“Yes.”
“While Evan was in prison.”
“Yes.”
“You attended his funeral?”
Daniel cried harder.
“Yes.”
Adam remembered.
He had been eighteen.
His father came home from a funeral and sat in the garage for nearly an hour.
Adam asked who died.
“Someone I failed,” Daniel answered.
Adam assumed colleague.
Now he understood.
“Why send the records now?”
“Cancer.”
Adam froze.
“What?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Pancreatic.”
The kitchen became silent.
“When?”
“Diagnosed three months ago.”
Adam stared.
“You didn’t tell me?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Adam laughed painfully.
“This family is incredible.”
Daniel wiped his face.
“I started sorting files.”
“And decided dying made honesty convenient?”
His father accepted the cruelty.
“Yes.”
Adam looked toward the metal box.
“Did you send everything to Helen?”
“Copies.”
“Why anonymously?”
“Because I was still afraid.”
Adam stood.
“Of what?”
“Losing what was left of you.”
The sentence stopped him.
Daniel continued.
“You became a police officer because of me.”
Adam’s face twisted.
“You thought I’d hate you.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
Daniel lowered his head.
Adam stared at him.
Anger.
Love.
Disgust.
Grief.
They did not cancel one another.
That was worse.
“Does Mason know you kept this?”
“No.”
“Does he know you sent records?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why frame Helen?”
Daniel thought.
“Someone told him the state was looking.”
A leak.
Adam understood.
“He thought she had originals.”
“Maybe.”
“Or he thought getting her arrested would discredit the investigation.”
“Maybe.”
Adam grabbed the metal box.
Daniel reached.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking this to the state.”
His father’s hand stopped.
“That could destroy me.”
Adam stared.
“Dad.”
His voice was quiet.
“That is the first honest thing you’ve said tonight.”
Daniel let go.
At 7:10 a.m., Adam Rourke walked into the state investigation command post carrying the box.
Sergeant Mason Pike was placed on administrative leave by noon.
He called Adam twenty-three times.