Chapter 8
Thomas Reed was sixty-nine years old when I met him.
He had silver hair, tired eyes, and the posture of someone who'd spent most of his life working long hours.
We met at Raymond Price's office after he'd already spoken with investigators.
I was nervous.
Nia sat beside me.
Thomas looked at my face.
Then began crying.
"You look like Daniel."
My throat tightened.
"People keep telling me that."
He smiled sadly.
"Your father was a good man."
I swallowed.
"Thank you."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Thomas took a breath.
"I should've come forward years ago."
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you?"
He lowered his eyes.
"I was afraid."
My chest tightened.
He continued.
"I had three children. A mortgage. A job I couldn't afford to lose."
I nodded slowly.
"Raymond controlled the company then."
Thomas nodded.
"He did."
He explained that on the night of my father's accident, he'd been working late at the transportation yard.
He saw Daniel arrive.
Raymond was already there.
The brothers argued near the office.
Thomas couldn't hear every word.
But he heard Daniel accuse Raymond of moving money without permission.
He also heard Raymond tell Daniel to stop threatening the family's reputation.
My stomach twisted.
"What happened next?"
Thomas took a shaky breath.
"Daniel left."
I leaned forward.
"Alone?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"And Raymond?"
Thomas hesitated.
"He stayed for a few minutes."
My heart pounded.
"Then what?"
"A dark SUV left the yard."
I felt cold.
"Was Raymond driving?"
Thomas shook his head.
"I couldn't see the driver clearly."
I nodded.
I didn't want him guessing.
He continued.
"I recognized the vehicle as one used by the company."
My stomach tightened.
"Did it follow Dad?"
Thomas looked down.
"It left in the same direction shortly after him."
I took a slow breath.
"Did you tell the police?"
He shook his head.
"Not then."
I felt anger rise.
But I held it back.
Thomas began crying.
"I heard about the accident the next morning."
He covered his face.
"I should've said something."
I looked away.
For years, I'd wanted someone to explain my father's death.
Now I was sitting across from a man who'd carried regret almost as long as I'd carried grief.
I took a breath.
"Thank you for speaking now."
Thomas looked surprised.
I continued.
"I wish you'd spoken sooner."
He nodded.
"I know."
"But I'm glad you're telling investigators what you remember."
He wiped his eyes.
"Your father deserved that."
I nodded.
"Yes."
After the meeting, Nia and I walked quietly toward the parking lot.
My hands were shaking.
She looked at me.
"Isaiah?"
I stopped.
Then began crying.
She pulled me into her arms.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
I had spent weeks imagining that one witness would solve everything.
But Thomas's account raised questions without proving what happened.
That was harder than I'd expected.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted someone to tell me exactly why my father never came home.
Instead, I had fragments.
Documents.
Memories.
Old reports.
And a family full of people who'd been afraid to speak.
Nia held me tightly.
"We'll keep going."
I nodded.
Then whispered, "I'm so tired."
She kissed my forehead.
"I know."
Over the following months, investigators continued reviewing the accident.
They examined available records.
Interviewed witnesses.
And looked for documentation concerning the company SUV.
Some records were missing because of the time that had passed.
Others were incomplete.
The investigation couldn't recreate every moment of that night.
But it could examine whether any evidence supported wrongdoing.
Meanwhile, the financial case progressed.
The forensic review identified substantial unauthorized transactions linked to Raymond-controlled entities.
Several records suggested that Solomon had approved payments without sufficient supporting documentation.
The authorities evaluated each person's role separately.
I attended meetings.
Provided documents.
Answered questions.
And tried to keep my emotions from overwhelming the process.
Then one afternoon, Raymond Price called with significant news.
"Isaiah, Raymond Bennett has agreed to an interview through his attorney."
My heart jumped.
"What?"
He repeated the information.
I sat down.
"Why now?"
Raymond hesitated.
"The financial evidence has become substantial."
I nodded.
"And he may be considering how to respond to it."
I looked toward Nia.
She squeezed my hand.
I took a slow breath.
"Okay."
A week later, investigators informed us that Raymond had provided a statement concerning the disputed accounts.
He acknowledged authorizing certain transfers that lacked proper approval.
He disputed some allegations.
But he also admitted that Daniel had confronted him shortly before his death.
My chest tightened.
For years, Raymond had told the family that my father was reckless and irresponsible.
Now he was admitting that Daniel had raised legitimate financial concerns.
I felt anger.
Grief.
And a strange sense of relief.
My father hadn't imagined the problems.
He'd been trying to protect the family.
Then came the part I feared most.
Raymond's statement about the night of the accident.
He confirmed meeting Daniel at the transportation yard.
He admitted they argued.
He said Daniel left alone.
And he claimed he didn't follow him.
Investigators continued examining whether that statement matched the available evidence.
I wanted more.
But wanting more didn't create proof.
Nia reminded me of that when I became frustrated.
"Isaiah, truth matters even when it's incomplete."
I looked at her.
"I know."
She touched my hand.
"And your father's courage doesn't depend on whether every question gets answered."
My eyes filled.
I nodded.
That evening, I visited Grandpa.
He was sitting in the garden behind the ancestral hall.
His cane rested beside him.
When he saw me, he smiled sadly.
"Isaiah."
I sat beside him.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then he whispered, "I was wrong."
I looked at him.
"About what?"
He took a shaky breath.
"About thinking silence could protect this family."
My throat tightened.
He continued.
"I thought if I kept the conflict contained, everyone could move forward."
I nodded slowly.
"But the truth kept finding its way back."
I looked toward the garden.
"Because it mattered."
Grandpa closed his eyes.
"Yes."
For a moment, he seemed much older than seventy-eight.
Then he reached for my hand.
"I can't undo what I failed to do for Daniel."
My eyes filled.
He continued.
"But I want to do right by you now."
I looked at him.
"Then help us make sure nobody else gets hurt by this family."
He nodded.
"I will."
That evening, he asked me to help create new governance rules for the family trust.
Independent oversight.
Clear beneficiary rights.
Annual audits.
And limits on unilateral decisions.
I agreed to participate.
Not because I wanted power.
But because I wanted something my father had never received.
A family system built on accountability rather than fear.
For the first time, I began imagining that the ancestral hall could become a place of honesty.
Not secrecy.
Then Grandpa stood.
He took a deep breath.
"Isaiah."
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"I have one final request."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He looked toward the hall.
"I want you to wear the crown at the next family gathering."
I stared at him.
"Grandpa."
He smiled sadly.
"Not because you're better than Malik."
I waited.
"But because you've shown me that leadership means protecting people, even when the truth is uncomfortable."
My eyes filled.
I looked down.
For years, I'd wanted his approval.
Now that I had it, I understood how much responsibility came with it.
I took a slow breath.
"I'll consider it."
Grandpa smiled.
"That's all I ask."
Then he reached for the necklace around my neck.
His fingers touched the gold locket.
"Your father would've been proud."
May you like
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to believe that might be true.
