Chapter 5
The Woman in the Photograph
Patricia stared at the photograph for so long that I thought she might faint.
Her hands trembled.
I placed the picture on the desk.
"Patricia?"
She swallowed.
"That's my mother."
I looked at the woman in the photograph.
She had short natural curls.
Warm brown eyes.
A gentle smile.
She stood beside my father outside the warehouse.
Both were holding a folder.
I looked back at Patricia.
"Your mother knew my dad?"
She nodded slowly.
"Apparently."
I frowned.
"You didn't know?"
Patricia shook her head.
"My mother died six years ago."
My heart tightened.
"I'm sorry."
She took a breath.
"She worked as a forensic accountant."
I stared.
"What?"
"She investigated financial fraud for private clients."
Something clicked.
My father had discovered suspicious investment records.
Patricia's mother investigated fraud.
They had worked together.
I felt hope rising.
"Maybe she helped him."
Patricia nodded.
"Maybe."
Then her expression darkened.
"But my mother never mentioned your father."
I looked at Marcus.
He stood beside the window, staring at the notebook.
"Do you recognize her?"
He shook his head.
"No."
Patricia took out her phone.
She enlarged the photograph.
Then whispered, "Her name was Angela Grant."
I repeated it.
"Angela Grant."
The name sounded familiar.
I looked toward the filing cabinet.
Then remembered.
My father had mentioned someone named Angela shortly before he died.
He'd said she was helping him solve a problem.
I hadn't asked questions.
I was twenty-four.
Busy planning my own life.
I thought my father would always be there.
Now I wished I'd listened more carefully.
Patricia sat down.
"My mother kept records."
I turned toward her.
"What kind?"
"Every investigation. Every client. Every financial analysis."
My heart pounded.
"Where?"
"At my father's house."
I grabbed my bag.
"Let's go."
Marcus stepped forward.
"Nia, we should contact the police."
I stopped.
He was right.
Whatever we'd discovered involved possible financial fraud and threats.
We needed help.
Patricia agreed.
She contacted Detective Olivia Grant, an investigator she'd worked with on previous cases.
Despite sharing a surname, Olivia wasn't related to Patricia.
She listened carefully.
Then asked us to preserve the documents and meet her at the station.
We brought the notebook.
The photograph.
The forged agreement.
And copies of the anonymous messages.
Detective Grant examined everything.
Her expression became serious.
"This is more than a contract dispute."
I nodded.
"I know."
She looked at Marcus.
"Your father's company is involved?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Apparently."
Grant asked him several questions.
He answered honestly.
At least, I believed he did.
Then she turned toward Patricia.
"Your mother investigated Richard Williams?"
Patricia nodded.
"We think so."
Grant looked thoughtful.
"I remember Angela Grant."
Patricia froze.
"You knew her?"
"She was respected."
Grant paused.
"She helped uncover several major financial schemes."
Patricia's eyes filled.
"She was my hero."
Grant smiled gently.
"She helped a lot of people."
Then her expression changed.
"Her death was sudden, wasn't it?"
Patricia lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
My stomach tightened.
"How did she die?"
Patricia looked at me.
"A car accident."
The room became silent.
I felt cold.
My father died suddenly.
Patricia's mother died in a car accident two years earlier.
Both had investigated financial misconduct.
Both had connections to Richard Williams.
I looked at Detective Grant.
"Could their deaths be connected?"
She hesitated.
"We can't assume that."
I nodded.
"But you'll investigate?"
"Yes."
That evening, Patricia took me to her father's house.
Marcus came with us.
Her father, Harold Grant, was a retired school principal.
He welcomed us warmly.
But when Patricia showed him the photograph, his expression changed.
"Where did you find this?"
Patricia explained.
Harold sat down slowly.
"Angela told me she was working on something dangerous."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
He looked at me.
"Your father discovered a large investment fraud."
I leaned forward.
"Did she know who was responsible?"
Harold nodded.
"Richard Williams."
Marcus closed his eyes.
I felt sick.
Harold continued.
"Angela believed Richard was using shell companies to steal money from investors."
I swallowed.
"And my father?"
"Your father refused to participate."
I felt tears rising.
Harold looked at me.
"He was trying to protect his employees and business."
I nodded.
"That sounds like him."
Harold stood.
Then walked toward a small bookcase.
He removed a wooden box.
Inside were envelopes.
Memory cards.
And a silver key.
"My wife told me to keep these safe."
Patricia stared.
"Dad, why didn't you tell me?"
He looked ashamed.
"Because she made me promise."
Patricia's eyes filled.
"Mom's been gone six years."
Harold nodded.
"I know."
He opened the box.
"She said if anyone ever came asking about Richard Williams, I should give them this."
He handed me a memory card.
My hands trembled.
"What is it?"
Harold looked toward Marcus.
Then back at me.
"Your father's final meeting with Richard."
I couldn't breathe.
Patricia inserted the card into her laptop.
A video file appeared.
She pressed play.
The screen showed my father's office.
Richard sat across from him.
My father looked furious.
"You falsified the investment records," Dad said.
Richard leaned back.
"You're making accusations you can't prove."
My father placed documents on the table.
"Then explain these transfers."
Richard's face changed.
He leaned forward.
"You don't understand what you're dealing with."
My father stood.
"I understand you're stealing from people."
Richard smiled coldly.
"Careful, Bennett."
My father didn't move.
"I'm going to the authorities."
Richard stood.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"If you do that, your daughters will pay the price."
I covered my mouth.
The video continued.
My father stepped forward.
"Stay away from my girls."
Richard laughed.
Then walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
"You've made a terrible mistake."
The recording ended.
I sat frozen.
My father had been threatened.
By the man whose son I was supposed to marry.
And now that same man had tried to use a forged wedding agreement to take my father's company.
Patricia closed the laptop.
Her hands were shaking.
Marcus looked devastated.
"I didn't know."
I turned toward him.
"I believe you."
For the first time that day, I meant it.
But I wasn't ready to forgive everything.
Not yet.
Because I still had one question.
Why had Richard waited four years to make his move?
Then Harold reached into the box again.
He removed a sealed envelope.
"Nia."
I looked up.
"Your father left something else."
My heart pounded.
Harold handed me the letter.
On the front, in my father's handwriting, were six words.
FOR MY DAUGHTER, WHEN SHE FINDS OUT.
May you like
I stared at the envelope.
And I knew whatever was inside would change my life again.
