PART 4 — THE NIGHT MY CAR ALMOST KILLED ME !!
“You should’ve just signed the papers, Carol.”
Nobody moved.
Not Patrice.
Not Ashley.
Not me.
Dale seemed to realize what he had just said.
His lips parted.
Then closed.
Patrice lifted her phone slightly.
“Could you repeat that?”
Dale’s eyes snapped toward her.
“You know exactly what I meant.”
“I’d like to hear you explain it.”
“I meant if Carol had signed the business restructuring documents months ago, none of this drama would be happening.”
I stared at him.
“That isn’t what you said.”
He turned toward me.
“Carol, don’t start.”
I almost laughed.
Don’t start.
Twenty-six years of lies.
Nearly a million dollars of debt.
A five-million-dollar life insurance policy.
A secret payment connected to my car.
And he still spoke to me like I was the one causing trouble.
“You’re right,” I said softly.
“I shouldn’t start.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“I should finish.”
Something changed in his face.
Patrice stepped beside me.
“Carol, I strongly recommend you do not go home tonight.”
Dale scoffed.
“Oh, come on.”
Patrice ignored him.
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Somewhere Dale doesn’t have access to?”
I thought for a second.
“My sister’s.”
Dale laughed.
“Linda? She’ll call me before you get there.”
I looked at him.
That told me everything.
“No,” I said.
“Not Linda’s.”
I had somewhere else.
A place Dale didn’t know existed.
Years ago, one of my oldest clients, Miss Evelyn, had bought a small guest cottage behind her house after her husband died.
She always joked that if I ever needed to escape my own family, the key was under the blue flowerpot.
I used to laugh.
Suddenly it wasn’t funny.
Patrice looked at Ashley.
“You shouldn’t go with Dale either.”
Ashley nodded immediately.
Dale stared at her.
“You’re coming home.”
“No.”
“Ashley.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“The condo is mine.”
“I know.”
“The car is mine.”
“I know.”
“You have nowhere else to go.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she pulled the Lexus key from her purse.
Placed it on my counter.
And pushed it toward him.
“I’d rather walk.”
Dale stared at the key.
Ashley wiped her cheeks.
“You told me Carol was weak.”
I said nothing.
“You told me she depended on you.”
Still nothing.
“You told me she was too scared to leave.”
Dale looked at me.
Ashley continued.
“But I think you were scared she would.”
The salon went silent again.
Dale picked up the Lexus key.
He placed it in his pocket.
Then he pointed at Ashley.
“You’ll regret this.”
Patrice spoke immediately.
“Careful.”
Dale turned toward her.
“Is that a threat?”
“You tell me.”
They stared at each other.
Finally, Dale pulled open the salon door.
Before stepping outside, he looked back at me.
“You’re destroying twenty-six years over numbers you don’t understand.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“You destroyed it.”
He left.
Through the front window, we watched him cross the parking lot.
He climbed into his truck.
Sat there.
Didn’t start the engine.
His head stayed lowered.
Patrice walked to the blinds and closed them.
Then she locked the door.
Ashley sank into the waiting chair.
“What happens now?”
Patrice looked at me.
“Now we stop thinking about the divorce.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the financial issues may be bigger than divorce.”
She glanced at my phone.
“And the car issue could be bigger than the finances.”
Ashley whispered, “Do you think he tried to hurt her?”
Patrice answered carefully.
“I think we don’t assume anything.”
Then she looked at me.
“But we also don’t ignore anything.”
I nodded.
My hands were still shaking.
Patrice pulled out a yellow legal pad.
“Carol, tell me exactly what happened with the brakes.”
I sat down.
“It was June nineteenth.”
“Time?”
“Maybe nine-thirty at night.”
“Where were you coming from?”
“The dentist’s office.”
“Your cleaning job?”
“Yes.”
Ashley lowered her head.
I kept talking.
“I was driving home.”
“Same route you usually take?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything feel wrong before the problem?”
I thought.
“The pedal felt softer than usual.”
“How long?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“Then?”
“I came to the light near Northside Drive.”
My throat tightened.
“The pedal went almost to the floor.”
Ashley covered her mouth.
“I pumped it.”
“Did the car stop?”
“Barely.”
“Then what?”
“I pulled into a gas station.”
“Did you call Dale?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I remembered every word now.
“He sounded irritated.”
Patrice’s pen stopped.
“Irritated?”
“He said I always panicked about the car.”
“What else?”
“He told me to drive slowly home.”
Patrice stared at me.
“He told you to keep driving?”
“Yes.”
“After the brakes nearly failed?”
“Yes.”
Ashley whispered, “Oh my God.”
Patrice looked back at her notes.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The gas station clerk wouldn’t let me.”
I smiled weakly at the memory.
“His name was Malik.”
“He said if I tried driving that car, he’d take my keys himself.”
Patrice nodded.
“Good man.”
“He helped me call a tow truck.”
“Where was it towed?”
“Johnson Auto.”
Patrice wrote that down.
“Who inspected it?”
“An older mechanic named Gary.”
“What did Gary tell you?”
I searched my memory.
“He said the brake fluid was nearly gone.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said there was a leak.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
Patrice looked at me.
“Did Dale ever speak to Gary?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The next morning.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“What did Dale tell you afterward?”
I felt cold.
“He said Gary told him it was normal wear.”
Patrice underlined something.
“Did Gary tell you that directly?”
“No.”
My stomach turned.
The answer had been obvious, but I had never asked.
Why would I?
