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.”

My brother-in-law.

The man who’d helped me organize Ben’s memorial.

The man who’d cried beside me when the search ended.

The man who’d spent five years pretending he didn’t know where my family was.

He rested a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

Then looked directly into the camera.

“Hello, Rachel.”

My blood turned cold.

Michael smiled.

“I see you found Owen.”

I couldn’t move.

Then he continued.

“That was unfortunate.”

Ben tried to stand.

Michael pushed him back into the chair.

I screamed.

“Don’t touch him!”

Of course, he couldn’t hear me.

The video continued.

Michael looked toward Caleb.

“Tell your mother what she needs to do.”

Caleb’s face crumpled.

He shook his head.

Michael’s expression hardened.

“Caleb.”

My son began crying.

Then he whispered:

“Mom, give them the memory card.”

I gripped my phone.

“No.”

Caleb looked directly at the camera.

“Please.”

Tears streamed down his face.

“They said they’ll let Dad come home.”