PART 4: A Threatening Call Sent Hannah to the One Journalist Who Had Already Seen Caleb’s Evidence
Hannah moved before anyone else did.
She grabbed Owen’s backpack from beside the sofa.
“We’re leaving.”
Diane stared.
“Leaving where?”
“Somewhere else.”
Frank remained near the telephone.
His face still looked gray.
“Hannah.”
She turned toward him.
“Who called?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
“Do you believe them?”
Frank looked toward Caleb’s photograph.
“That isn’t the question.”
“It is exactly the question.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“They knew you were here.”
Hannah’s pulse quickened.
She looked toward the windows.
The curtains were open.
No car sat immediately outside except their bus-stop taxi long gone.
Owen stood beside her.
“Mom?”
She forced her voice calm.
“Get your jacket.”
He obeyed without arguing.
Diane moved closer.
“You cannot take him somewhere dangerous.”
Hannah turned sharply.
“Somebody just called your house and threatened the father of my child ten years after he disappeared.”
Diane flinched.
“We don’t know it was a threat.”
Frank looked at her.
“It was.”
That ended the argument.
Hannah pulled out her phone.
There was one person she trusted more than anyone connected to Silver Creek.
Rebecca Lane.
They had attended college together briefly before Hannah’s life collapsed.
Rebecca had become an independent investigative journalist.
For years, they stayed in occasional contact.
Months earlier, Hannah finally sent her copies of several files from Caleb’s USB.
Not everything.
Enough to see whether the drive contained anything meaningful.
Rebecca called back less than an hour later.
Where did you get this?
Hannah had not told her the whole story then.
Now she did not have the luxury of waiting.
Rebecca answered on the third ring.
“Hannah?”
“I need your help.”
The tone of Rebecca’s voice changed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Do you still have Caleb’s files?”
“Yes.”
“Can we come to you?”
A pause.
“Who is we?”
“My son.”
Hannah looked at Frank.
“And my father.”
Frank raised his head.
“You’re taking me?”
“You remember things.”
“Not enough.”
“More than I do.”
Rebecca spoke through the phone.
“Hannah?”
“We’re coming.”
“Where are you?”
“Albany.”
Another pause.
“I’m in Syracuse.”
“I know.”
“Do not email anything else.”
“I won’t.”
“Do you think somebody is watching you?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca became very quiet.
“Then behave like they might.”
The drive to Syracuse took less than three hours.
It felt much longer.
Frank insisted on driving his own aging sedan.
Hannah sat in the passenger seat.
Owen sat behind her with his backpack against his chest.
Diane remained in Albany.
She wanted to come.
Hannah refused.
Not because she blamed her.
Because someone needed to stay somewhere predictable in case they disappeared from ordinary contact entirely.
Rain began halfway through the drive.
Frank barely spoke.
Hannah watched him.
Every so often his fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“Do you remember the name Light of Port?”
His head turned slightly.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked down at the yellow folder.
“It’s one of the labels Rebecca mentioned in the files.”
Frank went still for half a second.
Then kept driving.
“You recognize it.”
“Maybe.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is becoming frustrating.”
“I know.”
He sounded ashamed.
Owen spoke from the back.
“Grandpa?”
The word changed something.
Frank glanced into the rearview mirror.
Owen looked embarrassed.
“I mean…”
“No.”
Frank swallowed.
“That’s okay.”
Another mile passed.
Then Owen asked:
“Did you know my dad?”
Frank looked toward the road again.
“Yes.”
“Did you like him?”
For the first time since the threatening call, Frank smiled faintly.
“Most days.”
“What about the other days?”
“He asked too many questions.”
Owen frowned.
“That sounds like me.”
Hannah looked out the window so neither of them would see her expression.
When they reached Syracuse, Rebecca met them outside a narrow brick townhouse converted partly into an office.
She was forty now.
Short dark hair.
Wire-frame glasses.
A sweater with coffee spilled near one cuff.
Rebecca hugged Hannah quickly.
Then stepped back.
“Inside.”
Her office looked exactly like Hannah expected from someone who spent years investigating people who preferred not to be investigated.
Files.
Two laptops.
A whiteboard covered in names and arrows.
Stacks of printed records.
Three coffee mugs, only one of which appeared clean.
Rebecca locked the door.
Then looked at Frank.
“You worked with Caleb?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
“Hannah didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t know until today.”
Rebecca pointed toward the dining table.
“Sit.”
Owen sat near Hannah.
Rebecca opened a laptop.
“I copied everything from the USB before doing anything else.”
Hannah nodded.
“Good.”
“Most of it is ugly.”
“How ugly?”
“Environmental reports that don’t match public filings.”
Rebecca scrolled.
“Money transfers.”
Another file.
“Inspection records.”
She looked toward Frank.
“And internal emails from Silver Creek Chemical.”
Frank stared.
Rebecca continued.
“If these are authentic, Victor Hayes’s company had a serious problem.”
“He paid people,” Frank said.
Rebecca looked at him.
“Who?”
“Doctors.”
He struggled.
“Lawyers. Local officials.”
“That would fit some of what I’m seeing.”
Hannah leaned closer.
“You said most of the files.”
Rebecca nodded.
“There is one folder I cannot open.”
She turned the screen.
A single encrypted folder appeared.
The label contained one word.
LIGHTOFPORT.
Frank stopped breathing for a moment.
Hannah noticed.
“Dad?”
He stepped toward the laptop.
“Light of Port.”
His voice was barely audible.
“You know it.”
Frank nodded slowly.
“It was a warehouse.”
“Where?”
“Near the old bus terminal.”
Rebecca studied him.
“Why would Caleb name an encrypted folder after a warehouse?”
Frank remained focused on the screen.
Then his expression shifted.
A memory had moved.
Hannah knew immediately.
“What?”
Frank closed his eyes.
“It wasn’t just a warehouse.”
Rebecca stopped touching the keyboard.
“What was it?”
Frank opened his eyes.
“It was our code.”
“For what?”
“When Caleb and I needed to meet after work.”
He looked at Hannah.
“If anyone overheard us, they thought we were talking about shipping schedules.”
The room became quiet.
Another piece had returned.
Frank pressed his palms against the table.
“The last night I remember seeing Caleb, we were supposed to hide the evidence there.”
Hannah’s chest tightened.
“Before what?”
“Before federal investigators came.”
Frank looked toward the encrypted folder.
“Somebody must have heard us.”
Rebecca turned back to the laptop.
“If Light of Port was a code, the password probably isn’t the location.”
Frank stared.
“It would be something only Caleb and I knew.”
Nobody spoke.
Rain clicked softly against the windows.
Frank sat down.
Closed his eyes.
Minutes passed.
Then his fingers moved toward the keyboard.
“I remember something.”
Hannah leaned forward.
“What?”
Frank typed two words.
Second Shift.
The cursor paused.
Rebecca pressed Enter.
The folder opened.
Dozens of files appeared at once.
Videos.
Financial ledgers.
Photographs.
Scanned documents.
Rebecca stopped moving.
Hannah looked at the screen.
Near the top sat one video file dated only hours before Caleb disappeared.
For ten years, Hannah had wondered what happened to Owen’s father.
Now Caleb himself was waiting inside the computer to tell them.
