Chapter 14 - Missing Again
Federal investigators did not tell Noah anything.
They did not owe a sixteen-year-old updates on an active financial inquiry.
Noah hated that.
He also understood it.
Marianne received one call confirming Charles had made contact with authorities two weeks earlier through an attorney.
He had provided documents.
He had been scheduled for another interview.
Then he stopped responding.
Again.
This time, police took the disappearance more seriously.
Noah wanted to help.
Rachel stopped him.
“This is where you stop.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“You exposed evidence. You helped other students come forward. You are not chasing missing accountants.”
“I wasn’t going to chase—”
She raised one eyebrow.
Noah stopped.
“Fine.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“I’m aware.”
“Act like it occasionally.”
So Noah went to school.
He worked on his documentary.
He tried to live.
It was harder than expected.
Westbridge had changed around him.
Students who had mocked him now nodded respectfully.
Teachers asked whether he was “doing okay” with voices that made him feel fragile.
His locker had become symbolic.
Someone taped a handwritten note on it:
WE BELIEVE YOU.
Another:
SORRY I LAUGHED.
Another:
YOU WERE BRAVE.
Noah removed all three.
Maya caught him.
“Why?”
“I don’t want a shrine.”
“They mean well.”
“I know.”
“Still.”
“Still.”
She helped pull the tape off.
In media class, Mr. Kim assigned students to finish their semester documentaries.
Noah had originally planned a piece about soundscapes of public spaces.
Now everyone assumed he would make a documentary about the scandal.
He refused.
“Why?” Maya asked.
“Because I don’t want the worst six weeks of my life to become my brand.”
She considered that.
“Fair.”
Instead, he returned to his original project.
Cafeteria noise.
Hallway bells.
The stadium at dawn.
The click of auditorium lights cooling after rehearsal.
Ordinary sounds.
A life larger than Chloe Mercer.
That mattered.
Then Mr. Kim received an email.
He read it twice.
Looked at Noah.
“What?”
“The fellowship committee.”
Noah stood.
“They want an interview.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
His stomach flipped.
Not a rejection.
Not another review.
An interview.
Rachel made him practice that night.
“Why do you want the fellowship?”
Noah groaned.
“Please don’t use your hospital-interview voice.”
“I have one voice.”
“You absolutely do not.”
She smiled.
“Answer.”
Noah thought.
“Because I like recording things people ignore.”
“Better.”
“Because sound changes how people remember.”
“Better.”
“Because I want to tell stories.”
“Generic.”
“Mom.”
“I’m helping.”
During the real interview, one committee member eventually asked about the controversy.
Noah had expected it.
“What did the experience teach you about media responsibility?”
He could have given a perfect answer.
Something about truth.
Ethics.
Documentation.
Instead, he said, “That recording something doesn’t automatically make you right.”
The committee member looked interested.
Noah continued.
“I had real evidence. But I also had anger. If I’d played that recording in the cafeteria just to humiliate Chloe back, maybe the truth would still have come out, but I would’ve been using it the same way she used her phone against me.”
A second interviewer asked, “Do you regret recording?”
“No.”
“Do you regret not playing it publicly?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because evidence should solve something. Not just hurt someone.”
He finished the interview shaking.
His mother hugged him afterward.
“You did well.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
Three days later, Chloe returned from suspension.
No varsity jacket.
No crowd.
She walked into school alone.
Some students booed.
Others filmed.
She kept walking.
Noah saw Trevor hold his phone toward her.
“Hey, Chloe! Smile!”
The word struck Noah like a physical thing.
Smile.
Exactly what she had said while he was on the floor.
Chloe stopped.
Her face tightened.
Trevor laughed.
“Come on. Isn’t this what you do?”
Noah crossed the hallway.
“Put it away.”
Trevor turned.
“You defending her now?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m telling you to put it away.”
Trevor looked confused.
“You hate her.”
Noah looked at Chloe.
“I hate what she did.”
Different.
Chloe understood.
Her eyes dropped.
Trevor muttered something and lowered the phone.
No applause followed.
No cinematic victory.
Students simply moved on.
Later, Chloe approached Noah.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t for you.”
“I know.”
“It was for me.”
She nodded.
“I know that too.”
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face drained.
“What?”
She turned it toward Noah.
An email.
No sender name.
One sentence.
ASK YOUR FATHER WHY CHARLES BELL WAS IN YOUR MOTHER’S CAR THE NIGHT SHE DIED.
Chloe stopped breathing.
Noah stared.
Her mother had died eight years earlier.
A highway collision.
At least, that was what Chloe had always been told.
Suddenly the financial scandal was no longer the only secret Grant Mercer had been protecting.
May you like
And this one belonged to Chloe.
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