Part 2: My husband and our three sons d!ed during a storm on their guys’ trip — five years later, my youngest daughter came to me and said, “Mom, I know what really happened that day. The police officer lied to you.”

Then she showed me another document.

A property registration.

The company that owned the isolated facility where Owen had been held was linked to a holding business.

Its listed officer was Michael.

I couldn’t breathe.

“No.”

Ellis looked at me.

“Rachel, do you know of any legitimate reason he would be connected to that property?”

I shook my head.

For five years, Michael had called every Christmas.

He sent birthday cards.

Asked how the girls were doing.

Told me he missed Ben.

Once, when I started crying over the phone, he cried with me.

Now I wondered whether he’d known exactly where my sons were.

I remembered Owen’s face when Michael appeared at the cabin.

The fear.

The desperate way he held my hand.

I looked toward Detective Ellis.

“I think Michael knows more than he told me.”

She nodded.

“We’re looking into that.”

***

That evening, Michael called.

I stared at his name.