Chapter 5
They'd run.
Sybil, Bryce, and Fallon — all three missing. Their phones off. Credit cards unused. They'd vanished somewhere between the raid and the arrest warrants.
I sat in Detective Hart's office, staring at the warrant in my hand.
"They took my sister," I said.
Hart's face was grim. "We think Coleman is running. He's facing multiple felonies. He may have coerced Fallon into going with him. Or she went willingly. We don't know yet."
"Find her," I said. "Please."
"We're trying. Amber alert isn't appropriate — she's an adult. But we've put out a BOLO. We're checking airports, bus stations, border crossings."
I left the station feeling sick.
Fallon. My sister. Whatever she'd done, she didn't deserve to be running from the law with a criminal.
That night, there was a knock on my door.
I opened it.
My father stood there. Thomas Callahan. He looked smaller than I remembered. Tired. His coat was buttoned wrong. He held a worn leather briefcase in his hand.
"Dad?"
"Merit." His voice cracked. "Can I come in?"
I let him in. He sat at my kitchen table, the same table where Karen had spread out her evidence. He set the briefcase down. He didn't open it. Not yet.
"I should have come a long time ago," he said.
I didn't say anything.
"Your mother… I've watched her for thirty years. I watched what she did to you. What she did to Fallon. I told myself I was keeping the peace. That if I stayed quiet, nobody would get hurt. I was wrong. I was a coward."
Tears ran down his face. He didn't wipe them.
"Dad," I said. "Why are you here?"
He opened the briefcase. Inside, folders. Bank statements. A small cassette tape.
"I kept records," he said. "For years. I didn't know why. Maybe I was waiting for the courage to use them. Your mother — she's been stealing from your grandfather for a decade. Small amounts at first. Then larger. She set up accounts in Fallon's name. She's been draining Arthur's savings."
I stared at the folders. "You knew? And you never said anything?"
"I was afraid. Afraid she'd leave. Afraid of what she'd do. Merit, I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking you to use this. To stop her."
He pushed the briefcase toward me.
"There's more," he said. "The tape. It's a phone call. From last month. Sybil talking to Bryce. I recorded it. She says — Merit, she says they're going to put Arthur in a home. Declare him incompetent. So the POA becomes permanent. So nobody can challenge it."
I felt my blood run cold.
"She was going to institutionalize Grandpa."
"Yes."
I opened the folder. Bank records. Transfer after transfer. Dates. Amounts. A paper trail a mile long.
And the tape.
I looked at my father. This man who'd stood by and done nothing for twenty-five years. Who'd watched his daughter walk home in the rain and said nothing. Who'd hidden in the refrigerator while his wife stole his other daughter's birthday.
"Why now?" I said.
He looked at me. "Because I saw the arrest warrant. Because I realized she was going to destroy this family completely. And because — Merit, you're my daughter. And I'm proud of you. I've always been proud of you. I just never had the courage to say it."
I cried then. I couldn't help it. Twenty-five years of waiting for those words.
He reached across the table and took my hand. His was shaking.
"I'm leaving her," he said. "I filed for divorce yesterday. I'm not asking you to let me back in. I just want to help. Whatever you need."
I squeezed his hand.
"Okay," I said. "You can help."
We gave everything to Detective Hart and Karen Pruitt. The bank records. The tape. Everything.
The case against Sybil and Bryce was now overwhelming.
And then, three days later, Fallon called.
She was crying. She was at a bus station in Chicago. She'd run away from Bryce. She was scared. She was alone.
May you like
"Merit," she sobbed. "Please. Come get me."
I grabbed my keys. "I'm on my way."
