Chapter 8: The Night My Father Died
My mother refused to discuss the message until Daniel had arranged for her to see a doctor.
She was exhausted, and her hands wouldn't stop trembling.
I took her upstairs while Daniel contacted the hospital about her urgent specialist appointment.
When I returned, my mother was sitting on the bed with an old photograph in her lap.
It showed my father standing beside his garage.
He was smiling.
One hand rested on my shoulder.
I was twenty-two, wearing a university sweatshirt and looking impatient with the camera.
My mother ran her thumb across his face.
"Your father was frightened during his final weeks," she said.
I sat beside her.
"Of Richard?""
She nodded.
"He kept receiving calls. Sometimes he'd leave the house after midnight.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"He told me you were in danger if you knew too much.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Mom, what happened the night he died?""
She closed her eyes.
"It was raining.""
Her voice became quieter.
"Your father had gone to the garage. He said he needed to collect some documents. I asked him to wait until morning, but he wouldn't listen.""
"What time?""
"Almost ten.""
I remembered that night.
I'd been studying at a friend's apartment.
When I came home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table.
She'd told me Dad was resting.
I'd gone upstairs.
The following morning, an ambulance had arrived.
I swallowed.
"Was Richard there?""
My mother nodded.
"He came to the house just before midnight.""
"Why?""
"He said your father had been involved in an accident.""
I stared at her.
"But Dad died at the hospital.""
"Yes.""
She began crying.
"Richard told me not to ask questions. He said the police were handling everything.""
I felt sick.
"Did you see him again?""
"At the hospital. He stood outside the room while the doctors spoke to me.""
"Did he tell you anything?""
My mother looked toward the door.
"He said your father had made a terrible mistake.""
I stared at her.
"What mistake?""
"He wouldn't explain.""
I held her hand.
"Did you tell the police?""
She shook her head.
"I was terrified. I had just lost your father. You were the only person I had left.""
I pulled her into my arms.
For twelve years, I'd believed my father's death was a tragic medical event.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether the story I'd been told was complete.
My phone vibrated.
The unknown number had sent another message.
*Bring the blue notebook. Your father wrote everything down.*
I showed Daniel.
He immediately shook his head.
"You're not going alone.""
"I won't.""
"Good. And don't take the original notebook.""
I nodded.
Daniel arranged for an independent investigator to meet us near the garage.
The following morning, we arrived at 10:15.
The sky was gray.
A cold wind moved through the empty street.
The garage door was slightly open.
Someone was inside.
I recognized the smell before I saw the man.
Old motor oil.
Coffee.
Cigarette smoke.
A man stepped out from behind the workbench.
He was in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and a deep scar running along his left cheek.
"Marcus Carter?""
"Who are you?""
He looked toward Daniel.
"I asked him to come alone.""
Daniel stepped forward.
"That isn't happening.""
The man sighed.
"Fine. My name is Thomas Reed.""
My heart stopped.
I knew that name.
Thomas had worked with my father for almost fifteen years.
He'd been there when I was a child.
He'd taught me how to change a tire.
He'd even attended my father's funeral.
But after that, he'd disappeared.
"Where have you been?"" I asked.
Thomas lowered his eyes.
"Trying to stay alive.""
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?""
He pointed toward the workbench.
"Sit down.""
Nobody moved.
Thomas opened a metal cabinet and removed an old cassette recorder.
He placed it on the table.
"Your father gave me this the night he died.""
I looked at the recorder.
"What's on it?""
"His final message.""
My throat tightened.
"Why didn't you give it to the police?""
Thomas laughed bitterly.
"Because the man who controlled the evidence was the same man who controlled the investigation.""
Daniel stepped closer.
"Are you accusing someone of interfering with a death investigation?""
Thomas looked directly at him.
"I'm telling you what happened.""
He pressed PLAY.
Static filled the garage.
Then my father's voice emerged.
"Thomas, if you're listening to this, something has gone wrong.""
I stopped breathing.
It was him.
My father.
His familiar voice.
A little weaker than I remembered, but unmistakable.
"Richard has discovered the trust. He knows I moved the original documents. He believes the money belongs to him.""
A pause.
Then:
"It doesn't. The money belongs to Marcus.""
I looked at Daniel.
He was recording the playback.
My father's voice continued.
"There's one person I haven't told the truth to. Someone I thought I could trust. If Richard reaches her first, he'll use her to get to my son.""
The recording crackled.
Then my father said a name.
"Vanessa.""
My blood ran cold.
Thomas stopped the recorder.
I stared at him.
"Vanessa?""
He nodded.
"Your wife was involved long before you met her.""
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
"That's impossible.""
Thomas opened a drawer and removed a photograph.
It showed Vanessa.
She looked younger, perhaps twenty-one.
Standing beside Richard Blackwood.
The photograph was taken outside the same office building we'd seen in the earlier documents.
On the back was a date.
Six months before my father's death.
I couldn't speak.
Thomas continued.
"Your father discovered that Richard was using people close to him to gain access to the trust. Vanessa was one of them.""
I shook my head.
"How did she know my father?""
"Her father worked for Richard.""
I stared at the photograph.
"Her father?""
Thomas nodded.
"Edward Carter. He was Blackwood's accountant.""
I remembered Vanessa mentioning her father only a handful of times.
She'd always said he died when she was young.
I turned toward Daniel.
"Did you know this?""
He shook his head.
Thomas placed another document on the table.
It was an old company payroll record.
Edward Carter's name appeared at the top.
Below it was a list of payments.
One had been made to Vanessa.
The date was only two months before my father's death.
Thomas leaned closer.
"Your father didn't just leave behind an inheritance, Marcus.""
He pointed to the final entry.
"He left evidence of a fraud that involved your wife's family.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"Why didn't my father tell me?""
Thomas looked at me with tired eyes.
"Because he was trying to protect you.""
Then he lowered his voice.
"And because he discovered something about your birth certificate.""
I froze.
"What?""
Thomas reached into his jacket.
He removed a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front in my father's handwriting.
*For Marcus. Open only when you know who has been lying to you.*
I took it.
My fingers trembled.
Before I could open it, Thomas grabbed my wrist.
"There's something you need to understand first.""
"What?""
He looked toward the garage entrance.
"Your father didn't die from the illness listed on his death certificate.""
The cassette recorder suddenly clicked.
A second recording began playing.
May you like
And my father's voice, barely above a whisper, said:
"If they tell Marcus I died naturally, don't let him believe them.""
