Chapter 4
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph.
My mother.
Raymond.
The folder.
And that terrible expression on her face.
I had spent ten years imagining what her final days were like.
Now someone was telling me she had been afraid.
And that fear might have been connected to her death.
At six in the morning, I was still sitting on my bed.
My phone lay beside me.
The message remained open.
COME ALONE.
I knew it was dangerous.
I wasn't stupid.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the recording.
What if it contained her voice?
What if it explained everything?
What if it was the only chance I would ever have to learn the truth?
I picked up the phone.
Then I remembered Dad's face when he apologized.
He had already lost my mother.
I couldn't make him lose me too.
I took a screenshot and sent it to him.
Seconds later, my bedroom door opened.
Dad stood there.
"Malik."
I looked up.
"I wasn't going."
He crossed the room.
"Good."
He took the phone and read the message.
His expression hardened.
"We're sending this to Detective Harris."
I nodded.
Detective Harris had been assigned to investigate the missing company documents and Raymond's connection to our house.
Dad called him immediately.
The detective advised us not to respond or visit the location.
He arranged for officers to examine the warehouse and requested the original message details.
I watched Dad speak.
Calm.
Controlled.
But I could see fear beneath his expression.
When he ended the call, he sat beside me.
"Son, promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't try to handle this yourself."
I looked at him.
"Then promise you won't hide anything else from me."
He swallowed.
"That's fair."
I held out my hand.
He shook it.
For the first time since the ring appeared in my backpack, I felt something between us begin to repair.
But it was fragile.
Very fragile.
Later that morning, Dad told Denise to leave the house while the legal situation was reviewed.
Her attorney arrived to assist her.
I watched from the upstairs window as she loaded two suitcases into a black SUV.
She looked up once.
Toward my room.
I stepped away.
I didn't want her looking at me.
I didn't want to hear another apology.
I wanted her gone.
She had deliberately destroyed my father's trust in me.
She had opened our home to someone connected to years of secrets.
And she had known that a man was watching me.
That was enough.
Around noon, our attorney Patricia arrived.
She was a tall woman in her fifties who had worked with Dad for years.
She carried three folders.
"Marcus," she said, "we need to review your brother's legal history."
Dad nodded.
I sat across from them.
Patricia looked at me.
"Malik, some of this may be difficult."
"I want to know."
She studied my face.
Then opened the first folder.
"Raymond Williams was officially declared deceased after an industrial accident fourteen years ago."
Dad nodded.
"That's what I was told."
"But the records have inconsistencies."
My heart raced.
"What inconsistencies?"
"The identification process relied heavily on documents supplied by a private contractor."
Dad frowned.
"And?"
"The available records don't establish that Raymond's remains were ever positively identified."
I stared at her.
"So he could have faked his death?"
"That's one possibility investigators are examining."
Dad rubbed his forehead.
Patricia continued.
"Raymond also had significant debts before he disappeared."
"How much?" Dad asked.
"Nearly three million dollars."
I felt cold.
"More than the missing company money."
She nodded.
"And several creditors were pursuing him."
Dad looked sick.
"I didn't know it was that bad."
Patricia opened another folder.
"There's something else."
I leaned forward.
"What?"
"Your mother had contacted an independent forensic accountant shortly before her death."
Dad stared at her.
"Angela never told me that."
"According to the surviving correspondence, she was investigating transfers involving an outside contractor."
My pulse quickened.
"Did she find anything?"
"We don't have her full report."
"Why not?"
Patricia hesitated.
"The accountant's office suffered a break-in shortly after her death."
I looked at Dad.
He looked stunned.
"Was that investigated?"
"Yes. At the time, the incidents weren't formally linked."
I felt anger rise.
"Why didn't anyone connect them?"
Patricia spoke gently.
"Investigations depend on evidence. Suspicion alone isn't enough."
I understood.
But it didn't make the questions hurt less.
Then Dad reached into his desk.
He pulled out an old photograph.
My mother stood beside him at a company event.
She was smiling.
Beautiful.
Confident.
Holding a small silver necklace.
I recognized it immediately.
Dad kept that necklace in a locked drawer.
Mom had worn it almost every day.
He placed the photograph in front of me.
"Your mother was the smartest person I ever knew."
I touched the picture.
"Do you think she knew Raymond was stealing?"
Dad nodded.
"She suspected something."
"And you didn't believe her?"
His eyes filled.
"I believed her concerns. I just didn't know how serious the danger might be."
I stared at him.
Then asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
"Did you ever blame yourself?"
He looked at me.
Every emotion in his face seemed to collapse.
"Every day."
I didn't know what to say.
Dad stood and walked toward the window.
"She called me the afternoon of the accident."
My chest tightened.
"What did she say?"
He closed his eyes.
"She said she had found proof."
"Proof of what?"
"She wouldn't explain over the phone."
I stopped breathing.
"Did you meet her?"
He shook his head.
"I was working outside the city. She said she'd show me everything that evening."
His voice broke.
"But she never made it home."
I felt tears gathering.
My mother had been carrying something important.
And she had died before she could explain.
Then Patricia's phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
I watched her through the glass door.
Her expression changed as she listened.
She returned several minutes later.
"Marcus."
Dad turned.
"What happened?"
"Detective Harris has an update."
My heart hammered.
"About the warehouse?"
She nodded.
"Officers found evidence that someone had recently been inside."
Dad stepped forward.
"Raymond?"
"They haven't confirmed who."
I leaned closer.
"Did they find the recording?"
Patricia shook her head.
"No."
My hope collapsed.
Then she continued.
"But they found a locked metal case."
Dad frowned.
"What was inside?"
"Documents. Old photographs. And a digital storage device."
I felt my pulse race.
Patricia looked at me.
"One of the photographs shows your mother."
My father gripped the chair.
"Is that all?"
Patricia swallowed.
"No."
She looked directly at Dad.
"There's also a handwritten note."
"What does it say?"
Her voice became quiet.
"Angela wrote that if anything happened to her, Marcus should never trust Raymond."
I felt tears spill down my cheeks.
Then Patricia added one final detail.
"The note is dated two days before your mother's fatal accident."
I stared at my father.
He stared back.
May you like
And suddenly, the past was no longer buried.
It was beginning to speak.
