Chapter 2: The Third Person
I didn’t watch the footage right away.
I finished treating Evan first. I cleaned the cut above his eyebrow, ordered a CT scan for his wrist, and made sure his lungs were clear. I did everything by the book, because that was the only way I could keep my hands from shaking.
Denise refused to leave his side. She kept the burned briefcase in her line of sight the entire time, like she was afraid someone would take it from her.
When Evan was finally stable and moved to a private room, I walked into the small conference room the detectives had commandeered. The fire marshal was already there, along with two uniformed officers.
The detective — Detective Ramirez — slid a laptop toward me.
“You should see this before we go any further,” she said.
I sat down. My hands were steady as I plugged in the flash drive.
The footage was grainy but clear enough. It showed the inside of one of the older Bennett Clinical Supply warehouses — the one we rarely used anymore. At 1:47 a.m., two figures entered through a side door.
Evan and Denise.
They were carrying red plastic containers. I didn’t need the fire marshal to tell me what was inside them.
They moved quickly, spreading liquid across the floor and along the shelves. Denise kept looking over her shoulder. Evan moved with more purpose, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
At 1:52 a.m., something changed.
A third figure appeared from the shadows near the back of the warehouse.
He moved slowly, deliberately, like someone who had been there for a while. He was older, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark jacket. He didn’t run. He simply stepped into the light of one of the security cameras and looked directly at Evan and Denise.
My breath stopped.
Even in the grainy footage, I recognized the way he held himself. The slight tilt of his head when he was angry. The way he stood with his weight on his left leg because of an old back injury.
It was my father.
Robert Bennett.
The man who had been declared dead six months ago after his car went off a bridge during a rainstorm. The man whose funeral I had arranged. The man whose will had left Bennett Clinical Supply entirely to me.
He was alive.
And he was standing inside the warehouse, staring at my husband and his sister like he had been waiting for them.
On the screen, Evan froze. Denise took a step back. My father said something — we couldn’t hear what — and then he reached into his jacket.
That was when Evan lunged at him.
The footage cut out shortly after.
I sat in silence for a long time after the video ended.
Detective Ramirez spoke first.
“We’ve already issued a BOLO for your father. If he’s alive, we need to find him before your husband’s people do.”
I didn’t answer right away.
My mind was still trying to rearrange everything I thought I knew.
My father was alive.
He had faked his death.
And the last time anyone saw him, he was confronting my husband inside a warehouse my husband was about to burn down.
I stood up slowly.
“I need to speak with my husband,” I said.
Detective Ramirez studied me.
“Doctor Bennett,” she said carefully, “you understand that anything he tells you from this point forward could be used in court. Even against you, if you’re considered an accessory after the fact.”
I looked at her.
“My father is alive,” I said. “And my husband tried to burn down the company my father spent his entire life building. I’m not interested in protecting anyone right now. I’m interested in the truth.”
I walked out of the conference room and headed toward Evan’s room.
My hands were no longer shaking.
They were steady.
Because for the first time since my father’s “death,” I finally understood why he had left everything to me instead of my husband.
May you like
He had known.
And now, I was going to find out exactly how much he had known — and what he had been willing to do to protect it.
