Chapter 6
I was eleven when my father died.
For twenty-two years, I had believed his death was a tragic accident.
He had been driving home from a property meeting when his car left the road during a heavy storm.
The police report blamed poor visibility and wet pavement.
My mother never questioned it.
Neither did I.
We were too busy surviving.
Now someone was claiming there was more to the story.
I drove home immediately.
Mom was sitting beside Andre in the living room.
Her hands were shaking.
When she saw me, she stood.
“Marcus.”
I hugged her.
“I'm here.”
She held me tightly.
I could feel her heart racing.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
She sat down.
The caller had been a woman.
She sounded older.
She said she had known my father through the land partnership.
She claimed Harold Hayes had threatened him shortly before his death.
Then she hung up.
Mom looked terrified.
“I don't know if it's true.”
I took her hand.
“We're not going to assume anything without evidence.”
I called Claire.
She advised me to preserve the call information and speak with the authorities about the allegation.
We did.
I wanted answers.
But I also understood how dangerous it would be to build conclusions around an anonymous phone call.
The investigation into Victor and Nia was already complicated.
I wasn't going to make it worse by chasing rumors.
Still, I couldn't stop thinking about my father.
He had been a quiet man.
Hardworking.
Careful.
He hated conflict.
Whenever people tried to cheat him, he insisted on resolving matters through documents and the law.
I remembered him teaching me to read property maps at our kitchen table.
I remembered how he pointed to a piece of land and said, “Always know what you're buying.”
I smiled sadly at the memory.
Then I looked at Mom.
“Did Dad ever mention Harold Hayes?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Harold wanted quick money and didn't like being told no.”
I leaned forward.
“Did they argue?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“A land deal. Harold wanted Samuel to sign away rights that didn't belong entirely to him.”
My stomach tightened.
“And Dad refused?”
Mom nodded.
“He said he'd rather lose money than sign something dishonest.”
I looked toward the window.
That sounded like my father.
Then Mom continued.
“Harold became angry. He accused your father of stealing opportunities from him.”
I swallowed.
“Did he threaten Dad?”
She hesitated.
“He made unpleasant calls.”
My chest tightened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I never believed those arguments had anything to do with the accident.”
I nodded slowly.
Neither of us knew whether the anonymous caller was telling the truth.
But the old dispute was real.
And Victor had clearly inherited his father's resentment.
The next day, Claire located additional historical records.
The court documents showed that Harold had attempted to claim land interests using altered agreements.
My father challenged the documents.
The court rejected Harold's claim.
Harold later declared bankruptcy.
His business collapsed.
Victor had been a teenager at the time.
I stared at the dates.
The conflict had happened shortly before my father's death.
But that alone didn't prove anything.
Claire agreed.
“We need to keep the issues separate.”
I nodded.
“The financial fraud investigation is based on current evidence. The old accident requires its own review.”
She looked relieved.
“Exactly.”
Meanwhile, the forensic accountants uncovered more transactions.
Sterling Meridian Holdings had received money for consulting services connected to projects it had never meaningfully performed.
Several approvals had been made using Victor's authority.
Others involved outside documents that appeared to bear unauthorized signatures.
I felt sick.
The preliminary total was now approaching three million dollars.
I sat in Claire's office staring at the spreadsheet.
“Three million.”
She nodded.
“That's the amount currently under review, not necessarily the final loss.”
I closed my eyes.
I had spent years building a company.
I hired people.
I paid salaries.
I funded scholarships.
I believed success meant creating opportunities for others.
Victor had apparently treated my company like a personal bank.
And Nia had helped him.
I leaned back.
“Can we recover it?”
Claire remained careful.
“Some assets may be recoverable. But we need the legal process to determine ownership and liability.”
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
Andre.
“Marcus, call me now.”
My stomach tightened.
I called immediately.
“What happened?”
“Your mother is missing.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She went for a walk in the garden. I stepped inside to answer a call. When I came back, she was gone.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Did she take her phone?”
“Yes, but she's not answering.”
I rushed toward the door.
Claire followed.
We drove to the house.
Andre was waiting outside.
He looked horrified.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“Let's find her.”
We checked the garden.
The nearby streets.
The park across the road.
No sign.
Then I noticed something near the gate.
The beige shawl.
My mother's shawl.
It was lying on the ground beside the sidewalk.
I picked it up.
My hands began shaking.
“Mom?”
I looked around.
Nothing.
I called the police and explained the situation.
They began gathering information.
I provided the threatening photograph and the earlier reports.
I was terrified.
But I forced myself to answer every question clearly.
Then my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then my mother's voice.
“Marcus?”
I nearly collapsed.
“Mom! Where are you?”
She was crying.
“I'm okay.”
“Where?”
“At a church.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why did you leave?”
She took a shaky breath.
“A woman came to the gate. She said she knew your father.”
My heart pounded.
“She asked me to come with her.”
I felt sick.
“Mom, you should never go anywhere with a stranger.”
“I know.”
She began crying harder.
“But she showed me something.”
I looked at Claire.
“What?”
“A letter.”
My breath caught.
Mom continued.
“She said your father gave it to her before he died.”
I stared at the shawl in my hand.
“Where is she now?”
“Still here.”
I took a slow breath.
“Stay with the church staff. Don't leave.”
“I won't.”
I hung up.
Then I looked at Claire.
“We found her.”
She exhaled with relief.
But the fear hadn't left my chest.
May you like
Because whoever had approached my mother knew about the old family history.
And somehow, after twenty-two years, another piece of my father's life was about to surface.
