Chapter 7
Vanessa tried to leave.
Dad caught the door before she reached it.
“Answer the question.”
She turned.
“Move.”
His voice hardened.
“How did you know Elena's plans before she died?”
Vanessa stared at him.
For years, she had controlled every conversation in our house.
Now she seemed to realize that control was slipping away.
“Marcus, you're being ridiculous.”
“Answer me.”
She looked toward Maya.
“Get your things.”
Maya didn't move.
“Mom…”
“I said get your things!”
Maya stood slowly.
Then she looked at me.
“No.”
Vanessa froze.
“What?”
Maya's voice trembled.
“I'm not going anywhere until you tell us the truth.”
Vanessa stared at her daughter.
“You ungrateful little—”
“Enough,” Dad said.
He stepped between them.
I felt something shift inside me.
For the first time, he wasn't just defending me.
He was defending Maya too.
Vanessa grabbed her handbag.
“You'll regret this.”
She hurried outside.
Dad didn't follow.
He simply closed the door.
Then he looked at me.
“I need to tell you something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He sat down heavily.
“Elena and I were having problems before she died.”
I stared at him.
“What kind of problems?”
“Money. Work. Stress. I was spending too much time away from home.”
I waited.
He looked ashamed.
“And I knew Vanessa before Elena died.”
The room went silent.
Maya covered her mouth.
I felt as though the floor had vanished beneath me.
“How well did you know her?”
Dad looked at me.
“We worked together on a charity committee.”
I swallowed.
“Were you having an affair?”
He closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Dad.”
He opened them.
“We became close. Too close. We never had a physical relationship while Elena was alive, but I crossed emotional boundaries.”
My throat burned.
“Did Mom know?”
He nodded.
“She suspected something.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I thought about my mother sitting alone in her study, writing letters and making plans for my future.
Had she been protecting me because she knew Dad might choose someone else?
“Did you love Vanessa?”
Dad looked away.
“I was flattered by her attention. I liked feeling needed.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And Mom?”
“She loved me.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
He began crying.
“I loved Elena. But I wasn't the husband she deserved near the end.”
I stood.
I couldn't sit beside him.
Not after hearing that.
I walked into the garden.
For a long time, I stood beside the rosebushes my mother had planted.
I remembered watching her kneel in the dirt, explaining that flowers needed patience.
She used to tell me that roots mattered more than appearances.
Now I understood why.
Our family had looked beautiful from the outside.
But beneath the surface, something had been rotting for years.
That evening, Daniel called with new information.
His investigators had found old correspondence between Vanessa and Adrian Price.
Some messages dated back to the year my mother died.
Adrian had been working for a property management company that handled several of my grandfather's buildings.
Vanessa had met him through the same charity committee where she knew my father.
I stared at the documents Daniel emailed me.
One message mentioned my mother's estate planning.
Another discussed the value of the properties.
And a third contained a sentence that made my hands tremble.
Once Elena is gone, Marcus will be easier to manage.
I read it again.
Then again.
My heart hammered.
I called Daniel immediately.
“Does this mean they hurt my mother?”
His voice was careful.
“Nia, we don't know that. These messages show troubling intentions, but they don't establish what caused her death.”
My mother had died after a sudden illness.
The doctors called it a severe infection complicated by an unexpected reaction to medication.
At nine years old, I hadn't understood the details.
I only knew that one day she was making pancakes.
And a week later, she was gone.
“Can we investigate?” I whispered.
“Yes. We can review the records and provide relevant information to the authorities.”
I swallowed.
“Please.”
The following morning, Daniel arranged a meeting with an investigator.
I brought my mother's medical records, the blue ledger, and the old letters.
Dad came too.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
But I wanted him there.
The investigator explained that the correspondence was suspicious but not proof of criminal involvement in my mother's death.
He promised to review the evidence and coordinate with appropriate authorities if anything warranted further investigation.
I nodded.
I didn't want a comforting story.
I wanted the truth.
That afternoon, I returned to my mother's study.
I searched every shelf.
Every drawer.
Every box.
Then I noticed the old sewing basket.
My mother had loved embroidery.
When I was little, she used to hide tiny notes inside the cushion where she kept her needles.
I opened the basket.
Beneath a layer of faded fabric, I found a small metal tin.
Inside was a flash drive.
A folded note lay beneath it.
My darling Nia,
If you are reading this, someone may have tried to take what I built for you.
Trust Daniel Brooks.
Trust the records.
And remember that love should never require you to surrender your voice.
I began crying.
Then I plugged the flash drive into my laptop.
There were photographs.
Bank statements.
Copies of property documents.
And one video file.
The date was three weeks before my mother entered the hospital.
I clicked play.
My mother's face appeared on the screen.
She looked tired but determined.
“Nia, sweetheart,” she began, “if you ever need to hear this, I want you to know that I didn't leave you unprotected.”
I covered my mouth.
May you like
Then she said something that made me stop breathing.
“There is someone close to your father who has been trying to take control of our family assets.”
