Chapter 9
I found Frank three days later.
He was living in a small cabin in the mountains.
Three hours from my house.
Off the grid.
No internet.
No phone line.
Just him and his dog.
And a lot of guns, according to the property records.
He’d moved there two months after the trial.
Right around the time Ryan had been sentenced.
Coincidence?
I didn’t believe in them anymore.
I drove up the mountain road slowly.
My rental car kicking up dust.
The trees were thick.
No other houses for miles.
If something happened up here, nobody would hear me scream.
Nobody would find my body for months.
Maybe never.
I should have brought the police.
Should have told Mark, the detective who’d helped me before.
But this was personal.
And I didn’t know if Frank was a threat or just a man who’d made a terrible mistake.
I needed to find out.
Alone.
The cabin came into view around a bend.
Small.
Wooden.
Smoke coming from the chimney.
A beat-up pickup truck parked outside.
A big dog lay on the porch.
Saw me.
Stood up.
Started barking.
Deep.
Menacing.
I stopped the car a hundred yards away.
Turned off the engine.
Sat there for a long minute.
Hand on the pepper spray I’d bought the day before.
And the small, legal handgun I’d gotten a permit for after Ryan’s letter.
The dog kept barking.
The front door opened.
Frank stepped out.
Tall.
Thin.
Weathered face.
Gray hair pulled back in a ponytail.
He held a rifle loosely in one hand.
Not aimed at me.
But ready.
He whistled.
The dog stopped barking.
Sat down.
But his eyes never left me.
Frank stared at my car.
Waited.
I took a deep breath.
Stepped out.
Hands up where he could see them.
No weapons visible.
“Frank Carter?” I called.
He nodded once.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Megan Carter.”
His face didn’t change.
No surprise.
No fear.
No anger.
He’d been expecting me.
“Figured you’d show up sooner or later,” he said. “Ryan wrote me. Said you’d come. Told me to be ready.”
He didn’t raise the rifle.
Didn’t threaten me.
Just stood there.
Calm.
Resigned.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
He thought about it.
Nodded.
“Leave the gun in the car,” he said. “And the spray. I can see the bulge in your pocket. I’m not gonna hurt you. But I don’t allow weapons in my house.”
He was sharp.
Very sharp.
I put the gun and spray in the glove compartment.
Locked the car.
Walked toward him.
The dog stood up.
Growled low in his throat.
“Easy, Max,” Frank said. The dog sat back down. “He won’t bite. Long as you don’t run.”
I walked up the porch steps.
He stood aside.
Let me in.
The cabin was neat.
Clean.
Smelled like coffee and wood smoke.
Pictures of his son were everywhere.
In uniform.
Smiling.
Young.
Dead before his time.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He poured two mugs.
Black.
Strong.
We sat at the kitchen table.
Across from each other.
The rifle was now leaning against the wall by the door.
Within his reach.
But not threatening.
“Ryan says you’re here to kill me,” Frank said. Took a sip of coffee. “Says you killed Brooke and Jesse and Arthur and him. Says you’re a cold-blooded killer who’d do anything to get what she wants.”
“Did he tell you I killed them with evidence?” I asked. “With police reports and warrants and jury trials? Because that’s how it happened. I didn’t kill anyone, Frank. They killed themselves. With their own greed. Their own choices.”
He nodded slowly.
“Ryan also said you framed him,” he continued. “Said the accident really was an accident. Said you planted all the evidence. Made it look like murder so you could get the money and get rid of him.”
“Did you believe him?”
Frank was quiet for a long time.
Stared into his coffee.
“I wanted to,” he said finally. “I wanted to believe it. Because if Ryan’s telling the truth? Then I didn’t do anything wrong. I just told what I saw. And a good man went to prison because of a lying, manipulative wife.”
He looked up at me.
His eyes were old.
Tired.
Full of regret.
“But if he’s lying?” he said. “If it really was murder? Then I helped him get away with it. I lied to the police. To the jury. To everyone. And two little kids are dead because I was too much of a coward to tell the truth.”
I said nothing.
Let him talk.
“Ryan was good to me,” he said. “When my boy died? I had nothing. No money. No family. No reason to get up in the morning. Ryan showed up at the funeral. Paid for everything. Sat with me for three days. Didn’t say much. Just… was there. Then he paid off my house. Set me up for life. Said it was what my boy would have wanted. Said we were family now.”
