Chapter 5: The Call That Changed Everything
“Is it true?”” I asked.
My mother stared at the broken champagne glass.
The ballroom staff had begun moving guests away from the table, but nobody seemed willing to leave. They watched from behind the white floral arrangements, whispering to one another.
I could hear the soft scrape of chairs and the nervous click of someone's phone camera.
Dorothy finally lifted her eyes.
“Yes.””
One word.
Eleven years of trust seemed to fracture around it.
“You were the last person to speak to Dad?””
She nodded.
“On the night he died?””
“Yes.””
I swallowed hard.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was trying to save you from something I didn't understand.””
I almost laughed.
Everyone in the ballroom seemed to be using the same excuse.
Brianna had kept secrets because she loved me. My mother had hidden the truth because she wanted to protect me. Patricia had withheld information because she believed my father had destroyed her family.
Every lie had apparently been committed in the name of love.
I was beginning to hate the word.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” I said.
Dorothy looked at Patricia.
“Not in front of all these people.””
I glanced at the guests.
“Everyone here has already seen enough to remember this day for the rest of their lives. I'm not protecting anyone's reputation anymore.””
My mother pressed her lips together.
Then she began.
“Your father called me at 11:40 that night. He said he was on his way home, but someone had followed him from the office.””
“Who?””
“He didn't know.””
“Did he sound frightened?””
She closed her eyes.
“He sounded angry. More angry than frightened.””
I pictured my father gripping the steering wheel, his jaw tightening as headlights followed him along the wet road.
“What did he say?””
Dorothy's voice became quieter.
“He told me to take you out of the house if he didn't come home within an hour.””
My chest tightened.
“Why didn't you?””
“Because I thought he was being paranoid. We'd argued earlier that evening, and I believed he was letting the business trouble get to him.””
“What was the argument about?””
She hesitated.
“Thomas.””
Patricia stepped forward.
“Tell him the rest.””
Dorothy turned sharply.
“You don't get to dictate what I tell my son.””
“You've dictated the story for eleven years!””
I stepped between them.
“Both of you, stop.””
Patricia folded her arms.
“Your father called Dorothy because he had discovered who was stealing from the company. He wanted to meet someone that night. Someone he believed could help him.””
“Who?””
Patricia's gaze shifted toward Brianna.
My bride stood near the end of the wedding table, her white gown gathered in one hand to keep it from dragging across the floor. Her makeup had begun to run beneath her eyes.
She looked at me.
“I don't know who he was meeting.””
“Your mother seems to think you do.””
“I was a child when all of this happened.””
“You're twenty-eight now.””
She swallowed.
“I know.””
I held up the anonymous message.
“Someone knows what happened at 11:40. Someone knows my father called my mother. And someone wants me to believe she had something to do with his death.””
Brianna shook her head.
“Jalen, whoever sent that message wants to turn us against each other.””
“We're doing a fine job of that ourselves.””
She flinched as if I had struck her.
For a moment, I regretted the words.
Then I remembered her palm connecting with my mother's cheek.
The regret passed.
Dorothy reached for my hand.
“Your father told me to look under the floorboards in his study if anything happened to him.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“I went there the next morning. I found a loose board, but the box was gone.””
“Did you call the police?””
“No.””
“Why?””
She looked down at her wedding shoes.
“Because there was a note where the box should have been.””
My stomach twisted.
“What did it say?””
Dorothy's voice broke.
You already have everything you need. Keep your son out of this.
The room fell silent.
I stepped backward.
Someone had entered our house after my father died. Someone had known where he hid the box. Someone had left a threat specifically aimed at keeping me ignorant.
“Did you tell anyone about that note?””
“Only Patricia.””
I turned toward Brianna's mother.
Patricia didn't deny it.
“Why would you tell her?”” I demanded.
“Because Thomas was my husband, and I believed the box could clear his name.””
“Did you take it?””
“No.””
“Did you know who did?””
She pressed her lips together.
Then she reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded photograph.
“I should have given this to Dorothy years ago.””
She placed it on the table.
It showed three people standing outside an office building.
My father was on the left, younger than I remembered him in his final years. Patricia stood beside him. The third person was a man in a dark suit whose face had been partially obscured by a crease running through the photograph.
On the back, someone had written a date.
Six months before my father's death.
And beneath it were four words.
The agreement was never signed.
I looked at Patricia.
“What agreement?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know. Daniel never told me.””
“Then why keep this photograph?””
“Because Thomas sent it to me the week he disappeared.””
Brianna stared at her mother.
“You told me you had nothing from Dad.””
Patricia's expression tightened.
“I told you what I thought you needed to know.””
Brianna laughed bitterly.
“So you lied to me, too.””
Patricia reached for her.
Brianna pulled away.
For a second, I watched the two women who had spent years shaping my life discover that they could no longer control each other.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A second message appeared.
The man in the photograph is alive. Ask him why Daniel's car was found twelve miles from the road he was supposed to take.
I read it twice.
Twelve miles.
I remembered the accident report. My father had been found on an isolated stretch of road after apparently missing a turn. The investigators had concluded that poor weather and excessive speed caused the crash.
But if his car had been found twelve miles from his expected route, why hadn't anyone questioned it?
I looked at the photograph again.
The crease crossed the stranger's face, but his wristwatch was clearly visible.
A silver watch with a black leather strap.
I knew that watch.
I had seen it that morning.
It belonged to the man who had walked me down the ballroom aisle before the ceremony because my father wasn't there to do it.
My godfather.
Uncle Raymond.
He had raised a glass to my future less than an hour ago.
Now he stood near the ballroom entrance, watching us with a smile that had vanished the moment our eyes met.
I lifted the photograph.
“Raymond!””
Every head turned.
He stopped.
“Come here,” I said.
His gaze moved from the photograph to Patricia, then to my mother.
For a moment, he looked as if he might run.
Instead, he straightened his jacket and approached the table.
“What's going on, son?”” he asked.
I held the photograph in front of him.
“Tell me why you were standing beside my father six months before he died.””
Raymond stared at the image.
Then he looked at Brianna.
And the first words out of his mouth were not an explanation.
They were a warning.
“Jalen, whatever Dorothy told you, don't trust the woman you're marrying.””
Brianna began to cry.
May you like
Because Raymond wasn't looking at her.
He was looking at my mother.
