Then Diana reached behind the refrigerator.
She pulled out a dusty manila envelope.
She placed it on the table.
"This is what your father left."
Sarah stared at it.
"What is it?"
"Part of the truth."
Diana opened it.
Photographs fell onto the table.
Bank statements.
Names.
Documents.
A map.
Then one folded piece of paper.
Diana touched it carefully.
"Frank left instructions."
"For what?"
"The evidence."
Sarah leaned closer.
"Where is it?"
Diana whispered:
"Waterfront Park."
Sarah felt cold.
"The bench?"
Diana nodded.
"Third bench from the east entrance."
Sarah remembered the park.
She had been there once as a child.
Her mother had taken her there on a sunny afternoon.
She had never understood why Diana had stood staring at one particular bench for so long.
"Under the left armrest," Diana said.
"There is a hollow inside the concrete."
"How do I open it?"
"Your birthday."
Sarah frowned.
"Why?"
"Frank said you would know."
"I was a baby."
"I know."
Diana began crying again.
"He said the date had to be written out."
"Month, day, year."
Hank's phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
His expression changed.
Sarah knew before he spoke.
"They're here."
Diana stood.
"What?"
"Two black SUVs."
Sarah looked toward the window.
Hank pulled the blinds closed.
"We leave now."
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Multiple footsteps.
Heavy.
Organized.
Diana grabbed Sarah's hand.
"Where?"
"Roof."
Sarah's eyes widened.
"You're kidding."
"No."
The first knock struck the apartment door.
Hard.
Then another.
Hank pointed toward the north stairwell.
"Move."
They ran.
The Rooftop
The stairwell smelled like dust and old paint.
Hank moved first.
Sarah followed.
Diana came behind.
The pounding on the apartment door continued.
Then wood cracked.
"They're inside," Hank said.
Sarah's heart hammered.
They reached the rooftop.
Hank shoved the door open.
Cold wind hit them.
The city stretched beneath a gray February sky.
Sarah looked at the gap between buildings.
Eight feet.
"No."
Diana stopped.
"I can't."
Hank turned.
"Yes, you can."
"I'm fifty-one years old."
"And the men behind us don't care how old you are."
The rooftop door shook.
Someone was coming.
Sarah grabbed her mother's hand.
"We jump together."
Diana looked at her.
"What if we miss?"
"We don't."
Hank counted.
"One."
The door shook again.
"Two."
Sarah tightened her grip.
"Three."
They ran.
Sarah jumped.
For one terrible second, there was nothing beneath her.
Then her feet hit gravel.
She rolled.
Pain shot through her palms.
She heard her mother land.
Hank followed.
They reached the fire escape.
Metal screamed beneath their weight.
Below them, an alley waited.
They reached the ground.
Hank's gray truck sat two blocks away.
The engine was already running.
They climbed inside.
Hank drove.
Diana pressed herself against the window.
Sarah looked at her bleeding hands.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't thinking about running away.
She was thinking about going somewhere.
Waterfront Park.
"My father left something for me."
Hank glanced at her through the mirror.
"Yes."
"And Cutter knows."
"He suspects."
"Then he'll come."
Hank nodded.
"That's the plan."
Sarah stared at him.
"What plan?"
Hank handed her his phone.
A recording application was already open.
"Everything from now on will be transmitted to federal prosecutors."
Sarah stared.
"You arranged this?"
"Three years ago."
"What?"
"I've been trying to bring Cutter down for a long time."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I didn't have the evidence."
He paused.
"Frank did."
Sarah looked at the phone.
"And now I have it."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"We don't know what's inside that box."
Sarah stared out the windshield.
"We'll find out."
Hank drove toward the river.
After twenty-four years, Sarah Mitchell was finally going to meet the truth her father had died protecting.
The Box Beneath the Bench
Waterfront Park looked different at six in the morning.
The trees were bare.
The river was dark.
A cold wind moved along the water.
Joggers passed occasionally.
Dogs pulled at leashes.
But Hank saw things Sarah couldn't.
He scanned the park.
"Two by the maintenance shed."
Sarah looked.
She saw nothing suspicious.
"One near the north entrance."
He continued.
"Another by the trees."
Diana whispered:
"He knows."
Hank nodded.
"Dale Cutter always knows."
Sarah looked toward the third bench.
It was forty yards away.
"That's where Frank proposed to you?"
Diana shook her head.
"No."
She smiled faintly.
"That's where he told me he was going to become someone worthy of you."
Sarah's throat tightened.