Chapter 10: The Voice From the Past
I stared at the note in Marcus’s hand.
The handwriting was impossible to ignore.
The curves.
The pressure of the pen.
The way certain letters leaned slightly to the right.
I knew that handwriting.
I had seen it on birthday cards.
On grocery lists stuck to the refrigerator.
On the last letter my father ever wrote me.
But that was impossible.
My father was gone.
“Marcus,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
“Say something.””
He looked at the paper again.
“This is his handwriting.””
My chest tightened.
“No.””
“I know what it looks like.””
“No.””
My voice became louder.
“No, because my father died three years ago.””
Marcus looked at me.
“I know.””
“Then explain how he wrote this.””
Neither of us had an answer.
The house felt like it was holding its breath.
I picked up the note again.
The sentence stared back at me.
Your father wasn’t the only one who knew the truth.
Not “knows.””
Knew.
Past tense.
Like whoever wrote it wanted me to understand something.
Like they wanted me to know my father wasn’t alone.
My phone buzzed.
Daniel.
I answered immediately.
“Nia.””
“Daniel, I need you to tell me something.””
“What?””
“Can you verify my father’s handwriting?””
There was a pause.
“Why?””
“Just do it.””
My voice must have revealed something because he didn’t argue.
“Send me a picture.””
I took a photo of the note and sent it.
The three of us stood silently.
Waiting.
The seconds felt like minutes.
Finally, Daniel called back.
I answered.
“Well?””
His voice was quiet.
“Nia.””
“What?””
“I compared it with the documents your father signed before his death.””
“And?””
A pause.
“It matches.””
My fingers went numb.
Tasha, who had just walked into the room, noticed my expression.
“What happened?””
I couldn’t answer.
Daniel continued.
“There’s something else.””
I looked toward the phone.
“What?””
“The ink.””
“The ink?””
“Yes.””
I frowned.
“The ink is recent.””
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?””
“It means the note was written recently.””
I looked at Marcus.
The paper suddenly felt like it was burning my hand.
“Daniel…”
“Yes?””
“If my father didn’t write this recently…”
I couldn’t finish.
But he understood.
Someone had copied my father’s handwriting.
Someone had studied him.
Someone had access to his old documents.
Someone wanted me to believe he was still speaking to me.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Nia, I need you to leave that house.””
I looked around.
“No.””
“Nia.””
“No.””
I held the note tightly.
“I spent my entire life being told what I couldn’t know.””
I looked at Marcus.
“What I couldn’t ask.””
I looked at the walls around me.
“What I couldn’t handle.””
My voice became steady.
“I’m done running.””
Marcus nodded slowly.
For the first time, I saw something different in his eyes.
Respect.
“You sound like your father.””
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?””
He gave a sad smile.
“He said the same thing.””
My heart tightened.
“When?””
Marcus looked away.
“The night before he died.””
The room became silent.
I froze.
“You were with him?””
Marcus nodded.
“Yes.””
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
His face changed.
“Because Evelyn made me promise.””
Again.
That promise.
The word that had destroyed everything.
“What happened that night?””
Marcus sat down.
“I came to see your father.””
“Why?””
“He called me.””
I waited.
“He told me he finally found proof.””
“Proof of what?””
Marcus looked at me.
“That someone had been stealing from the family.””
The room went cold.
“Who?””
Marcus swallowed.
“I don’t know.””
“You were there.””
“Yes.””
“And you don’t know?””
His eyes filled with guilt.
“Because before he could tell me…”
He stopped.
“What?””
“He collapsed.””
I stared at him.
“Heart attack.””
I nodded slowly.
“But you said he found proof.””
“He did.””
“Where is it?””
Marcus looked at the note.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.””
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
A photo.
My father.
Standing inside this same living room.
But he wasn’t alone.
My breath caught.
Beside him stood a person whose face had been covered.
A black circle over their identity.
Under the picture were five words.
*You still don’t know everything.*
I looked at Marcus.
“Who sent this?””
He stared at the image.
Then his face changed.
Because he recognized something I didn’t.
“What?””
He pointed at the background.
At the corner of the photo.
A small object.
A wooden box.
“Where did you get that?””
I looked confused.
“What?””
“That box.””
I looked closer.
“It’s just a box.””
“No.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“That box was in your father’s office.””
I looked at him.
“Why does that matter?””
May you like
Because suddenly, he looked terrified.
“Because it disappeared the night he died.””
