Chapter 2
I had spent twenty-six years believing my father died in a highway accident.
That's what my mother told me when I was thirteen.
That's what our relatives believed.
And that's what I had repeated to my own daughter whenever she asked about the grandfather she never knew.
Now I was staring at a property deed carrying my father's name.
A document created eighteen years after his supposed death.
I looked at my mother.
"Explain this."
Her hands trembled.
"Marcus, please sit down."
"No, Mom."
My voice cracked.
"Tell me why Dad's name is on a deed from eight years ago."
Denise looked between us.
For once, she had nothing to say.
Nia gently took Noah's hand.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you something to drink."
Noah looked worried.
"Is Great-Grandma okay?"
Nia kissed his forehead.
"She will be."
She guided him toward the kitchen.
I watched them leave.
Then turned back to Mom.
She lowered herself into a chair.
I sat across from her.
Denise remained standing near the staircase, clutching the keys.
Mom took a deep breath.
"Your father didn't die the way I told you."
My chest tightened.
"What does that mean?"
She closed her eyes.
"Samuel disappeared."
I stared at her.
"Disappeared?"
She nodded.
"He was involved in a business dispute. One day, he left for a meeting and never came home."
I felt sick.
"But there was a funeral."
"Yes."
"A coffin."
"Yes."
"People crying."
Mom began weeping.
"I know."
I leaned forward.
"Was he inside it?"
She shook her head.
My heart seemed to stop.
"No."
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Then I stood and walked toward the window.
Everything I remembered suddenly felt uncertain.
The church.
The black suits.
My mother's tears.
The pastor telling us Samuel Carter had gone to a better place.
My father hadn't been buried there.
We had held a memorial service for a man who was missing.
"Why did you lie to me?"
Mom's voice broke.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
She looked toward Denise.
Then lowered her voice.
"Of the people looking for him."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"What people?"
Before she could answer, Nia returned.
Noah was watching cartoons in the kitchen.
Nia sat beside Grandma.
"Dad, I need to explain something."
I stared at her.
"You knew?"
"Not everything."
"How long?"
"Since yesterday."
I felt betrayed all over again.
She reached toward me.
"Dad, please listen."
I stepped back.
She lowered her hand.
Then opened the folder.
"The attorney found an old property trust. Grandpa Samuel was listed as having an interest connected to the house."
I frowned.
"How?"
Nia continued.
"The trust documents were updated eight years ago. Grandma told me Samuel had disappeared decades earlier, so I asked the attorney to check whether the deed contained an error."
"And?"
"There's no simple answer yet."
I looked at Mom.
She nodded slowly.
"Samuel contacted me eight years ago."
The room became silent.
I stared at her.
"My father contacted you?"
"Yes."
"Where was he?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
She shook her head.
"He called from a blocked number. He said he was alive but couldn't come home."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Did you speak again?"
"Only twice."
"And you never told me?"
She started crying harder.
"He begged me not to."
Anger rose inside me.
"Mom, I spent twenty-six years believing my father was dead!"
"I know."
"I cried at his grave!"
"I know, baby."
"You watched me grow up without him!"
She covered her face.
"I thought I was protecting you."
I turned away.
My father was alive.
Or had been alive eight years earlier.
And my mother had carried that knowledge alone.
Denise finally spoke.
"This is unbelievable."
I turned toward her.
She shook the keys.
"So now we're supposed to believe some dead man owns this house?"
Nia stood.
"His name appears in the ownership records, but the legal interest needs to be verified."
Denise laughed bitterly.
"This family is insane."
I stared at her.
"Give Mom her keys."
She tightened her grip.
"Marcus—"
"Now."
For a moment, she looked ready to argue.
Then she dropped the keys onto the table.
The metal clattered against the wood.
Mom flinched.
I picked them up and placed them gently in her hand.
"You belong here."
Her eyes filled with tears.
Denise folded her arms.
"And what about me?"
I looked at her.
"We'll discuss our marriage after I understand what happened to my father."
She stared at me.
"You're choosing this nonsense over your wife?"
I shook my head.
"I'm choosing the truth."
Denise stormed upstairs.
Her heels struck the steps like angry knocks.
I waited until her bedroom door slammed.
Then turned back to Mom.
"Tell me everything."
She took a shaky breath.
"Your father owned a small construction company before you were born."
I nodded.
I remembered seeing old photographs of him standing beside trucks.
"He partnered with a man named Leonard Price."
The name sounded familiar.
I frowned.
"Leonard Price?"
Mom nodded.
"He was charming. Wealthy. Powerful."
I sat down.
"What happened?"
"Samuel discovered money missing from their business."
My stomach tightened.
"How much?"
"Almost two million dollars."
I stared at her.
"Back then?"
"Yes."
She continued.
"Your father believed Leonard was using company accounts to move money illegally."
I leaned forward.
"Did he report it?"
"He was preparing to."
Mom's hands trembled.
"Then Samuel started receiving threats."
My chest tightened.
"What kind?"
"Anonymous calls. Messages. People following his truck."
I felt sick.
"Why didn't he go to the police?"
"He did. But he was afraid someone involved had connections."
I looked down.
Mom continued.
"Then one evening, he called and told me to take you somewhere safe."
My throat closed.
"What happened?"
"He said he had evidence."
I stared at her.
"Evidence of what?"
She whispered, "Financial crimes."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Where is it?"
Mom looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
"Samuel gave me a sealed box before he disappeared."
I leaned forward.
"Do you still have it?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"Where?"
Her answer made my stomach drop.
"In this house."
I stared at her.
She swallowed.
"Your father told me never to open it unless someone came looking for what he left behind."
I felt a terrible chill.
"Has anyone?"
Mom hesitated.
Then whispered, "I think Denise has."
The room became silent.
I stared at her.
"What?"
Mom began trembling.
"Three weeks ago, I caught her searching my bedroom."
I couldn't speak.
"She said she was looking for old property papers."
My heart pounded.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because she threatened to make you send me away."
I looked toward the staircase.
Denise's bedroom door was closed.
Suddenly, her cruelty toward my mother felt different.
It wasn't only about control.
May you like
Maybe she had been trying to force Mom out before something was discovered.
And the woman I had married might know far more about my father's disappearance than she had ever admitted.
