Chapter 9 - WHAT AARON KNEW
Aaron's note was not a prophecy.
It did not reveal his death.
It did not accuse Greg of murder.
It was almost painfully ordinary.
Marianne had kept it because Aaron mailed her several papers when he was trying to separate his finances from the repair work he had briefly done with Greg.
On one page, Aaron had written:
Greg still owes me for the Harbor Street jobs. I'm done chasing him. If he ever comes around Nora or Leo talking like we're friends, don't trust it. I made a mistake partnering with him.
That was all.
No grand secret.
No hidden fortune.
Just a warning from a man who had learned too late that Greg could not be trusted.
Marianne had photocopied the note and placed it inside Leo's birthday card after she learned Nora had married Greg.
She did not know how to approach Nora directly without seeming cruel.
So she sent the card.
Greg intercepted it.
Then hid it.
Nora stared at the photocopy Marianne emailed.
"If I had seen this..."
Melissa did not let her finish.
"You might have confronted him."
"I would've left."
"You don't know that."
Nora looked at her.
Melissa held her gaze.
"Don't rewrite yourself into a smarter person just because you know the ending now."
Nora hated the sentence.
Which probably meant she needed it.
The truth was, she might have defended Greg.
By then, she already loved him.
She might have believed his explanation.
Aaron was angry.
Aaron misunderstood.
It was old business.
People change.
Nora could not know.
And not knowing made her furious.
Not only at Greg.
At how fragile certainty had become.
Leo returned to school on a reduced schedule.
His first morning, he stood outside the building and refused to move.
Nora waited.
She did not drag him.
Did not bargain.
Did not say she was late.
Mrs. Patterson came outside.
"Good morning, Leo."
He stared at the sidewalk.
"We saved your seat."
Silence.
"And Mateo says the class fish has been acting suspicious."
Leo looked up slightly.
Mrs. Patterson lowered her voice.
"I think it's planning something."
A tiny smile.
Nora nearly cried from relief.
Leo went inside.
At noon, the school counselor called.
Nora's stomach dropped automatically.
For two years, phone calls meant trouble.
"Leo had a difficult moment," the counselor said.
"What happened?"
"He heard the custodian close a storage-room door."
Nora shut her eyes.
"He panicked."
"Is he okay?"
"He's with me."
"I'm coming."
"You don't have to rush."
"I want to."
That difference mattered.
Nora arrived twelve minutes later.
Leo sat wrapped in a school blanket.
He looked embarrassed.
"I thought it locked."
Nora sat beside him.
"The storage room?"
He nodded.
"Did you know where you were?"
"School."
"Did you know Greg wasn't there?"
"Yes."
"But your body got scared anyway?"
The therapist had taught them that sentence.
Leo nodded.
Nora touched the couch between them.
"Can I hold your hand?"
He considered.
Then offered it.
"Your body is going to remember things for a while," she said. "That doesn't mean you're back there."
Leo squeezed her fingers.
"What if it never stops?"
Nora wanted to promise.
Instead she said:
"Then we learn what helps."
Leo thought about that.
"Can doors stay open?"
"Yes."
"All doors?"
"The ones you need."
He leaned against her shoulder.
That evening, Officer Ruiz called.
Greg's case was expanding.
Two more elderly homeowners had come forward after police contacted people in his business records.
One described being pressured into signing a check after Greg insisted emergency repairs were necessary.
Another said Greg had kept a spare house key without permission.
Nora's stomach turned.
The pattern was becoming visible.
Greg sought vulnerability.
Grief.
Age.
Exhaustion.
Confusion.
Children.
Widows.
People who could be told:
You forgot.
You're confused.
Trust me.
Then Ruiz said something unexpected.
"We need to ask Leo about one specific Tuesday."
Nora immediately stiffened.
"Why?"
"A homeowner remembers seeing him."
"Where?"
"At her house."
Nora stared.
"Greg took Leo with him?"
"Apparently."
"When?"
"August nineteenth."
Nora remembered the date.
Leo had supposedly been at a day camp.
She had packed him lunch that morning.
"What happened?"
"The homeowner says Greg was repairing her back steps. She remembers Leo because he looked upset."
Nora's throat tightened.
"What did he see?"
Ruiz hesitated.
"We don't know yet."
Leo was interviewed later by a child specialist with Nora watching from another room.
The questioning was careful.
Slow.
No one suggested answers.
When asked about August nineteenth, Leo remembered the house.
Green porch.
Ceramic birds.
An old woman named Mrs. Bell.
Greg had taken Leo because his usual summer program was closed.
At some point, Greg told Leo to wait in the truck.
Leo got hot.
He left the truck.
He walked around the side of the house looking for Greg.
And through an open kitchen window, he saw Greg standing behind Mrs. Bell while she wrote a check.
That alone meant nothing.
Then Leo remembered what Greg said.
"Add another zero."
The interviewer asked, "What happened after that?"
Leo looked down.
"She said no."
"And then?"
"Greg got mad."
"How?"
"He told her nobody would believe her because she forgot things."
In the observation room, Nora stopped breathing.
The specialist asked:
"Did Greg know you heard him?"
Leo nodded.
"What did he do?"
"He put me in the shed when we got home."
"How long?"
"Until dark."
"Did he say why?"
Leo's answer came quietly.
"He said curious boys grow up without families."
Nora turned away from the screen.
For the first time, she understood that the shed was not simply punishment.
It was training.
Greg was teaching Leo that seeing the truth was dangerous.
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And when Leo stole the rusty key months later, he had not been planning to escape.
He had been planning to prove to himself that the truth still existed somewhere.
