Chapter 10: What Was Buried Beneath Our Home
I read the sentence on the back of the photograph until the words seemed to blur.
*Richard already knows about Lily.*
My mother watched me from her hospital bed.
"Mom, what does this mean?""
She reached for the photograph.
"Your father found something beneath the old workshop. He told me there were records hidden there.""
"What records?""
"Original company documents. Bank transfers. Contracts. Everything Richard had tried to destroy.""
I looked at the photograph again.
The little wooden building behind my father had been demolished seven years earlier, after a storm damaged its roof.
But the concrete foundation remained.
"Why didn't Dad take the records out?""
"He was afraid Richard was watching him. He said the safest place was somewhere nobody would think to look.""
I studied the photograph.
"Does Richard know exactly where they are?""
My mother shook her head.
"Your father never told me.""
"Then how does he know about Lily?""
She began trembling.
"Because your father told him that the records would eventually belong to her.""
I sat down.
"What?""
"Your father believed Daniel would inherit the company one day. But after discovering the theft, he changed his mind. He wanted the truth preserved for Lily.""
I looked at the photograph.
The little building stood behind our family home, surrounded by a white wooden fence.
My father had spent countless afternoons in that workshop.
He repaired furniture there, built birdhouses, and taught me how to use a hammer without hitting my fingers.
It was the last place I would have thought to search for evidence of a multimillion-dollar fraud.
My phone rang.
Robert.
"Marcus, where are you?""
"At Mom's.""
"Have you seen the news?""
"What news?""
"Westbridge Holdings has filed an application to sell your mother's property.""
I stood.
"They can't.""
"They've submitted documents claiming ownership.""
"Those documents are fraudulent.""
"I know. But there's a buyer.""
"Who?""
Robert paused.
"Richard Collins.""
I looked at my mother.
"He wants the house.""
"Apparently, he's prepared to pay well above market value. The sale is scheduled to close in forty-eight hours.""
"Can we stop it?""
"I'm preparing an emergency injunction. But I need proof that the transfer documents were falsified.""
I looked at the photograph.
"I think I know where the proof is.""
"Where?""
"Under the old workshop foundation.""
Robert went silent.
Then he said, "Do not go there alone.""
"I won't.""
After ending the call, I contacted Grace and asked her to stay with my mother and Lily.
Then I drove toward the family property.
The house looked smaller than I remembered.
The white fence had lost several boards. The garden was overgrown, and the front porch needed repainting.
But the workshop foundation was still there.
I parked near the driveway.
Robert arrived ten minutes later with a flashlight and a small equipment bag.
"Before we start," he said, "I want you to understand something. If we find evidence of criminal activity, we don't remove or alter anything without documenting it.""
I nodded.
We walked around the back.
The workshop had been demolished, leaving a rectangular concrete slab.
I examined the photograph again.
My father was standing near the left corner.
Behind him was a narrow drainage channel.
I remembered something.
When I was a boy, my father had hidden a metal toolbox beneath a loose paving stone.
He called it his emergency box.
I crouched beside the foundation.
"Help me move this.""
Robert examined the stone.
Together, we shifted it.
Beneath it was a rusted metal plate.
My heart began racing.
I lifted it carefully.
A small cavity appeared underneath.
Inside sat a sealed plastic container.
Robert looked at me.
"Don't touch it yet.""
He photographed the container, the cavity, and the surrounding area.
Then he put on gloves and lifted it out.
The container was heavier than it looked.
Inside were several folders, a small voice recorder, and a brown leather notebook.
I opened the notebook.
The first page contained my father's handwriting.
*If Richard finds this, the truth is already in danger.*
I turned the page.
There were dates, account numbers, and names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Richard Collins.
Another appeared beside it.
Daniel Reed.
But the third name made my blood turn cold.
Vanessa Reed.
I stared at the page.
Robert leaned over my shoulder.
"Marcus, do you know what this means?""
I nodded slowly.
"My wife was involved long before she married me.""
Robert looked at me.
"What?""
I pointed to the first recorded transaction.
It was dated eleven years earlier.
Vanessa had received payments from a company connected to Richard.
That was one year before I met her.
I turned another page.
There was a handwritten note.
*Vanessa has access to the family through Marcus. Richard believes she can obtain the property documents.*
I felt physically sick.
My marriage hadn't simply become a convenient opportunity for someone else's crime.
It might have been part of the plan from the beginning.
Robert picked up the voice recorder.
"Let's see if this works.""
He pressed the button.
Static filled the air.
Then my father's voice emerged.
"If anyone finds this, I want you to understand that I did everything I could to stop them.""
A second voice followed.
Daniel.
"Dad, please. You don't have to do this.""
My father's voice became firm.
"You've already taken money from the company. Now you're asking me to lie for you.""
"I made a mistake.""
"Then admit it.""
"Richard won't let me.""
"Richard doesn't own your conscience, Daniel.""
There was a pause.
Then Daniel said something that made my knees weaken.
"What about Marcus? What happens when Richard finds out Vanessa is his wife?""
Robert stopped the recording.
We looked at each other.
"What did he just say?"" Robert whispered.
I couldn't answer.
My father had known about Vanessa.
He had known before I married her.
And somehow, he had tried to warn Daniel.
Robert restarted the recording.
My father's voice returned.
"Marcus deserves to know the truth. I won't let you use him.""
The recording ended with a loud bang.
Then silence.
Robert placed the recorder inside an evidence bag.
"Marcus, we need to get this to the authorities.""
I nodded.
But before we could leave, my phone rang.
A video call.
Vanessa.
I answered.
Her face appeared on the screen.
She was sitting in my mother's bedroom.
Lily was behind her.
My heart stopped.
"Where's my daughter?""
Vanessa smiled.
"She's perfectly safe.""
"Give her the phone.""
"Not yet.""
"Vanessa, move away from her.""
She glanced toward the camera.
"You've been digging into things that should have stayed buried.""
"Where is Lily?""
Vanessa leaned closer.
"Richard wants the documents.""
"You'll never get them.""
Her smile disappeared.
"Then I suppose you'll have to choose.""
"Choose what?""
She turned the camera toward Lily.
My daughter was sitting on the bed, crying.
Vanessa whispered:
May you like
"The evidence or your daughter.""
The screen went black.
