Chapter 2 - The Password in the AtticThe dashboard clock of my sedan glowed a harsh green in the dark, reading 11:42 PM. The streetlamps of our quiet suburban neighborhood flickered under a cold autumn drizzle, casting long, ghostly shadows across the windshield.
I stared down at the small piece of crumpled notebook paper resting in my lap. Twelve-year-old Noah’s jagged handwriting seemed to burn through the dim light: Dad knew Grandpa would come after you. He left something on the camera server.
Daniel had been gone for three months, but his presence suddenly felt as vivid and protective as it had when he was alive. My late husband had never trusted his father, Richard Mercer. While Richard built an empire on luxury car sales and slick political donations, Daniel had spent his life working with his hands—repairing engines, designing custom security systems, and quietly keeping tabs on the man who had emotionally abused him for decades.
May you like
I folded the note, placed it carefully into my leather purse, and turned the ignition.
If Richard thought he had won, he was about to learn a very expensive lesson in underestimating a grieving mother and a dead son’s foresight.
