Daniel arrived at Margaret’s house forty minutes later.
He did not knock.
He came through the front door, saw Lena sitting at the dining table, and stopped as if he had walked into a fire.
“What did you do?”
Lena stood.
“I told your wife my name.”
Daniel turned on Claire.
“You should have called me.”
“Why? So you could delete her too?”
The words landed harder than Claire intended.
Daniel flinched.
Lena pushed the recorder across the table.
“Listen.”
Daniel did not touch it.
“I’ve heard enough of your versions.”
“That’s Dad’s voice.”
Daniel looked at Margaret.
She nodded.
For the next three minutes nobody spoke while the cassette played.
Richard’s voice filled the dining room, calmly laying out the bargain he had offered a seventeen-year-old girl.
Leave Evan alone.
Stop calling.
Stop writing.
Stop coming to Harbor House.
In return, Richard would help arrange housing for Lena when she turned eighteen and ensure Evan stayed in the Bennett home.
If Lena refused, Richard threatened to tell Evan that she had abandoned him voluntarily—and that she had helped their mother disappear.
The tape clicked off.
Daniel stared at the recorder.
“This is fake.”
Lena looked devastated.
“You sound exactly like him.”
Daniel stood so abruptly his chair fell backward.
“My mother disappeared after you took her car.”
“I took the car because she was drunk.”
“You told police she ran.”
“She did run.”
“With money you gave her.”
Lena’s expression changed.
“No.”
Daniel laughed without humor.
“You still won’t admit it.”
“I didn’t give her money.”
Daniel pulled out his phone, found an old scanned document, and held it toward Claire.
It was a bank withdrawal receipt.
Five thousand dollars.
Signed Lena Mercer.
Dated two days before their mother disappeared.
Claire looked at Lena.
For the first time, Lena had no immediate answer.
Then she whispered, “That’s not my signature.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Of course.”
Lena took the phone, enlarged the image, and stared at it.
Suddenly all the color left her face.
“I know whose handwriting that is.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“Whose?”
Lena looked at Margaret.
“Richard’s.”