My Fiancée Tried to Push Me Down the Stairs—But She Didn't Know I Could Walk

I stared at Daniel as though I had never seen him before.

For years, he had been the man I called whenever something went wrong.

When my father died, Daniel handled the estate.

When my company faced legal trouble, Daniel protected it.

When I was injured, he helped me navigate the insurance claims.

And when I discovered that my fiancée and brother had tried to kill me, Daniel had stood beside me.

Now he was telling me that he had helped move twelve million dollars into an account belonging to my mother.

Money that had eventually financed the accident that nearly killed me.

“Start talking,” I said.

Daniel slowly sat down.

“Your father discovered Arthur was using Northbridge Holdings to steal from Hale International. He wanted to remove the money before Arthur could take control of it.””

“So he stole twelve million dollars?””

“No. He moved it into a protected account.””

“My mother's account.””

“Yes.””

“Why?””

“Because your father believed Arthur would eventually target Margaret. He wanted to make sure she had enough money to disappear safely.””

I stared at him.

“And you helped?””

Daniel nodded.

“I created the transfer documents. Your father instructed me to keep everything confidential.””

“Did you know the money would be used to finance my accident?””

“No.””

“Did you know my mother was involved?””

Daniel looked down.

“I suspected she had been communicating with Julian. But I didn't know the extent of it.””

I walked slowly toward the desk.

“You expect me to believe that you helped hide twelve million dollars, knew my family was involved in financial crimes, and somehow remained completely unaware of the conspiracy to destroy me?””

“I know how it sounds.””

“It sounds like betrayal.””

Daniel rubbed his forehead.

“Marcus, your father gave me one instruction. Protect the company and protect you. I failed at both.””

I picked up the transfer authorization.

“Why didn't you tell me?””

“Because I was afraid.””

I laughed bitterly.

“That's becoming the family motto.””

Daniel didn't respond.

I placed the document on the desk.

“Leave.””

“Marcus—”

“Get out of my house.””

He stood slowly.

At the doorway, he stopped.

“There's something you need to know about that money.””

I didn't look at him.

“I'm listening.””

“The twelve million dollars was never transferred entirely into your mother's account.””

I turned.

“What?””

“Three million remained in a separate account. Your father established it under a trust agreement.””

“Whose trust?””

Daniel hesitated.

“Yours.””

I frowned.

“My trust?””

“Yes. But there's a condition. The account can only be accessed when the original succession agreement is presented.””

“Where is it?””

Daniel looked toward the locked library.

“Your father left it somewhere inside the house.””

I stared at him.

“Why didn't you mention this earlier?””

“Because I didn't know whether you were ready to hear the rest.””

I pointed toward the door.

“Go.””

Daniel left.

I remained in the study until sunrise.

At eight, Detective Morris arrived.

I told her everything Daniel had confessed.

She listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she closed her notebook.

“Mr. Hale, I need to be very clear. We now have evidence of several interconnected financial crimes, attempted murder, identity fraud, and possible obstruction of justice.””

“Can you arrest my mother?””

“Not on suspicion alone. We need to establish what she knew and what she authorized.””

I nodded.

“And Daniel?””

“He'll need to provide a formal statement.””

I looked through the window.

“There's something else. Daniel says my father left a three-million-dollar trust agreement somewhere in the library.””

Detective Morris exchanged a glance with her colleague.

“We'll search for it.””

The document was hidden behind a false panel in my father's desk.

Amara found it.

She had been cleaning the library when she noticed a small scratch near the bottom drawer.

“Mr. Marcus,” she called, “I think there's something here.””

I joined her.

She pressed the wooden panel.

A compartment opened.

Inside was a sealed envelope and a small silver key.

The envelope contained a legal document establishing a trust worth three million dollars.

But the beneficiary wasn't me.

It was Amara.

I stared at the paper.

“What?””

Amara stepped backward.

“No. That can't be right.””

I read the document again.

My father had created the trust seven years earlier.

It was intended to provide financial security for Amara and her mother in recognition of their years of service to the family.

A handwritten note was attached.

Amara has shown this family more loyalty than some people who share our name. If she ever needs help, make sure she receives it.

Amara covered her mouth.

“Your father never told us.””

I looked at her.

“He wanted you to have it.””

She began crying.

“I can't accept this.””

“It's yours.””

“No, Mr. Marcus. I only did what anyone should have done.””

I shook my head.

“Apparently, that's not true.””

For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than anger.

My father had made mistakes.

Terrible ones.

But he had also noticed the people who remained loyal when nobody was watching.

Amara carefully folded the document.

Then she looked at me.

“There's something else I should tell you.””

“What?””

“Miss Vanessa called the house this morning.””

I frowned.

“From custody?””

“No. From an unknown number. She asked me to deliver a message.””

“What message?””

Amara hesitated.

“She said Julian has a copy of the original recording of your father's death. And that recording proves your mother wasn't the only person involved.””

I felt my chest tighten.

“Who else?””

Amara lowered her voice.

“She said the person who actually gave your father the fatal medication was not Julian, Arthur, or Margaret.””

I stared at her.

“Who?””

Amara swallowed.

“Your father was poisoned by someone who had access to his medical records.””

I looked at Detective Morris.

She immediately stood.

“Who had access?””

Amara's eyes filled with tears.