Chapter 4: The Letter My Father Buried
“Read it again,” I said.
Evelyn's breathing trembled through the phone.
“Mr. Brooks, I don't think you understand. Your father is standing outside my office, and he knows I've been looking through his private files.””
“Then lock the door.””
“I already did.””
“Call security.””
“They're the ones who let him onto the floor.””
I looked across the sidewalk. Nia and Malik were almost at the corner, their figures reflected in the restaurant windows. Malik carried his little cake with both hands, careful not to crush the cardboard box.
Seven years.
My father had stolen seven years from me, and I had helped him do it.
“Evelyn, listen to me,” I said.
“I don't care what my father threatens you with. Take the envelope and get somewhere safe.””
“He has the key to the filing cabinet.””
“What's in the cabinet?””
“The original fertility correspondence, your divorce records, and the documents establishing the trust. There's also a sealed letter from your mother.””
My hand tightened around the phone.
“My mother died twelve years ago.””
“I know, sir. The letter is dated six months before her death.””
My mother had been the only person who could make my father hesitate. She was warm, stubborn, and far less impressed by money than the man she married. When she died, my father told me that she'd wanted all her private correspondence destroyed.
I had never questioned him.
“What does her letter say?””
“I don't know. Your father kept it sealed.””
A metallic clatter sounded through the phone.
Evelyn gasped.
“Mr. Brooks, he's opening the cabinet.””
“Get out!””
“I can't. He's blocking the door.””
Then a man's voice cut through the line.
“Evelyn, put the phone down.””
My father.
Even now, his voice carried the calm authority that had controlled my life for forty-two years.
“Adrian,” he said, apparently taking the phone from her, “you've always had a weakness for emotional women.””
“Where's Evelyn?””
“She's perfectly fine.””
“Give her the phone.””
“No.””
I could picture him in his immaculate navy suit, standing beneath the executive-floor chandelier with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the phone. He would look entirely reasonable while dismantling someone else's life.
“Dad, did you fake Nia's medical report?””
Silence.
Then a quiet sigh.
“I wondered how long it would take you to ask that.””
The admission struck me harder than a denial.
“You knew she was pregnant.””
“I knew she claimed to be pregnant.””
“She has a son with my face.””
“Resemblance is not proof of paternity.””
“Then why did you create a trust for my first child?””
Another pause.
“You've been talking to Evelyn too much.””
“Answer me!””
My voice echoed across the sidewalk. A couple passing the restaurant glanced at me, then hurried on.
My father lowered his voice.
“You have a wife, a company, and a reputation to protect. Whatever your former wife has told you, remember that people with nothing often discover extraordinary stories about wealthy men.””
“Nia has nothing because you made sure she had nothing.””
“I gave her an opportunity to walk away comfortably.””
“You threatened her.””
“I protected this family.””
I stared at the restaurant's glass doors, seeing my own reflection: an expensive coat, a perfect tie, and a face that suddenly looked unfamiliar.
“From a seven-year-old boy?””
“From the consequences of your poor judgment.””
I nearly dropped the phone.
“You're talking about your grandson.””
“I'm talking about the future of Brooks Holdings.””
For years, I had admired my father for building an empire from a modest construction business. He taught me to negotiate, to anticipate betrayal, and never to let emotion dictate a decision.
Apparently, he had also taught himself that a child could be treated like a business liability.
“Listen carefully,” I said.
“If you've touched one document belonging to Nia or Malik, I'll expose everything.””
My father laughed softly.
“You think you can threaten me with documents I own?””
“They aren't yours to own.””
“Everything that matters in this family has my signature on it.””
“Not Malik.””
The laughter stopped.
I heard paper rustling.
Then my father said, “Come to my office tomorrow morning. Alone. I'll explain what you need to know.””
“No. You're going to explain it now.””
“Not over a telephone.””
“Then send me the documents.””
“You're making a mistake, Adrian.””
“No. I made that mistake seven years ago.””
I ended the call.
For several seconds, I stood motionless, my fingers numb around the phone.
Then a message arrived from Evelyn.
**HE LEFT. I HAVE THE ENVELOPE. YOUR FATHER DOESN'T KNOW I COPIED THE FILES.
MEET ME AT THE OLD ARCHIVE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT. COME ALONE.**
I called her immediately.
No answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
A third message appeared.
*PLEASE HURRY. THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE IN THE FILE. IT HAS NIA'S SIGNATURE.*
I drove to the office building, ignoring the calls from Camille that appeared on my dashboard.
Evelyn was waiting in the basement archive room, a small space lined with metal shelves and old company records. She had removed her jacket and was holding a thick brown envelope against her chest.
Her hands shook when she saw me.
“Did he follow you?”” I asked.
“I don't know.””
“Show me.””
She placed the envelope on a table.
Inside were three documents: a fertility-clinic letter, a trust agreement, and a photocopy of my divorce settlement.
The clinic letter confirmed that no medical finding had ever established that Nia could not have children.
The trust agreement named an unnamed future child as the primary beneficiary of a substantial family inheritance.
And the divorce settlement contained a handwritten addition beneath Nia's signature.
*I voluntarily relinquish all claims to the Brooks family estate and agree not to pursue contact on behalf of any child born of this marriage.*
I stared at it.
“Nia never signed this.””
Evelyn nodded.
“The signature is hers. The added paragraph wasn't on the original agreement.””
“Who added it?””
“The legal department received instructions from your father.””
“Can you prove that?””
She opened another folder and showed me a copy of an internal email.
My father's assistant had written, Mr. Brooks requires the additional clause to be included before the document is presented for final execution.
Beneath it was my father's reply.
*DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY. SHE MUST HAVE NO LEGAL PATH BACK INTO THIS FAMILY.*
I gripped the table.
“Why would he need this clause if he believed there was no child?””
Evelyn looked at me sadly.
“Because he knew there was one.””
A door slammed somewhere in the corridor.
We both turned.
Footsteps approached.
Evelyn shoved the papers back into the envelope.
“Take it,” she whispered.
“What about you?””
“I'll leave through the service corridor.””
The handle began to turn.
Evelyn pushed the envelope into my hands and pointed toward a narrow door behind the shelving.
“Go!””
I slipped through the door just as someone entered the archive room.
I heard my father's voice.
“Where are the documents, Evelyn?””
Then her answer.
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
I ran through the service corridor, clutching the envelope beneath my coat.
Outside, the daylight struck my face.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number contained a photograph of Nia and Malik entering their apartment building.
Beneath it were nine words.
*BRING THE ENVELOPE TO ME, OR YOUR SON WILL PAY.*
I stopped walking.
My father had finally made one mistake he couldn't undo.
He had given me a reason to stop protecting him.
But when I enlarged the photograph, I noticed something that made my blood turn cold.
The picture had been taken from inside the building.
Whoever sent it wasn't watching Nia from across the street.
May you like
They were already close enough to reach her.
And Malik was inside.
