Chapter 6: The Accident Was Never an Accident
I read the message again.
Then I read it a third time.
*DANIEL: Make sure he doesn't reach the house tonight.*
My mouth went dry.
"Where did you get this?""
Thomas placed the photograph back inside the folder.
"From a former evidence technician. He contacted me three days ago.""
"Why didn't he give this to the police?""
"He said the phone disappeared before the official inventory was completed.""
"Who took it?""
Thomas hesitated.
"We don't know yet.""
I stood beside the desk.
"Was Daniel in the car?""
"No.""
"Then who was?""
"According to the original police report, you were alone.""
I looked at the photograph again.
The passenger seat was badly damaged.
The phone lay beneath the dashboard.
"Could someone have been with me?""
"Possibly. The vehicle had evidence of a second seat-belt impression.""
I felt something shift inside my memory.
The night of the accident.
Rain hitting the windshield.
The smell of burning rubber.
A voice shouting my name.
I had always remembered waking up in the hospital with doctors telling me I had suffered a severe spinal injury.
But there were fragments I had never been able to explain.
A woman's perfume.
A hand gripping my shoulder.
And someone saying:
Don't let him remember.
I closed my eyes.
"Thomas, I need to know who was in that car.""
"We're working on it.""
"No. I need to know now.""
He opened another section of the folder.
"There's one person who might be able to help.""
"Who?""
"Your former driver.""
I frowned.
"Peter?""
Thomas nodded.
Peter Wilson had worked for my family for nearly twelve years. He had driven me to business meetings, family events, and countless airport terminals.
He had been dismissed three months after my accident.
Daniel had told me Peter had stolen company property.
I had never questioned it.
"Where is he?""
"Living outside Boston. I found his address yesterday.""
"Why didn't you contact him?""
"I tried. He refused to speak to me.""
"Why?""
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
"Because he believes someone is watching his house.""
I picked up my phone.
"Get him here.""
"Alexander—"
"Please.""
Thomas studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"I'll make the arrangements.""
That morning, I moved into the guest wing under the protection of two security officers.
I told Sophie I needed privacy while recovering.
She pretended to accept the explanation.
But at 10:30 a.m., I received a message from her.
*We need to talk. Alone.*
I didn't reply.
At 11:05, another message arrived.
*Daniel says you're making a terrible mistake. Please don't destroy this family.*
I placed the phone facedown.
At noon, Eleanor brought lunch.
She looked toward the corridor before closing the door.
"Sir, I need to tell you something.""
I put down my fork.
"What is it?""
"Mrs. Bennett has been in your father's old office.""
"Why?""
"I don't know. But she asked me where the original estate documents were kept.""
I sat straighter.
"What did you tell her?""
"That I didn't know.""
"Good.""
Eleanor hesitated.
"She also asked whether your father had left any personal letters.""
I stared at her.
"Letters?""
"Yes. She seemed particularly interested in a wooden box he kept in his study.""
I knew exactly which box she meant.
My father had kept it locked in the bottom drawer of his desk.
After his death, I had searched for the key but never found it.
I had assumed the box contained old photographs and family documents.
"Did she find it?""
"I don't think so.""
I pushed my lunch aside.
"Thank you, Eleanor.""
After she left, I called Thomas.
"Can you come back?""
"What's happened?""
"Sophie is searching my father's old office.""
He went silent.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Alexander, your father may have known.""
"Known what?""
"About the money.""
I stared at the wall.
"What money?""
"The offshore accounts. The insurance arrangements. I found a letter in an old company archive yesterday. It was written by your father approximately three weeks before he died.""
"What's in it?""
"I haven't read the entire thing. But it mentions Daniel by name.""
My heartbeat quickened.
"Bring it here.""
Thomas arrived forty minutes later.
He carried a brown envelope sealed with old red wax.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
My father's.
*For Alexander. Only if the family is no longer safe.*
I couldn't move.
Thomas placed it on the desk.
"Where did you find this?""
"In a storage box belonging to your father's former attorney.""
I carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a single handwritten letter.
I recognized the blue ink and the slightly uneven letters.
My father had developed a tremor in his final year.
I began reading.
My dear Alexander,
If you are reading this, something has happened that I feared but could not prove.
I have reason to believe Daniel has become involved with people who do not understand loyalty, responsibility, or family.
I tried speaking to him. He became angry and accused me of treating him like a child.
I fear he is being manipulated by someone close to us.
I stopped.
Someone close to us.
I continued.
There is a financial arrangement involving an insurance policy and a company registered outside the country. I have not been able to identify everyone involved.
I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid that confronting Daniel without proof would destroy what remained of our family.
My hands began trembling.
The final paragraph was written more heavily.
If anything happens to me, do not assume it was natural.
I looked at Thomas.
"What?""
He didn't answer.
I returned to the letter.
And Alexander, if you ever find yourself unable to walk, remember this: your brother knows something about the night of the accident.
I stopped breathing.
My father had written this before my accident.
Before I was paralyzed.
Before Daniel became the person I now feared.
I looked at the date.
Three weeks before my father died.
"Thomas...""
He leaned closer.
"What?""
I pointed to the final line.
There was another sentence, almost hidden beneath the fold.
The person who has been protecting Daniel is not Sophie.
I read it again.
Then I turned the page over.
Nothing.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just a small handwritten name in the lower corner.
*MARGARET.*
I looked up.
"Who is Margaret?""
Thomas frowned.
"Your father's former personal assistant?""
"No. Margaret was his sister.""
My aunt.
She had disappeared from our lives shortly after my father's funeral.
Daniel had told me she moved to Europe.
I had never questioned it.
I picked up my phone.
"Find her.""
Thomas nodded.
"I'll start immediately.""
Before he could leave, my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered.
"Hello?""
A woman's voice came through.
Older.
Shaky.
But unmistakably familiar.
"Alexander?""
I stood.
"Who is this?""
She took a trembling breath.
"It's Margaret.""
I gripped the phone.
"Where have you been?""
"Listen to me carefully. You cannot trust your brother.""
"I know.""
"No, Alexander. You don't understand.""
Her voice broke.
"Daniel didn't cause your accident because he wanted your money.""
I looked at Thomas.
He moved closer.
"Then why?"" I asked.
Margaret whispered something that made the room seem to tilt.
"Because you weren't supposed to be the one in that car.""
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
"Your father was supposed to die that night.""
My blood turned cold.
"What are you saying?""
"I have proof, Alexander. Proof that your father knew he was going to be killed.""
I closed my eyes.
Then she added the words that changed everything.
"And I know who was driving the other car.""
A pause.
May you like
Then, barely audible:
"It was Sophie.""