Dale was my husband.
Why would I call the mechanic after my husband already handled it?
That was how trust worked.
Or how blindness worked.
Patrice picked up her phone.
“We need Gary.”
Ashley looked toward the salon entrance.
“What if Dale goes there first?”
Patrice’s eyes sharpened.
“Exactly.”
She called directory assistance, got the number, and put it on speaker.
The phone rang four times.
Then a rough male voice answered.
“Johnson Auto.”
“Is this Gary Johnson?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Patrice Moody. I’m an attorney. I’m here with Carol Mercer.”
Silence.
Then Gary said, “Carol from the Buick?”
My heart stopped.
“Yes,” I said.
“You remember me?”
“Ma’am, I remember that car.”
Patrice leaned closer.
“Why?”
Gary exhaled.
“Because I didn’t like what I found.”
Every hair on my arms stood up.
“What did you find?”
Gary hesitated.
“I should probably ask what this is about.”
Patrice answered.
“Potential fraud and possibly intentional vehicle tampering.”
Another silence.
Then Gary said, “I knew it.”
My hands went numb.
“You knew what?”
“The brake line.”
Ashley started crying again.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
Patrice’s voice remained steady.
“What about the brake line?”
“It wasn’t wear.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What was it?”
Gary spoke slowly.
“It had been cut.”
The salon disappeared around me.
I heard Patrice say something.
I didn’t know what.
I heard Ashley gasp.
My ears rang.
Cut.
Not old.
Not leaking.
Not worn.
Cut.
Patrice touched my arm.
“Carol.”
I looked at her.
She spoke gently.
“Stay with me.”
I nodded.
Barely.
Then I leaned toward the phone.
“Gary.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“I called your house.”
I looked at Patrice.
“When?”
“The morning after the tow.”
“Who answered?”
Gary hesitated.
Then said, “Your husband.”
The room went cold.
“What did he say?”
“He said he already knew.”
My heart pounded.
“He knew the line was cut?”
“That’s what he told me.”
I closed my eyes.
Gary continued.
“He said you had been having trouble with the car and somebody must have damaged it in the parking lot.”
“That never happened.”
“I figured.”
“What else?”
“He asked if I’d put normal brake failure on the invoice.”
Patrice leaned toward the phone.
“Did you?”
“No.”
I opened my eyes.
Gary continued.
“I told him I wouldn’t falsify anything.”
Patrice asked, “Do you still have the invoice?”
“Should.”
“Any photos?”
There was a pause.
Then Gary said, “Actually, yes.”
I felt Patrice’s hand tighten around her pen.
“Why did you take photos?”
“Because something about the whole thing bothered me.”
“What exactly?”
“Mr. Mercer.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did Dale do?”
Gary lowered his voice.
“He came to the shop that afternoon.”
I whispered, “He told me he was working.”
“He wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“He offered me cash.”
Nobody spoke.
“How much?” Patrice asked.
“Three thousand.”
My mind jumped immediately to Ryan’s records.
Four thousand-dollar payment.
Vehicle service.
CAROL’S CAR.
HANDLE IT QUIETLY.
Patrice asked, “What did he want?”
“He wanted the damaged line replaced.”
“Anything else?”
“He wanted the old one destroyed.”
Ashley stood up.
“No.”
Gary continued.
“I refused.”
I covered my face.
Patrice asked, “Where is it now?”
“The brake line?”
“Yes.”
“I kept it.”
I lowered my hands.
“You kept it?”
“Locked cabinet in the back.”
Patrice looked at me.
Her expression had changed completely.
This was no longer suspicion.
This was evidence.
“Gary,” she said, “do not give that part to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not answer questions from Dale.”
“I won’t.”
“And if anyone comes asking for it, call the police.”
Gary went quiet.
Then he said, “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“He already called ten minutes ago.”
My blood froze.
Patrice stood.
“What did he ask?”
“He wanted to know if I still had records from June.”
“Did you answer?”
“I told him I’d have to look.”
“What did he say?”
Gary paused.
“He said he was coming over.”
Patrice grabbed her purse.
“We’re calling the police now.”
Ashley stood.
I didn’t move.
All I could think about was one thing.
Dale had left the salon less than fifteen minutes earlier.
Johnson Auto was twelve minutes away.
If he went straight there—
Patrice was already dialing.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text.
From Dale.
I stared at the screen.
COME HOME, CAROL.
WE NEED TO FIX THIS BEFORE SOMEBODY GETS HURT.
Ashley read it over my shoulder.
Her face went white.
Patrice took one look and said, “Screenshot that.”
I did.
Then another text appeared.
I NEVER WANTED ANY OF THIS.
Then another.
YOU PUSHED TOO FAR.
My hands stopped shaking.
Not because I felt safe.
Because suddenly I felt completely clear.
I typed nothing.
Patrice said, “Good. Don’t respond.”
But before I could lock my phone, another message came through.
This one wasn’t from Dale.
It was Ryan.
MRS. MERCER, I FOUND SOMETHING ELSE IN THE COMPANY FILES.
I stared at the words.
Patrice stared too.
Then the next message arrived.
A scanned document.
A purchase receipt.
Not for a property.
Not for a boat.
Not for jewelry.
For a GPS tracker.
Installed four months earlier.
Vehicle listed:
2014 BUICK LACROSSE.
My car.
And beneath the receipt was one name.
Authorized by:
DALE MERCER.
CLICK HERE FOR PART 5 — THE TRACKER UNDER MY CAR
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