He paused.
Swallowed hard.
“So when he came to me a week before the crash? Told me he needed a favor. Said he was in trouble with the SEC. Said if he didn’t get some money fast, he’d go to prison for twenty years. Said he’d staged the accident. Said nobody would get hurt. Said he’d walk away without a scratch. Said the kids were already going to be in a different car with their aunt. Said all I had to do was tell the police I saw hydroplaning. That it was just bad weather. Bad luck.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I believed him,” he whispered. “I wanted to believe him. So I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t check. I just did what he asked. And then I saw the news that night. Saw that the kids had been in the car. Saw that they were dead. And I knew. I knew I’d been played. I knew I’d helped kill two innocent children. And I didn’t say anything. Because I was scared. Scared of Ryan. Scared of going to prison. Scared that the only friend I had left in the world was a monster.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“I’ve hated myself every single day since,” he said. “Every time I close my eyes, I see those two kids. Their little coffins. Your face at the funeral. I deserve whatever happens to me, Mrs. Carter. Whatever you want to do. I won’t fight you. I won’t call the police. I just… I wanted you to know. I’m sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know.”
He sat back.
Closed his eyes.
Waited.
Like he expected me to pull a gun and shoot him right there at the table.
I stared at him.
This man.
Who’d helped kill my children.
Who’d lied for months.
Who’d let Ryan almost get away with it.
And I realized something.
He wasn’t like the others.
Ryan had killed because he was greedy.
Brooke because she was ambitious.
Jesse because he was desperate.
Arthur because he was cruel.
But Frank?
Frank had helped because he was loyal.
To the wrong man.
For the wrong reasons.
But loyal all the same.
And now he was consumed by guilt.
Eaten alive by it.
Punishing himself far worse than I ever could.
I stood up.
Walked to the door.
Picked up the rifle.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t open his eyes.
I checked the chamber.
Loaded.
One in the pipe.
I could do it.
Right now.
One bullet.
No witnesses.
I could say he attacked me.
That I’d acted in self-defense.
Everyone would believe me.
The grieving mother.
Again.
I set the rifle back against the wall.
Frank opened his eyes.
Surprised.
“You’re not going to kill me?” he asked.
“No.” I walked back to the table. Sat down. “Killing you won’t bring them back. And it won’t make me feel better. I’ve already learned that lesson.”
I reached into my bag.
Pulled out a document.
Slid it across the table.
It was a sworn affidavit.
Already signed by me.
Detailing everything Frank had just told me.
His involvement.
Ryan’s manipulation.
The lies.
The guilt.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Your chance to make it right,” I said. “Sign it. Swear to it. Turn yourself in. Testify if you have to. And then spend the rest of your life trying to make up for what you did. Work with kids. Volunteer. Whatever it takes. It won’t erase it. But it’s a start.”
He stared at the paper.
Tears running down his face now.
“Why?” he whispered. “After everything I did? Why would you give me this?”
“Because my son died when he was six,” I said. “And he was the most forgiving kid I ever met. Once, a boy at school pushed him off the slide. Broke his arm. And when I asked him what he wanted to do about it? He said he wanted to invite the boy over for ice cream. Said the boy probably just needed a friend.”
I paused.
“I’m not as good as he was,” I admitted. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things that would probably shock you. But I try. Every day, I try to be someone he’d be proud of. And right now? He’d want me to give you a second chance. Even if you don’t deserve it.”
Frank picked up the pen.
His hand was shaking.
He signed the paper.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Then he slid it back to me.
“I’ll turn myself in tomorrow,” he said. “First thing. I’ll tell them everything. Whatever they need. Whatever it takes.”
I stood up to leave.
“Mrs. Carter?” he said.
I turned.
“Thank you,” he said. “For not killing me. For giving me a chance to be human again.”
I nodded.
Walked out to my car.
Drove away.
And I knew, deep in my heart, that it was finally over.
All of it.
The last loose end was tied.
The last enemy was gone.
Or so I thought.
Because as I rounded the bend to leave the mountain, I saw something in my rearview mirror.
A black SUV.
Parked in the trees.
Watching Frank’s cabin.
Watching me.
It had been there the whole time.
And I’d never seen it.
My blood ran cold.
Ryan had been right.
There was someone else.
May you like
Someone I’d completely missed.
And they’d just heard everything.
