Chapter 4: The Truth Behind My Father's Death
For eleven years, I had believed my father died a defeated man.
Now my husband stood in the empty living room of my house, telling me that someone had murdered him.
I stared at Marcus, waiting for him to take the words back.
He didn't.
“Say that again,” I whispered.
Marcus swallowed.
“Your father didn't die because of a heart attack. Someone made it look that way.””
Thomas, Rebecca's associate, immediately closed the folder in his hands.
“Mr. Carter, that's an extraordinary allegation. What evidence do you have?””
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“I don't have everything. I have enough to know the official story was wrong.””
“Then why have you waited eleven years to tell me?”” I demanded.
His eyes met mine.
“Because I didn't know who I could trust.””
I laughed, but the sound came out broken.
“You trusted yourself enough to forge my signature and use my house as collateral. You trusted Vanessa enough to give her my money. But you couldn't trust me with the truth about my own father?””
Marcus flinched.
Vanessa stood near the staircase, clutching her handbag against her chest. She had stopped pretending to be the confident woman who had walked into my home that afternoon.
“Marcus,” she said, “you told me this would never come out.””
My head turned slowly toward her.
“What exactly did he tell you?””
She looked at Marcus.
He shook his head once.
“Don't,” he warned.
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
For the first time, I saw something more dangerous than jealousy in her expression.
Resentment.
“You said the Carter family had buried a scandal years ago,” she told me.
“You said your father had stolen millions from investors, and the money was hidden through a trust. Marcus claimed he was trying to recover what belonged to his company.””
“His company?””
“He said the investment group had hired him to trace the missing assets.””
I looked at my husband.
“Is that why you married me?””
“No!””
His answer came so quickly that it sounded rehearsed.
I stepped toward him.
“Then explain why you knew about my father's trust before I did.””
Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it.
Thomas moved between us.
“Mrs. Carter, I recommend that we preserve every document and end this conversation until your attorney can be present.””
He was right.
But I couldn't leave.
Not yet.
“Marcus,” I said, “show me the evidence.””
He looked toward the front window, where the last of the evening light was fading.
“I have a copy of the original investigation report. It's at my office.””
“Then we're going to get it.””
“Nia, you don't understand what you're walking into.””
“I'm beginning to understand exactly what I'm walking into.””
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass key.
“My old office. The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. There's a blue envelope inside.””
Thomas held out his hand.
“Give me the key. I'll arrange to retrieve the documents through the appropriate channels.””
Marcus hesitated.
Then he dropped the key into Thomas's palm.
“There's one more thing,” he said.
I felt a chill move through me.
“Of course there is.””
“The report mentions someone who was present at your father's house the night he died.””
“Who?””
Marcus looked directly at me.
“Your mother.””
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the empty living room.
He staggered half a step, his hand flying to his cheek.
“You don't get to stand here and destroy my family with unverified accusations,” I said.
Marcus didn't retaliate.
He simply lowered his hand.
“I know how it sounds.””
“No. You don't know anything about what it sounds like to discover that your entire life might have been built on lies.””
I walked out before he could answer.
At 10:30 that night, I sat across from Rebecca in her office.
She had arrived within forty minutes of my call. Thomas had delivered the documents Marcus provided, along with a written statement recording where they came from.
Rebecca examined every page beneath the light of her desk lamp.
The report was incomplete, but its contents were disturbing.
My father's construction company had entered a partnership with Caldwell Financial eleven months before his death. A large investment had gone missing shortly before the company collapsed.
The investigators had suspected fraud.
Then my father died.
The investigation was closed after the medical examiner classified his death as natural.
“What does the report say about my mother?”” I asked.
Rebecca turned to the final page.
“According to this, your mother told investigators she had been home alone with your father. She said he complained of chest pain shortly before midnight and collapsed.””
“That sounds like what she told me.””
“There's a problem.””
She slid a photocopied statement across the desk.
“The original investigator recorded a discrepancy in her timeline. A neighbor reported seeing a second vehicle outside your parents' house that evening. The vehicle was never identified.””
I stared at the page.
“Why wasn't that investigated?””
“An investigator recommended follow-up. The case file indicates that the recommendation was withdrawn.””
“By whom?””
Rebecca pointed to a signature at the bottom.
A man named Richard Caldwell.
The chairman of Caldwell Financial.
I had seen his face in business magazines. He was a wealthy investor who had recently announced his retirement after selling a major stake in his company.
“What connection did my father have to him?””
“That's what we need to establish.””
Rebecca placed the pages in a folder.
“Listen carefully, Nia. This report does not prove murder. It establishes questions that deserve investigation. We cannot assume your mother or anyone else committed a crime based on this document alone.””
“I understand.””
“And until we know more, don't confront your mother alone. Don't accuse anyone publicly. Don't sign anything Marcus or his associates give you.””
I nodded.
Then I remembered the trust.
“Can we trace the four point two million dollars?””
“We can investigate the trust's existence, trustees, beneficiaries, and recorded transactions. But we'll need the underlying documents.””
“Then find them.””
Rebecca studied me.
“You're angry.””
“My husband betrayed me. My mother may have hidden millions from me. And somebody might have killed my father.””
“I know.””
“No,” I said, gripping the edge of the desk.
“I spent eleven years believing I wasn't good enough to save my father from his failures. I worked myself sick because I thought I had to prove that his daughter could succeed where he couldn't.””
My voice broke.
“What if he wasn't a failure at all?””
Rebecca's expression softened.
“Then the truth matters even more.””
My phone rang.
Mom.
I stared at her name for several seconds before answering.
“Nia, sweetheart,” she said, her voice warm and familiar.
“Why haven't you called me today?””
I closed my eyes.
“Did Dad leave behind a trust?””
Silence.
A long, terrible silence.
Then my mother whispered, “Who told you that?””
I felt my heart pound.
“Did you know about it?””
“Where are you?””
“Answer me.””
Her breathing became uneven.
“Nia, you need to come home. We can't discuss this over the phone.””
“Did you know?””
A sharp sound came through the receiver, like something being knocked off a table.
Then my mother said something that made Rebecca sit upright.
“Your father wasn't supposed to die that night.””
The call disconnected.
I stared at my phone.
Rebecca reached for hers.
“I'm contacting the police to request a welfare check.””
But before she could dial, another message appeared on my screen.
It came from my mother.
*Come alone tomorrow morning. And whatever Marcus tells you, do not believe him. He knows why your father really died.*
I looked up at Rebecca.
For the first time that night, I wasn't thinking about the affair, the stolen money, or the house.
I was thinking about the last time I had seen my father alive.
He had hugged me at the front door and slipped a small silver key into my palm.
He had told me to keep it safe.
I had carried it on my key ring for eleven years without knowing what it opened.
May you like
And suddenly, I remembered the words he whispered before I left.
If anything happens to me, sweetheart, don't let them tell you I gave up.
