Chapter 4 - HANNAH PARKER
I did not drive home.
I didn’t drive anywhere.
Police impounded my SUV and searched every vehicle at the storage facility.
My mother brought the girls to a private rental property I owned near Incline Village, surrounded by security, cameras, and more police than I had ever wanted around my family.
For the first time in my life, money felt useless.
I could afford armored cars.
Security teams.
Attorneys.
Private doctors.
None of it could buy back six months of my daughters believing I had forgotten them.
That afternoon, Detective Hart called.
“We found Hannah.”
I stood so fast my chair hit the wall.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
The word nearly dropped me.
“Where?”
“Reno.”
A hospital.
She had been admitted December eighth after a hit-and-run.
No identification.
Severe concussion.
Broken ribs.
Fractured wrist.
The hospital had listed her as Jane Doe because the backpack containing her wallet had been taken from the scene.
She had regained consciousness two days earlier but remained confused.
That morning, a nurse saw a missing-person bulletin.
We drove to Reno with two detectives.
Hannah looked nothing like the smiling woman from the employment photograph in my office files.
Her face was pale.
Purple bruising covered one side of her forehead.
Her left wrist was in a cast.
When she saw me, she began crying.
“Mr. Callahan.”
I moved closer.
“You tried to help my daughters.”
She looked away.
“I failed.”
“No.”
“I left them there.”
“You were hit by a car.”
“I should have done more before that.”
“So should I.”
Her eyes returned to me.
That was the first time someone involved in this nightmare looked at me without anger.
Maybe because she understood guilt.
Detective Hart sat beside her.
“Hannah, are you comfortable answering questions?”
“Yes.”
“What happened December eighth?”
Hannah took a slow breath.
“I was driving to meet you.”
“Did anyone know?”
“Bianca.”
“How?”
“I told her.”
Hart frowned.
“You told Bianca you were going to police?”
“I was angry.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“I had found documents in Mr. Callahan’s office. Copies of his signature. Trust papers. I confronted Bianca.”
“What did she say?”
“She laughed.”
I felt sick.
“She told me I didn’t understand rich families. She said everything in that house belonged to her now.”
Hannah looked at me.
“I told her the girls didn’t.”
My throat tightened.
“She slapped me.”
Hart leaned forward.
“Did you leave immediately?”
“No. I told her I had photographs.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
“Backup drive.”
“Where?”
Hannah hesitated.
Then whispered, “Rachel’s piano.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The black grand piano in the music room.”
Rachel had played that piano every Sunday morning.
After she died, I stopped going into the room.
Bianca had moved the piano into storage when she redecorated.
“There’s a removable panel under the keyboard,” Hannah said. “I hid a drive inside.”
“How did you know about the panel?”
“Charlotte showed me.”
Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
Of course Charlotte knew.
Rachel used to hide candy there.
Hart continued.
“What happened after you confronted Bianca?”
“Martin Greer arrived.”
I stopped smiling.
“He told me to sign an NDA.”
“What?”
“He said the Callahan family valued privacy and that I had violated my employment agreement by photographing private documents.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
Hannah’s voice shook.
“Greer told me I’d never work again. He said he would sue me for everything I had.”
“Did he threaten you physically?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He said accidents happen when people involve themselves in matters they don’t understand.”
Hart’s pen stopped.
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
I felt heat rise through my body.
“Then what?”
“I pretended to give up.”
Hannah looked at me.
“I told Bianca she could keep my final paycheck. I packed a bag. But before I left, Ava ran to me.”
She started crying.
“She asked if I was leaving because they were bad.”
I lowered my head.
“I told her no. I told her none of it was their fault.”
Hannah wiped her face.
“I gave her Detective Hart’s number because I didn’t know if I’d get to police.”
“You saved them,” I said.
“I didn’t.”
“You gave Ava a way to reach someone.”
“She had to wait for you.”
“And she remembered.”
Hannah nodded.
She told us she drove away around eight that night.
Ten minutes later, a dark SUV began following her.
“Did you recognize it?”
“No.”
“At the intersection near Mount Rose Highway, it accelerated.”
“Could you see the driver?”
“No.”
“The SUV hit my rear quarter panel. I spun. The next thing I remember is waking up here.”
Detective Hart exchanged a look with her partner.
“Your backpack was found in a storage unit belonging to Bianca Callahan.”
Hannah went still.
“She had it?”
“Yes.”
Hannah looked terrified.
“Then somebody went back.”
“What do you mean?”
“My backpack was in the car when I crashed.”
Silence.
Someone had reached Hannah before paramedics.
Someone had taken her identity and phone.
Someone had assumed she would die.
Hart asked, “What did you find about Rachel Callahan?”
Hannah stared at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me.”
“While I was looking for bank records, I found an old file in the back of your office cabinet.”
“What file?”
“Vehicle maintenance.”
I frowned.
“Rachel’s SUV?”
“Yes.”
“I had it serviced regularly.”
“The last invoice was from three days before she died.”
“So?”
“The brake system had been inspected.”
My stomach tightened.
“The accident report said brake failure was possible.”
I remembered.
Investigators had found damage after the crash but couldn’t determine whether it occurred before or during impact.
Hannah continued.
“I found an email printed behind the invoice.”
“From who?”
“Rachel.”
“To?”
“Martin Greer.”
The room seemed smaller.
“What did it say?”
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears.
“She told him she knew money was missing from one of the family investment accounts.”
My heart hammered.
“She told him she was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
I couldn’t speak.
Hart did.
“Did you photograph the email?”
“Yes.”
“Is it on the drive?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Hannah stared at me.
“One more email.”
“From Rachel?”
She nodded.
“What did it say?”
Hannah swallowed.
“She wrote, ‘If anything happens to me, Martin did it.’”
The monitor beside her bed beeped steadily.
I sat frozen.
Two years.
For two years I had mourned Rachel as the victim of an accident.
I had accepted condolences from Martin Greer.
I had let him stand beside her coffin.
I had asked him to help protect my daughters.
Then Hannah said the words that turned grief into something darker.
“Mr. Callahan, Greer didn’t meet Bianca after Rachel died.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He already knew her.”
“How?”
Hannah’s voice dropped.
“I found a photo.”
“Of what?”
“Greer and Bianca together.”
“How old?”
“Three years.”
My stomach twisted.
That meant Bianca had known Martin a full year before Rachel’s death.
And suddenly I remembered something I had forgotten.
May you like
At the charity dinner where Martin introduced Bianca to me, he had smiled and said:
Owen, I think you two were meant to meet.
