Chapter 6: My Mother's Confession
I dropped the letter.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The basement clock ticked steadily above the filing cabinet.
My mother stared at the paper on the floor as though it were a weapon.
"Tell me that's not what I think it is.""
She covered her mouth.
"Marcus...""
"Tell me Dad didn't believe you arranged his death.""
She shook her head violently.
"No. No, sweetheart.""
I picked up the letter.
"Then why did he write your name?""
"I don't know.""
"Mom!""
She flinched.
I immediately regretted shouting, but the questions were already tearing through me.
My father had trusted her.
He had loved her.
And now I was holding a letter suggesting she might have been involved in his death.
She sat down slowly.
"I need you to listen to me.""
I remained standing.
"Go ahead.""
"Your father and I had an argument the night before he died.""
"About what?""
"Money.""
I frowned.
"What money?""
"Your father wanted to transfer a large portion of the company into the trust. He wanted Eleanor to receive her share. Richard opposed him.""
"And you?""
"I supported your father.""
"Then why would he suspect you?""
Mom looked down.
"Because someone used my name to access his office.""
My stomach tightened.
"Who?""
"I don't know.""
"Did you give anyone your keys?""
She closed her eyes.
"Yes.""
"Who?""
"Vanessa.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
"She visited me several times after your engagement. She said she wanted to organize the family photographs before the wedding. I gave her a spare key because I thought she needed to collect some things.""
I felt sick.
"When?""
"About a month ago.""
The same period when Vanessa had been searching through the cookbook.
I sat down opposite her.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"I didn't know she had been inside your father's office.""
"Did she take anything?""
Mom shook her head.
"I thought she was helping me.""
I rubbed my face.
The situation was becoming more complicated by the minute.
Vanessa had searched the cookbook.
Richard had controlled the company.
My mother had unknowingly given Vanessa access to the house.
And my father had left a letter accusing someone of using Evelyn's identity to enter his private office.
I pulled out my phone and called Eleanor.
She answered immediately.
"Marcus?""
"I found the blue folder.""
There was a sharp intake of breath.
"Then you found the letter.""
"Yes.""
"Did you read it?""
"Yes.""
Silence.
Then she asked, "What did your father write?""
I looked at my mother.
"He named my mother.""
Eleanor didn't respond.
"Did you know about this?""
"No," she said quickly.
"But I know why he might have written it.""
"Explain.""
"My father told me that Thomas was investigating someone inside the family. He said the person had used your mother's identity to move money between accounts.""
I looked at the documents.
"How much money?""
"About eight million dollars.""
My blood ran cold.
"Who received it?""
"I don't know. But my father kept copies of the transfers.""
"Where?""
"At his old house.""
"Does it still exist?""
"Yes. It's in a town outside Dayton. I can take you there.""
I glanced at the clock.
"Tomorrow?""
"No. Tonight.""
I frowned.
"Why tonight?""
"Because Richard knows you found the folder.""
I looked toward the basement stairs.
"What makes you think that?""
"Because someone broke into my house twenty minutes ago.""
My grip tightened around the phone.
"Are you safe?""
"I'm at a friend's apartment.""
"Did they take anything?""
"Just one thing.""
"What?""
"My father's old briefcase.""
I looked at the blue folder.
"Was there something important inside?""
Eleanor's voice dropped.
"Yes. A photograph of the person who transferred the money.""
I closed my eyes.
"Do you know who it was?""
"No. But my father wrote a name on the back.""
"Whose?""
She paused.
Then whispered, "Richard's wife.""
I looked at my mother.
She had heard every word.
Richard's wife had died eight years earlier.
I remembered the funeral.
The flowers.
The speeches.
Richard standing beside the coffin, barely able to speak.
"What does she have to do with my father's death?"" I asked.
Eleanor answered quietly.
"She was the person who had access to your father's bank accounts.""
My mind raced.
"Was she involved?""
"I don't know. But my father believed she was being used by someone else.""
"Who?""
Eleanor took a breath.
"Marcus, there's another thing you need to understand. Your father didn't just hide the trust documents in the cookbook. He hid a second key.""
I looked at the red book lying beside the filing cabinet.
"Where?""
"Inside the spine. He told me the key would open a safety deposit box.""
"Which bank?""
"The old First National branch downtown.""
I turned the cookbook over.
The damaged lining was still open.
Carefully, I pressed the spine between my fingers.
Something metallic shifted.
I found a narrow opening near the bottom and pulled out a tiny brass key.
My mother gasped.
"That's it.""
I looked at the key.
Then at the documents.
My father had prepared everything.
The cookbook.
The blue folder.
The hidden letter.
And the safety deposit box.
He had known that one day someone might try to destroy the evidence.
"Marcus," Eleanor said, "you need to get to the bank before Richard does.""
I checked the time.
The bank would open in less than seven hours.
"Meet me there.""
"I'll be there.""
The call ended.
My mother reached across the desk and took my hand.
"Sweetheart, I need to tell you something else.""
I looked at her.
"What?""
She swallowed.
"Your father didn't die immediately after the accident.""
I froze.
"What do you mean?""
"The hospital called me that night. They said he was alive when the ambulance arrived.""
I stared at her.
"Why have I never heard that?""
"Because he was unconscious. They told me he might not survive the night.""
"And?""
She began crying.
"He woke up.""
My heart pounded.
"When?""
"At the hospital. Just before midnight.""
I couldn't breathe.
"What did he say?""
Mom looked toward the letter.
"He asked for you.""
I felt tears sting my eyes.
"Did I see him?""
She shook her head.
"No. You were asleep at home. I told the nurses not to wake you because I thought he would recover.""
"Mom, what happened?""
Her voice became barely audible.
"He asked me to bring the red cookbook. He said the evidence was inside. He said I needed to protect you and Eleanor.""
I leaned closer.
"Then?""
Mom closed her eyes.
"He grabbed my hand and told me something I have never forgotten.""
"What?""
She opened her eyes.
"He said, 'Evelyn, the person who did this is coming back. Don't let them near our son.''"
A cold silence filled the room.
"Who came back?"" I whispered.
Mom looked toward the basement door.
"Someone came to the hospital that night.""
"Who?""
She began shaking.
"I didn't see their face. They were wearing a doctor's coat.""
I stared at her.
"Mom, what happened?""
She squeezed my hand.
"The next morning, your father was dead.""
I couldn't speak.
For twelve years, the official story had been that my father died from injuries sustained in a highway collision.
But now I was learning that he had survived the accident, reached the hospital, and spoken to my mother.
Someone had visited him.
And by morning, he was gone.
My phone vibrated.
A new message from an unknown number.
There was an attached photograph.
It showed a hospital corridor dated November 14, twelve years earlier.
My father was visible through the open door of a hospital room.
A figure stood beside his bed.
The face was partially turned toward the camera.
But I recognized the clothes.
The white coat.
The silver watch.
And the distinctive wedding ring.
I enlarged the photograph.
Then my blood ran cold.
The person standing beside my dying father was not a stranger.
It was Richard.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was a message.
*Your mother isn't the only person who knows what happened that night. Ask Richard why he was wearing a doctor's coat.*
