“Mrs. Whitmore…”
“Yes?”
“Why did you hire me?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said:
“Because I knew eventually my son would come after you.”
My chest tightened.
“You’ve known who I was this entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I needed to know whether you were like your father.”
I stared at the road.
“And?”
“I know now.”
She began crying.
“You’re exactly like him.”
Before I could respond, I heard a loud crash on her end.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
Nothing.
“Mrs. Whitmore!”
The call disconnected.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
YOU
SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE BOX WHERE YOU FOUND IT.
Another message followed.
NOW BRING IT TO THE OLD MARINA. ALONE.
I looked at the box.
Then I noticed something I’d missed.
A tiny red light was blinking beneath the lid.
