Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
I did not sleep that night.
None of us did.
The abandoned vineyard had been surrounded by investigators before midnight, but the feeling of danger remained long after the police secured the property.
The photograph of Thomas Carter was gone.
That fact bothered me more than the shattered window.
Someone had entered the room.
Someone had known exactly which piece of evidence mattered.
And that person had taken it.
My father sat across from me in the small living room of the safe house.
His jacket was still covered with dust from the vineyard.
He looked exhausted.
Older.
For the first time in my life, I could see fear in his face.
I had seen my father angry.
I had seen him disappointed.
I had seen him standing beside hospital beds, negotiating business deals, and confronting men who were twice his size.
But I had never seen him afraid.
“Dad,” I said.
He looked at me.
“You know where Thomas is.”
He didn't answer.
“Don't tell me you don't.”
“I don't know where he is now.”
“But you knew he was alive.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I stared at him.
“Three years?”
“I discovered evidence that he had survived.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“That sentence again.”
He looked hurt.
“I was afraid he would come after you.”
“He already did.”
“I know.”
“No, Dad.”
I stood.
“He destroyed my mother's life.”
“He tried.”
“He manipulated Helen.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to steal my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew he was alive while I was planning my wedding?”
My father lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
I turned away.
For years, I had believed my father was the one person who never lied to me.
Now I wasn't sure what was real anymore.
Andrew stood near the window.
He had barely spoken since we left the vineyard.
He looked at me.
“Lily.”
I didn't answer.
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
“My mother never told me about Thomas.”
“I believe you.”
He swallowed.
“But I should have known something was wrong.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because my father disappeared under strange circumstances.”
I froze.
“What?”
Andrew continued.
“My father died when I was nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“I was told he had a heart attack.”
“You don't believe that?”
“Not anymore.”
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
“There was a message on his old account.”
He showed me the screen.
It was an email dated eleven years ago.
The sender was unknown.
The subject line said:
YOUR MOTHER KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED.
I stared at it.
“What did the message say?”
Andrew opened it.
Only one sentence remained.
If you ever discover who your father really was, don't trust the woman who raised you.
My stomach tightened.
Helen.
But there was something else.
“Why didn't you show me this before?”
“I found it yesterday.”
“Before the wedding?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You found a message accusing your mother of hiding your father's death, and you still let her come into the chapel?”
He looked ashamed.
“I thought it was fake.”
“And now?”
“Now I don't know what to believe.”
Neither did I.
Then Jonathan entered.
He carried three folders.
“We have a problem.”
I turned.
“What happened?”
“The investigators searched the vineyard.”
“And?”
“They found a hidden room.”
My heart started pounding.
“What was inside?”
“Records.”
“What kind?”
“Medical files. Bank transfers. Old photographs.”
He placed them on the table.
I opened the first folder.
It contained my mother's medical records.
I recognized the hospital name.
I had been there when she died.
But one page was missing.
Jonathan pointed to a notation.
“Your mother's final medical examination was altered.”
I stared.
“Altered how?”
“The original diagnosis was changed.”
“To what?”
“Heart failure.”
I looked at him.
“And what was the original?”
He hesitated.
“Poisoning.”
The room became silent.
My hands began shaking.
My mother had not died naturally.
Someone had killed her.
And suddenly everything made sense.
The trust.
The hidden records.
The missing photograph.
Helen.
Thomas.
My wedding.
It had never been about money alone.
Someone had spent decades making sure the truth stayed buried.
I looked at Jonathan.
“Who changed the medical report?”
“We're trying to find out.”
Then he handed me another document.
“This may answer that question.”
It was a hospital authorization form.
My mother's signature appeared at the bottom.
But beneath it was another name.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
Jonathan looked at me.
“Do you recognize him?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He was the doctor who signed your mother's death certificate.”
My father suddenly stood.
“I know him.”
I turned.
“You do?”
“He worked for Thomas.”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw him at the Carter estate the week your mother died.”
I stared at my father.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked away.
“Your mother called me.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me she was afraid.”
“Of Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to the house.”
“And?”
“I arrived too late.”
My voice became quieter.
“What happened?”
“She was already sick.”
“Did she tell you who poisoned her?”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
He looked at me.
“She told me to take you and leave.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
“Because she believed someone inside the family had betrayed her.”
I looked at Helen's name in the documents.
“Was it Helen?”
My father hesitated.
“I don't know.”
That answer wasn't good enough.
I stood.
“Then we find out.”
Jonathan nodded.
“We have another lead.”
He opened the final folder.
Inside was a photograph of a man standing outside a hospital.
I recognized him immediately.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
Beside him stood Thomas Carter.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
The photograph had been taken three months ago.
Thomas was alive.
And behind them, standing in the hospital entrance, was Helen.
I stared at the image.
My mother-in-law had been meeting the man who supposedly died years ago.
The same man connected to my mother's death.
The same man whose photograph had disappeared from the vineyard.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
I waited.
Finally, a man's voice whispered:
“Your mother should have listened.”
My blood froze.
“Thomas?”
A quiet laugh came through the phone.
“You finally know my name.”
“Where are you?”
“You've been looking in the wrong places.”
“What do you want?”
“What your mother took.”
“I took nothing.”
“You inherited it.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
It showed Helen standing beside Thomas.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
A young woman.
I zoomed in.
My breath stopped.
It was my mother.
But she was standing beside Thomas while visibly pregnant.
The date on the photograph was twenty-eight years earlier.
I looked at my father.
“Dad…”
He saw the picture.
His face collapsed.
“That photograph was supposed to be destroyed.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He whispered:
“Because it proves Thomas was with your mother shortly before you were born.”
I looked at my father's face.
“And it proves something else.”
“What?”
My father didn't answer.
Jonathan took the phone.
He studied the photograph.
Then his eyes widened.
“Lily.”
“What?”
He pointed at my mother's stomach.
“She wasn't carrying you.”
I stared.
The woman in the photograph was pregnant.
But the date was six months before I was born.
Jonathan looked at my father.
“Who was she carrying?”
My father closed his eyes.
May you like
Then he whispered:
“Your brother.”
