Chapter 8 - The Ledger in the Mud
The yellowed ledger lay half-submerged in the dark, oily water at the edge of the pool, the name Thomas Mercer staring up at them like an accusation written in ink and grime. Sarah dropped to her knees, ignoring the wet mud that stained the hem of her expensive linen sundress, and picked up the heavy book with trembling fingers. She pried open the stiff pages, the damp paper sticking together as she flicked past columns of financial figures, handwritten notes, and finally, a folded photograph tucked inside the back cover.
It was a picture of Tom Mercer standing right where they were standing now, holding a set of blueprints against the frame of an unfinished swimming pool, smiling broadly with his arm around a young Mark.
"He was your best friend, Dad," Sarah choked out, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she looked up at Mark, her voice cracking with a pain that cut straight to the bone. "You stood at his memorial service in two-thousand-and-four and cried on his wife’s shoulder. You told everyone he ran off with another woman because he couldn't handle the pressure."
Mark couldn't meet her eyes. He stared down at his boots, his shoulders sagging as the last remnants of his defiance melted away into the humid evening air. "He wasn't going to let me take the blame for the failed commercial loan, Sarah. He threatened to go to the bank examiners. If the bank went down, every family in this town would have lost their life savings—including us. I didn't mean for it to go as far as it did."
"That’s a lie," Arthur interrupted, stepping forward with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his faded plaid jacket. He looked at Mark with a cold, unforgiving intensity. "You didn't do it to protect the town, Mark. You did it because Tom found out you were siphoning company funds to pay off your gambling debts in Atlantic City. He was going to turn you in the very next morning."
David remained crouched near the open toolshed door, his flashlight still cutting through the dark interior. He hadn't taken his eyes off the tarp-covered object in the corner. He stood up slowly, stepping back out into the pale amber light of the patio, his expression grim.
"The ledger, the embezzlement, the financial motive—it all explains why Tom Mercer had to disappear," David said, his voice measured and professional. "But it doesn't explain why the chain on that shed was replaced three weeks ago. If Tom’s body has been buried under the concrete for twenty years..." He paused, letting the heavy implications hang in the air. "...then what is currently wrapped in that tarp?"
Elena gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the toolshed in sudden, renewed terror. "No. No, that’s impossible. We never moved him. We left him in the foundation when the concrete truck came."
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Mark’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated panic as he looked from Elena to David. "Somebody went into the shed," Mark whispered, his voice failing him. "Somebody opened the box."
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