Chapter 4: What Jeremy Knew
Dana and I sat together until dawn with Jeremy's laptop open on the kitchen table.
The USB drive contained three files.
A folder of photographs.
A short video, forty-seven seconds long.
And a text document that Jeremy had titled, simply, *Notes.*
I opened the notes first.
Jeremy's writing was careful and methodical — more careful than I had ever seen from him in a school assignment.
He had written dates, times, and short descriptions.
*September 14 — Caleb asked me to follow someone and take photos.
Said it was for his dad.
Said it wasn't dangerous.*
*September 19 — I took the photos.
The man in the pictures meets with Caleb's dad every Thursday at the warehouse on Hartley Road.
I don't know what they're doing but they always carry bags in and nothing comes out.*
*September 28 — Caleb told me his dad found out I kept copies.
He said I had to delete everything.
I told him I would.
I didn't.*
*October 1 — Caleb is scared.
He said his dad is angry.
He told me to stay away from Hartley Road.
He said, "My dad doesn't mess around, Jeremy.
Please just delete it."*
*October 2 — I'm going to give everything to Mom.
I don't know what's happening but it feels wrong.
I don't want to carry this anymore.*
He never got the chance.
I closed the document.
I couldn't read it again.
Not yet.
Dana opened the video.
It was filmed on a phone, clearly from a distance — shaky, zoomed in.
Two men outside the Hartley Road building.
Caleb's father and the other man from the photograph.
They were loading something into the back of a dark van.
The other man said something.
Caleb's father nodded.
Then he looked directly toward the camera — not at Jeremy, he hadn't seen Jeremy — but toward the street, scanning.
Dana paused the video on his face.
"We need to find out who the second man is," she said.
"Jeremy didn't write his name anywhere."
"No.
But someone will know." She sat back.
"Lynn, this is bigger than Caleb being a bad friend.
Your son was used to gather evidence on someone his father was involved with.
And then—"
"And then he d*ed on the road between that house and mine," I said.
The words sat in the room between us.
Dana picked up her phone.
"I have a friend.
He's a private investigator — retired detective, actually.
He's helped me before with a property dispute.
He's discreet and he's good.
Will you let me call him?"
"Yes."
"His name is Roy Sattler.
He'll want to see everything on that drive."
"Fine.
Whatever it takes."
She stepped into the hallway to make the call.
I sat alone with Jeremy's notes on the screen in front of me.
*I don't want to carry this anymore.*
He had been sixteen years old and he had been carrying something that frightened him, alone, for weeks.
He had tried to protect me from it.
He had tried to protect himself.
And in the end he had done the only thing left to him — he had made sure I would find it.
Dana came back in.
"Roy can meet us tomorrow morning.
Nine o'clock."
I nodded.
She sat down across from me.
"How are you doing?"
"I don't know yet," I said.
"Ask me when this is over."
She reached across and squeezed my hand.
Neither of us said anything else.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten.
The birds started up somewhere in the yard — the same birds Jeremy used to complain about on weekend mornings when he wanted to sleep in.
My phone buzzed on the table.
An unknown number.
A text message, no name.
*You found the phone.
Stop now.
May you like
This doesn't need to go any further.
For your sake.*
