Chapter 6
We returned to Atlanta that evening.
I refused to leave my mother's original records unsecured.
Grace helped arrange for an independent attorney to document the contents of the blue room, preserve copies, and transfer the evidence through proper channels.
Her name was Rebecca Collins.
She was in her early forties, with a calm voice and sharp eyes.
After reviewing the photographs, she told us something I desperately needed to hear.
"These records raise serious questions. But we need an independent forensic review before drawing conclusions."
I nodded.
I wanted justice.
Not another fifteen years of accusations built on incomplete evidence.
Marcus sat beside me.
Arthur remained near the window.
He had barely spoken since Vivian's admission.
I couldn't blame him.
The woman who had raised his daughter had known he was being framed.
And she had remained silent.
Rebecca continued.
"The original criminal case may be eligible for review if this evidence was withheld or misrepresented."
Arthur closed his eyes.
I reached for his hand.
He squeezed mine.
Then Rebecca turned toward Marcus.
"You mentioned a red file."
He nodded.
"My father kept a locked cabinet in his law office."
"Who controls the office now?"
"Conrad's firm took over the practice after Dad died."
Rebecca frowned.
"Do you have any ownership interest or legal authority to access the records?"
"No."
"Then we need to obtain them properly."
Marcus nodded.
"I understand."
I was grateful.
After everything that happened, the last thing we needed was someone accusing us of stealing evidence.
Rebecca explained that she would contact the relevant authorities and request preservation of the firm's records.
She also advised us to stop discussing the investigation with Conrad and Vivian.
I agreed.
But one thing bothered me.
"Why would Bernard keep evidence against his own partner?"
Rebecca looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps he discovered the wrongdoing. Perhaps he wanted to protect himself. Or perhaps the file contains something else entirely."
Marcus lowered his head.
"My father was a good man."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"At least, I thought he was."
My heart softened.
I knew what it felt like to have childhood memories suddenly questioned.
I reached for his hand.
"We don't know everything yet."
He looked at me.
I swallowed.
"And we shouldn't decide what happened before we do."
His eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you."
That night, Marcus and I stayed in separate rooms at the hotel.
It was my choice.
He accepted it.
Before leaving my room, he stopped at the doorway.
"Nia?"
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"I know I hurt you by hiding what I found."
I said nothing.
He continued.
"I was afraid of losing the man I believed my father was."
My throat tightened.
"But I should have trusted you with the truth."
I nodded.
"Yes."
He looked down.
"I'm sorry."
I took a breath.
"Marcus, I love you."
His eyes filled.
"But I need time to understand what happened."
He nodded immediately.
"Take all the time you need."
Then he left.
I sat on the bed with my mother's birthday letters spread around me.
Fifteen envelopes.
Fifteen birthdays.
Fifteen years of love preserved inside a wooden chest.
I opened the first.
"For my little Nia, on your thirteenth birthday."
My hands shook.
The letter was short.
My mother wrote about the day I was born.
She remembered holding me against her chest.
She described the way Arthur cried when he first saw me.
Then she wrote:
"Whatever happens in life, never believe you were unwanted. Your father and I wished for you, prayed for you, and loved you before we ever knew your face."
I began sobbing.
For fifteen years, Vivian had told me Arthur left because he didn't want the responsibility of raising me.
Now my mother's own handwriting was telling me something different.
I opened another letter.
My sixteenth birthday.
Mom wrote about friendship.
She warned me not to confuse popularity with kindness.
Then she wrote:
"People who love you should never require you to hide your pain to protect their comfort."
I pressed the page against my chest.
I thought about Marcus.
About Arthur.
About Vivian.
About every person who had hidden the truth because they believed I couldn't handle it.
And I realized I didn't simply need answers.
I needed a life where nobody made decisions about my future without me.
The following morning, Rebecca called.
She had received confirmation that preservation requests were being pursued through the appropriate process.
She also found something in the historical court records.
A document that had never been presented during Arthur's trial.
My heart raced.
"What document?"
"A sworn statement signed by Bernard Cole."
Marcus, who was sitting beside me, went pale.
Rebecca continued.
"The statement indicates Bernard had concerns about the reliability of Conrad's financial evidence."
I looked at Marcus.
His eyes filled with tears.
"Then why wasn't it used?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"That is one of the questions investigators will need to answer."
Arthur leaned forward.
"Did Bernard accuse Conrad directly?"
Rebecca read from the statement.
"Bernard said certain records appeared incomplete and recommended an independent audit."
My father closed his eyes.
For fifteen years, he had believed Bernard helped convict him.
Now there was evidence Bernard had questioned the prosecution's financial records.
Marcus lowered his head.
I watched a tear fall onto his hands.
Maybe his father hadn't been the villain we feared.
Maybe he had tried to stop the betrayal.
But the most important question remained.
Why had the statement disappeared?
Rebecca continued.
"There's another detail."
I looked up.
"What?"
"The document was signed shortly before Arthur's conviction."
She paused.
"And there is a handwritten note attached."
Marcus leaned closer.
"What does it say?"
Rebecca took a breath.
"If anything happens to me, the originals are in the red file."
Marcus covered his mouth.
I stared at the phone.
Then Rebecca said something that made my heart stop.
"Bernard apparently believed someone might try to silence him."
The room went completely still.
Marcus looked devastated.
"My father died of a heart attack four years ago."
Rebecca answered carefully.
"That doesn't establish any connection to this matter."
I nodded.
She was right.
We couldn't turn every tragedy into a conspiracy.
But we could follow the evidence.
Then Rebecca said, "I also found a reference to an outside accountant Bernard retained."
My heart jumped.
"Who?"
"Thomas Reed."
Arthur suddenly stood.
"I know that name."
I turned.
"How?"
He looked stunned.
"Thomas worked for our company before I was arrested."
My stomach tightened.
"Is he still alive?"
Rebecca nodded.
"Yes."
I stood.
"Then we need to speak with him."
Arthur looked toward the window.
His voice trembled.
"Thomas was the last person who told me the company accounts didn't balance."
I stared at him.
May you like
Then he whispered, "I thought he betrayed me too."
And for the first time, I began to wonder how many innocent people had spent fifteen years believing they were alone.
