Chapter 3: The Man on the Other Side of the Door
Three hard knocks.
Then silence.
Ethan pressed himself against my side.
I put my arm around him and stared at the door.
"Who's there?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Nothing.
Then: "My name is Garrett.
Daniel sent me."
Daniel.
My husband's name.
My legs went weak.
I grabbed the bedpost.
"Daniel has been d*ad for three years."
"I know," the voice said.
"That's why I'm here."
I looked at Ethan.
He was watching the door with wide, calm eyes — like he recognized the voice.
"Ethan," I whispered.
"Is that the man from school?"
He nodded.
I crossed the room and put my hand flat against the door.
"The police are in my house right now."
"I know that too.
I called them."
I stopped breathing.
"You called them?"
"Two days ago.
Anonymous tip.
I told them to watch your street.
I didn't know they'd move this fast."
I didn't open the door.
Not yet.
"Why would you do that?"
A pause.
When he spoke again, his voice dropped.
"Because the people who planted that device on your son are not amateurs.
And they've been watching this house for six weeks."
Six weeks.
Ethan had started at his new school eight weeks ago.
My hand found the lock.
"Step back from the door," I said.
"Already have."
I opened it.
He was standing three feet back, both hands visible at his sides.
Mid-forties.
A gray jacket.
A face that looked like it hadn't slept properly in months.
He wasn't large or threatening.
He looked exhausted.
"How did you know Daniel?" I asked.
"We worked together." He glanced past me at Ethan.
"Not the kind of work he told you about."
"He was an accountant."
"He was also something else.
For about four years." He met my eyes.
"He never wanted you to know.
He was trying to get out when the accident happened."
The word accident landed differently now.
Like a stone dropped into still water.
"You're saying it wasn't an accident."
He didn't look away.
"I'm saying the people who caused it think you've found something.
Something Daniel left behind.
Have you recently gone through any of his old files?
His laptop?
Anything from his office?"
I thought about three weeks ago.
The storage unit.
The box I'd finally opened after two years of not being able to face it.
"There was a box," I said slowly.
Garrett's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
"What was in it?"
Before I could answer, one of the officers appeared at the end of the hallway.
"Ma'am?
We need you to come out here.
We've identified the device." He paused.
"And we found a second one."
I turned back to Garrett.
"A second one?" I said.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
"Where?" he asked the officer.
The officer looked at him with immediate suspicion.
"And you are?"
"Someone who can explain what that device is, where it came from, and who sent it." Garrett reached slowly into his jacket and produced a folded card.
"But we need to move quickly.
Because if they know the police are here, they've already changed their position."
The officer took the card.
Read it.
His expression changed.
He looked at me.
Then back at Garrett.
"The second one was in the boy's backpack," the officer said quietly.
Ethan was still standing in the doorway behind me.
I turned around.
My son looked up at me with those calm, nine-year-old eyes.
May you like
"Mom," he said.
"There's something else I didn't tell you."
