Chapter 10: The Truth About Our Father's Death
For twelve years, I had believed my father died in a car accident.
A rainy Tuesday evening.
A slippery road.
A telephone call from a police officer.
That was the story my mother had told us.
Now my brother was standing somewhere, terrified, because Daniel had threatened to expose something about our father's death.
"Ethan, listen to me," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.
"Where are you?""
"At the restaurant.""
"Stay there. Don't go anywhere.""
"Nia, Daniel knows something.""
"Whatever he knows, you are not meeting him alone.""
Ethan exhaled shakily.
"He sent me a photograph.""
"What photograph?""
There was a pause.
Then a message arrived.
I opened it.
It showed an old newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
*LOCAL BUSINESSMAN KILLED IN LATE-NIGHT HIGHWAY COLLISION.*
My father's photograph appeared beneath it.
I had seen that article hundreds of times.
But this time, something was different.
Someone had circled a small paragraph near the bottom.
Police investigators reported that the vehicle's braking system may have experienced a mechanical failure. Further examination was pending.
I read it again.
"Why did Daniel send you this?""
Ethan's voice dropped.
"Because he says Dad's car was deliberately sabotaged.""
My throat tightened.
"That's insane.""
"That's what I thought.""
I looked toward Detective Mitchell.
She immediately motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
"Ethan," she said, "this is Detective Mitchell. I need you to tell me exactly what Daniel said.""
My brother hesitated.
"He said our father had discovered something about a company he was involved with. He said Dad confronted someone, and a few days later, he died.""
"Did Daniel identify that person?""
"No.""
"Did he provide evidence?""
"He said he had documents.""
Detective Mitchell exchanged a glance with another officer.
"Do not contact Daniel again. Do not meet him. We are arranging for you to come in and make a formal statement.""
Ethan agreed.
When the call ended, I turned toward her.
"Do you think my father was murdered?""
"I don't know. But if Daniel is using an old death investigation to threaten your brother, we need to establish why.""
She requested the original accident report through the appropriate channels.
Then she asked me something unexpected.
"Did your father work in finance?""
I nodded.
"He was an accountant. He worked for a manufacturing company before opening his own small consultancy.""
"Do you remember the company?""
"Whitmore Industries.""
The detective went still.
I stared at her.
"What?""
She didn't answer immediately.
"Your father worked for the same company where your husband is employed?""
"Yes. But he left years before Daniel joined.""
Detective Mitchell wrote something down.
"That's worth examining.""
I felt a chill.
My father had been an accountant.
Daniel had become a senior executive at the same company.
And now, twelve years after Dad's death, my husband was threatening to reveal something about it.
I remembered something from my childhood.
A Sunday afternoon.
My father sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers.
My mother standing behind him.
His voice had been unusually serious.
"If anything ever happens to me, make sure you boys and girls don't trust anyone who tells you everything is fine.""
At the time, I had laughed.
"Dad, you're being dramatic.""
He had smiled and kissed my forehead.
"Maybe. But remember it anyway.""
I had forgotten those words.
Until now.
That evening, Detective Mitchell received a call from the department's records unit.
She listened, then requested a copy of an archived report.
When she hung up, she looked at me.
"There's something unusual in your father's accident file.""
"What?""
"The vehicle's brake line was reportedly damaged. But the final report classified the incident as an accidental mechanical failure.""
"Was anyone investigated?""
"One mechanic was interviewed. No charges were filed.""
"Who?""
She checked the record.
"An employee named Robert Hale.""
The name meant nothing to me.
Then she read the next line.
"According to the file, he worked at a repair shop owned by Gregory Shaw.""
I stared at her.
Gregory.
Daniel's financial adviser.
The director of Northbridge Solutions.
The man who had arranged the loan to my brother.
Detective Mitchell immediately contacted her colleagues.
"We need to locate Gregory Shaw.""
She turned back to me.
"And we need to find out whether your husband has access to any original documents connected to this case.""
My phone buzzed.
Another message from Daniel.
*You should ask your mother what happened the night Dad died.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*She knows why the police never found the missing money.*
I looked up.
"Detective, my mother has the notebook she took from Daniel's office.""
"Yes.""
"What if it contains something about my father?""
"We'll examine it.""
Before she could continue, my phone rang.
My mother.
I answered.
"Nia?""
Her voice was barely recognizable.
"Mom, what happened to Dad?""
Silence.
"Please, sweetheart. Not over the phone.""
"Did Daniel tell you something?""
She began crying.
Then she whispered:
"Your father didn't die because of a faulty brake line.""
My entire body went cold.
"What are you saying?""
"I should have told you years ago.""
"Mom, what happened?""
She took a shaky breath.
"Your father had discovered that someone was stealing money from Whitmore Industries. He told me he was going to report it.""
I closed my eyes.
"Who was stealing?""
"I never knew all the details.""
"Then why did you say Dad didn't die in an accident?""
My mother's voice cracked.
"Because the night before he died, someone called our house.""
"Who?""
May you like
She whispered a name.
"Gregory Shaw.""
