Chapter 9 - The Missing Thirteen MinutesMichael did not go to the office that afternoon.
Instead, he drove to the cottage.
He parked beside the gravel path and sat inside his car for several minutes.
The last time he had spoken to Daniel face-to-face, he had struck him.
Now he was preparing to ask that same man for help.
The humiliation was deserved.
He knocked.
Daniel opened the door.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The bruise on Daniel's cheek had begun to fade, but Michael could still see a yellow-purple mark near his jaw.
"Mr. Whitcomb."
"May I come in?"
Daniel didn't move.
"Why?"
Michael swallowed.
"Because I think I was wrong."
Daniel looked at him for a long time.
"About what?"
Michael forced himself to answer.
"About what happened in the garden."
Daniel's expression remained guarded.
"That's a start."
Michael nodded.
"I deserve that."
He took a breath.
"Zoe told me she saw my mother open the kennel."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"She tried to tell you the first day."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
The words were quiet.
Michael felt their weight.
Daniel stepped outside and closed the cottage door behind him.
"Do you know what it feels like to protect someone's child and then have that child's father treat you like an attacker?"
Michael looked down.
"No."
"Do you know what it feels like to have eleven years of honest work turned into an accusation with four words?"
"No."
Daniel's eyes hardened.
"Then don't tell me you understand."
Michael stood still.
"I won't."
For a moment, only the wind moved through the trees.
Then Michael said, "Someone removed the wildlife camera near the greenhouse."
Daniel looked up sharply.
"What?"
"The battery-operated one you installed."
"When?"
"I don't know."
Daniel stared toward the western garden.
"That camera wasn't pointed at the kennel."
"Could it see the gate?"
"Maybe part of it. It was angled toward the irrigation corridor, but the kennel stood beyond the hedge."
"Where were the recordings stored?"
"On a memory card."
"Did it upload anything?"
"No. Local storage only."
Michael felt disappointed.
Then Daniel added, "Unless somebody copied the card."
Michael looked at him.
"Who would?"
"The person who removed it."
Daniel folded his arms.
"What else do you want?"
"Caroline says you have records from Grace."
Daniel's face closed.
"She shouldn't have told you that."
"She didn't tell me what they contain."
"Then leave them alone."
"Daniel—"
"No."
Michael stared at him.
Daniel stepped closer.
"Grace spent months trying to get you to listen. You kept telling her your mother was handling everything."
Michael flinched.
"She was dying."
"Yes. And she still found the strength to ask questions nobody else wanted to answer."
The words hurt because they were true.
Michael looked toward the orchard.
"Did she know about Meridian Groundworks?"
Daniel hesitated.
"She suspected the company was paying for work that hadn't happened."
"Did she know about Aster Consulting?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Not that I remember."
Michael took a folded paper from his jacket.
It was a printout of the bank transfer.
He handed it to Daniel.
Daniel studied the image.
Then his expression changed.
"Aster."
"You know it?"
"I've seen that name before."
"Where?"
"On an invoice Evelyn asked me to sign in 2023."
Michael's pulse quickened.
"What invoice?"
"Landscape restoration consulting. It claimed a site assessment had been completed."
"Was it?"
"Nobody came to inspect the site that week."
Michael covered his mouth.
For the first time, he could see the possibility of a systematic scheme rather than isolated accounting errors.
"Daniel, I need your help."
Daniel handed back the paper.
"You need an independent investigation."
"I'm arranging one."
"Then cooperate with it."
Michael lowered his head.
"I will."
He turned to leave.
"Michael."
He stopped.
It was the first time Daniel had used his first name since the incident.
"Zoe should know I don't blame her."
Michael looked back.
"She thinks you left because of her."
Daniel's face tightened with pain.
"Tell her you made the decision. Not her."
"I will."
"And don't make her explain it again just to ease your conscience."
Michael nodded.
"I won't."
He returned to his car.
Daniel watched him go.
The encounter had not repaired anything.
But something had shifted.
Michael had come without his mother's permission.
And he had left without demanding forgiveness.
Inside the cottage, Daniel retrieved an old metal toolbox from beneath his bed.
He opened the false wooden base he had installed years earlier.
Inside was a small sealed envelope.
Grace had given it to him in the hospital.
He remembered her pale hands closing around his.
"Don't let them make you the only person who knows," she had whispered.
Daniel had promised.
Then he had hidden the envelope and tried to forget how frightened she looked.
Now he broke the seal.
Inside was a flash drive and a handwritten note.
Daniel, if Michael finally asks the right questions, give him the truth. But first, make sure someone independent has a copy.
Beneath the note was a second sentence.
The first lie wasn't about the money.
Daniel read it twice.
Then he turned over the page.
May you like
Grace had written one final line.
Ask Evelyn what happened to the original 2019 soil report.
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