Chapter 8 - THE BAITThe FBI wanted to use me as bait.
Not the neighborhood.
Only our house.
I knew because across the street, Mrs. Cooper’s porch light remained glowing.
Dad was upstairs.
Ethan asleep.
Two officers were parked half a block away.
Security had made me feel protected.
That illusion lasted three seconds.
Then my phone lost Wi-Fi.
The backup alarm system didn’t activate.
Someone had cut the exterior cable.
I called 911.
Before I could speak, glass shattered downstairs.
“Dad!” I shouted.
I grabbed Ethan from bed.
He woke terrified.
“What happened?”
“Quiet.”
I carried him into Claire’s closet and locked the bedroom door.
Dad emerged from the guest room holding a baseball bat.
“Get back inside,” I whispered.
“Not a chance.”
“Dad—”
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
Someone was inside.
The police officers outside weren’t answering my calls.
Then red-and-blue lights suddenly illuminated the windows.
A voice shouted downstairs.
“Police!”
Footsteps ran.
Back door slammed.
By the time officers entered, the intruder had vanished through the yard.
Our exterior patrol unit had been distracted by a fake report of an armed robbery two streets away.
Someone knew exactly how to create an opening.
On the kitchen floor, police found muddy footprints.
And Claire’s recovered plant.
The damaged peace lily had been left in the center of the room.
Around its pot was tied a red ribbon.
Attached was a note.
ONE PLANT CAN’T SAVE EVERYONE.
I stared at the words.
Merrick wasn’t hiding anymore.
He was taunting us.
Ortiz doubled protection.
Federal agents joined the search.
Merrick’s Tahoe had been located abandoned near Cincinnati.
Inside they found prepaid phones, clothing, cash, and fake identification.
But no Merrick.
Then Rachel provided another location.
A cabin owned through one of Merrick’s shell companies in West Virginia.
Agents raided it.
Empty.
But recently used.
Food warm.
Generator running.
Merrick had escaped minutes earlier.
Inside the cabin, investigators found another elderly victim.
Eighty-one-year-old Harold Price.
Alive.
Barely.
He had been drugged while Merrick attempted to gain access to his pension accounts.
This was never just Dad.
Merrick had built an entire system around vulnerable people.
Find families in financial trouble.
Recruit insiders.
Create medical decline.
Manipulate documents.
Drain estates.
Move on.
Rachel had been one recruit.
Keller another.
Caldwell another.
Claire had stumbled into a machine operating for years.
The national media exploded with the story.
Still I refused interviews.
Then the decision was taken from me.
A reporter published Ethan’s name.
Photos of his preschool appeared online.
We moved again.
This time to a safe location outside town.
Dad hated it.
“I’ve spent seventy-four years living where I want.”
“I’d like you to make seventy-five.”
He grumbled but agreed.
One afternoon Ethan asked whether he could visit Rachel.
I didn’t know what to say.
“She misses you,” Dad told him.
I stared at Dad.
“You’ve spoken to her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my daughter.”
“She poisoned you.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“I know exactly what she did.”
“Then how can you—”
“Because loving someone and trusting them are not the same thing.”
That stopped me.
Dad looked toward the window.
“I may never trust Rachel again.”
His eyes filled.
“But I’m still her father.”
Weeks earlier I would have considered that weakness.
Now I understood it was something more complicated.
Maybe forgiveness did not erase consequences.
Maybe it simply prevented another person’s choices from controlling the rest of your life.
Rachel called that evening.
For the first time, I answered.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” she said.
“Good.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Merrick contacted me.”
My body went rigid.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“How?”
“Message through my attorney’s office.”
“What did he say?”
Rachel started crying.
“He wants the drive Claire hid.”
“He thinks we still have it?”
“Yes.”
“The police copied everything.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“What does he want with it?”
“There’s something else on there.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Claire found his master ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Names. Victims. Accounts. People who helped him.”
Ortiz entered the room while I spoke.
I put Rachel on speaker.
“Where is the ledger?” Ortiz asked.
Rachel inhaled.
“Encrypted partition.”
Digital forensics checked.
She was right.
A hidden partition existed on the microSD card.
Claire had password-protected it.
Nobody knew the password.
Except maybe me.
We tried birthdays.
Anniversaries.
Ethan’s name.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something Claire always told Ethan.
When leaves look wrong, they’re telling you something.
Plant.
The peace lily.
Claire’s favorite plant had a name.
She called it Hope.
I typed HOPE.
Wrong.
Then Ethan said:
“Mommy always said Hope grows.”
I typed HOPEGROWS.
The partition opened.
Hundreds of records appeared.
Merrick’s entire operation.
Victims.
Payments.
Properties.
Doctors.
Attorneys.
Recruiters.
More than forty people.
One file contained current addresses.
Another contained emergency plans.
And one contained a photograph taken only two days earlier.
My house.
Zoomed through a long lens.
Ethan visible in the backyard.
May you like
Underneath, Merrick had typed:
IF MICHAEL DOES NOT COOPERATE, TAKE THE BOY.
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