Chapter 3
My father looked at me as though he wanted to speak.
But no words came out.
For seventeen years, I had lived with the same story.
My mother, Angela Williams, died in a highway accident when I was seven.
A truck lost control during a rainstorm.
Her car was struck.
She never came home.
That was what Dad told me.
That was what everyone told me.
And now my stepmother was suggesting there was another version.
"Dad," I whispered, "what is she talking about?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Malik, your mother's death was investigated."
"Then why does Raymond know something?"
Dad looked toward Denise.
"Because Raymond was involved in the business dispute that happened before the accident."
I frowned.
"What dispute?"
My father sat behind his desk.
He suddenly looked older.
"Your mother was our company's financial director."
I nodded.
I knew that much.
Dad had photographs of her receiving awards, speaking at business events, and standing beside him at the company's first office.
"Angela discovered irregular payments," he continued.
"Missing money?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
Dad hesitated.
"Almost two million dollars."
I stared at him.
"Two million?"
He nodded.
"She believed someone inside the company was stealing."
"Who?"
Dad looked down.
"Raymond."
The room went silent.
Denise stood near the doorway, holding her elbows.
I barely noticed her.
My mind was racing.
"Dad, are you saying Uncle Raymond stole money?"
"Your mother believed he had."
"And then she died?"
He nodded.
My stomach tightened.
"Was he arrested?"
"No. The investigation never established that Raymond had committed a crime."
"Then why did he disappear?"
Dad looked toward the window.
"He left the country after we confronted him."
I tried to understand.
"And then the accident happened overseas?"
"Several months later."
I looked at him.
"What happened to the missing money?"
"Some was recovered. The rest wasn't."
"And Mom?"
His eyes filled.
"Your mother's accident happened before I could get answers."
I swallowed.
"Did you think Raymond hurt her?"
Dad closed his eyes.
"I wondered."
The answer frightened me more than a denial would have.
My father had spent years carrying that question.
And he had never told me.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I couldn't prove it."
"So you let me believe it was just an accident?"
"Malik, you were seven."
"I'm seventeen now!"
My voice cracked.
"You could have told me!"
Dad looked devastated.
"You're right."
I turned away.
I needed air.
I needed to get out of that office.
But Denise spoke before I reached the door.
"Raymond said Angela wasn't supposed to die."
I froze.
My father stood.
"What did you say?"
Denise began trembling.
"He told me she found something she wasn't supposed to find."
Dad stepped toward her.
"What?"
"I don't know!"
"Denise!"
"He said there was a recording!"
My heart hammered.
"A recording of what?"
She shook her head.
"I never saw it."
My father looked at me.
Then back at Denise.
"Where did he keep it?"
"I don't know."
He grabbed his phone.
"I'm calling the police."
Denise panicked.
"Marcus, please don't!"
He stopped.
"Why?"
She covered her face.
"Because he threatened me."
"With what?"
She looked toward me.
Then whispered, "With the photographs."
I frowned.
"What photographs?"
She began crying.
"Pictures of me meeting him."
My father stared.
"That's why you helped him?"
Denise didn't answer.
I looked at her.
"You're telling me you framed me because someone had pictures of you talking to him?"
She shook her head.
"It's more complicated."
"Then explain it!"
She pressed her lips together.
And suddenly, I understood.
There was something personal between Denise and Raymond.
Something she was desperately trying to hide.
My father understood too.
He stared at her.
"How long have you known him?"
She looked at the carpet.
"Marcus—"
"How long?"
Her shoulders trembled.
"Five years."
My father stepped backward.
"You knew Raymond before we got married?"
Denise nodded.
I felt sick.
Dad married Denise three years earlier.
She had met him at a charity fundraiser.
She was elegant.
Charming.
Always perfectly dressed.
I remembered how happy Dad seemed after years of loneliness.
I had tried to be happy for him.
Now I wondered whether their meeting had been planned.
My father whispered, "Did Raymond send you to me?"
Denise began sobbing.
"Not at first."
Dad stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
"He introduced us through a mutual friend."
I felt something inside me sink.
She had entered our lives through Raymond.
The man Dad thought was dead.
My father leaned against the desk.
I had never seen him so broken.
"You married me because of him?"
Denise shook her head.
"I fell in love with you!"
Dad laughed bitterly.
"You lied about who you were."
"I didn't lie about everything!"
"You helped my brother steal from me!"
"I didn't know what he was planning!"
I stepped between them.
"Stop."
Both adults looked at me.
I was shaking.
But I forced myself to continue.
"None of this explains why she put that ring in my bag."
Denise looked away.
I pointed toward her.
"You wanted Dad to think I was a thief."
She whispered, "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Raymond said you were getting suspicious."
I stared at her.
"Suspicious of what?"
She looked at my phone.
"The cameras."
I remembered something.
Two weeks earlier, I had noticed the office camera disconnecting repeatedly.
I had mentioned it to Denise.
She told me the system was updating.
At the time, I believed her.
Then I remembered another detail.
Three days earlier, I found a strange car parked near our driveway.
A gray sedan.
The driver left when he saw me looking.
I had taken a photograph.
My hands began shaking.
I opened my gallery.
Found the picture.
Then enlarged it.
The driver was barely visible.
But the scar above his eyebrow was unmistakable.
Raymond.
I showed Dad.
He stared.
"Where did you take this?"
"Outside our gate."
"When?"
"Tuesday."
Dad turned toward Denise.
"He's been watching my son?"
She began crying harder.
"I told him to stay away from Malik."
My father looked furious.
"You knew he was near our house?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
Dad reached for his phone again.
This time, she didn't stop him.
He called the police.
Then he contacted our family attorney, Patricia Grant.
Within an hour, two officers arrived.
They separated us and took statements.
I showed them the videos.
The photograph.
The timeline.
Denise admitted planting the ring.
She also acknowledged arranging Raymond's visit.
Dad gave the officers the information about the missing folder.
Everything suddenly felt real.
No longer just an argument.
No longer a terrible misunderstanding.
A criminal investigation.
After the officers left, Dad came upstairs.
I was sitting on my bed.
He knocked softly.
"Malik?"
I didn't answer.
He stepped inside.
His eyes were red.
"Son, I'm sorry."
I stared at the wall.
He sat beside me.
"I should have believed you."
"Yes."
"I let her convince me that you were lying."
"Yes."
His voice broke.
"I was wrong."
I finally looked at him.
"Dad, you believed her before you believed me."
He lowered his head.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"And Mom might have died because of something you never told me."
He closed his eyes.
"I don't know what happened to your mother beyond what investigators established."
I stared at him.
"Then we're going to find out."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
He reached for my shoulder.
This time, I didn't move away.
But before he could say anything else, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed my mother standing beside Raymond.
She was holding a folder.
And she looked terrified.
Below the photograph was a message.
YOUR MOTHER KNEW THE TRUTH.
I showed Dad.
His expression changed.
Then another message arrived.
IF YOU WANT THE RECORDING, COME ALONE.
A location followed.
An abandoned warehouse outside Atlanta.
And beneath it were four words.
DON'T TELL YOUR FATHER.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Because whoever sent that message knew exactly how badly I wanted answers.
And they were using my mother to lure me into a trap.
