped.
"Yes."
"Samuel showed me pictures."
That sentence unsettled me.
"What did he tell you?"
"That you were the person everybody blamed."
Melissa appeared behind him.
"Ethan."
"It's okay," I said.
He slid a card carefully into a sleeve.
"Samuel said grown-ups blame the easiest person first."
I almost laughed at the accuracy.
"He was right about that."
Ethan looked at me.
"Was he bad?"
There was no simple answer.
"He did bad things."
"Mom says that."
"Your mom is right."
"He also made pancakes."
Melissa closed her eyes.
Trauma was untidy.
Samuel could manipulate a child and still make him breakfast.
I sat across from Ethan.
"Can I ask you something?"
He nodded.
"When Samuel was scared at the service station, did he say who he saw?"
"No."
"Did you?"
Ethan thought.
"There was a white SUV."
"Anything special about it?"
"One back light was broken."
Melissa looked at me.
Hart's teams had been searching for vehicles associated with Warren and Paul.
I called immediately.
The detail seemed minor.
It wasn't.
Traffic cameras near the service station had captured a white SUV with a damaged left taillight.
The registration belonged to Cynthia Warren.
Robert Warren's daughter.
The same notary whose seal appeared on the forged affidavit carrying Brian's signature.
Cynthia had told police she hadn't seen her father in several weeks.
Camera footage placed her vehicle within minutes of Samuel and Ethan.
Hart obtained a warrant.
Cynthia's home was empty.
Her title office was not.
Inside a locked filing cabinet, investigators found copies of deeds tied to Richard's trust.
Some were recent.
Several purported to transfer properties from Brian's companies.
Brian had never signed them.
Another set of forged signatures.
"Who were the properties being transferred to?" I asked Hart.
"Different companies."
"Owned by?"
"We're tracing them."
The first company led to another.
Then another.
Eventually all roads converged.
A holding company called Meridian Heritage Group.
Its registered agent was Paul Mercer.
Daniel sat down when Hart told him.
"My brother owns Richard's properties?"
"Not yet. The transfers haven't all been recorded."
"Why?"
"Brian doesn't officially control the trust until his fortieth birthday."
"So they prepared everything in advance."
"Looks that way."
The scheme suddenly acquired a deadline.
Brian's birthday was less than a month away.
Once the trust transferred control, forged documents could be used to strip assets from him almost immediately.
The sixty-one thousand dollars had not been the objective.
It had been preparation.
If I appeared financially dishonest, Brian's divorce lawyers could argue I had manipulated or concealed marital assets.
If Brian appeared involved in fraudulent withdrawals, his credibility could be destroyed too.
Our marriage was being destabilized while someone positioned themselves around the inheritance.
"Why involve Melissa?" I asked.
Hart looked at the board his team had assembled.
"Because Patricia needed money for Samuel."
"That's what Patricia says."
"You don't believe her?"
"I believe she stole the money. I'm not sure that explains why Warren's people benefited."
Hart studied me.
"Go on."
"If Samuel was Warren's enemy, why did Patricia's attempt to pay Samuel create evidence that made Brian and me look corrupt?"
Daniel, sitting nearby, lifted his head.
"Because maybe Patricia wasn't only paying Samuel."
Hart looked at him.
Daniel continued.
"Maybe someone told her how to steal the money."
The forged identification.
Signature samples.
Branch selection.
Account movements.
Patricia had admitted organizing those things.
But had she invented the plan herself?
Hart returned to her interview.
This time he asked one question.
"Who told you to use Angela?"
Patricia's resistance lasted twelve minutes.
Then she gave them a name.
"Cynthia Warren."
The room went silent.
Patricia said she contacted Cynthia months earlier seeking help accessing Richard's hidden assets to pay Samuel.
Cynthia offered another solution.
Brian and Angela's savings.
"She said we could make it look like Angela took it," Patricia whispered.
Brian stared at her.
"And you agreed."
"I was desperate."
"You keep calling your choices desperation."
Patricia began crying.
"I thought Ethan would come home."
Brian didn't comfort her.
Hart asked, "Where is Cynthia?"
"I don't know."
"Where is Paul?"
"I don't know."
"Who shot Samuel?"
"I don't know."
Then Hart's phone rang.
An officer had located Cynthia's SUV.
Abandoned beside a warehouse owned by Meridian Heritage Group.
The driver's door was open.
Blood marked the seat.
Inside the warehouse, police found Cynthia.
Alive.
Bound to a chair.
Beside her lay Paul Mercer.
He wasn't bound.
He was holding a handgun.
And when officers ordered him to drop it, Paul raised both hands and said the sentence that turned the investigation again.
"Don't shoot. Cynthia called me because her father is trying to kill us both."
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Cynthia Warren Accused Her Own Father of Ordering Karen’s Death, but Paul’s Account Revealed Richard Had Hidden One Final Witness
Sixty-One Thousand Dollars Vanished From Our Savings, and My Husband Decided the Only Possible Thief Was Me
Part 13 of 20
