Chapter 7: The Woman Named Rebecca
For almost a minute, I couldn't bring myself to open the envelope.
My father's handwriting was unmistakable. The same elegant letters, the same slight slant, the same habit of pressing too hard on the final stroke of every word.
But the name beneath it belonged to a stranger.
Rebecca Hayes.
I had spent nineteen years believing I was my parents' only child.
Now, eleven years after my mother's death and two years after my father's, I was standing in my office holding a letter that suggested my entire family history might be a lie.
Jonathan locked the office door.
"Before you open that, Nia, I want you to understand something.""
I looked at him.
"What?""
"Whatever is inside, we need to verify it independently. Daniel has given us several contradictory statements. We cannot assume everything he says is true.""
I nodded.
Then I carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded letter and a small photograph.
The photograph showed my father standing beside a young woman outside a brick building. She looked about twenty-five, with dark hair and my father's distinctive gray eyes.
On the back, he had written:
*Rebecca. My daughter. October 2019.*
My hands began trembling.
I unfolded the letter.
My dearest Nia,
If you are reading this, then something has happened that I desperately hoped I could prevent.
There are things about our family that I should have told you years ago. I made mistakes. Some were made out of fear, others because I believed silence would protect the people I loved.
Rebecca is my daughter. She was born before I met your mother. Her mother and I were young, and circumstances separated us. I found Rebecca again many years later.
She knows who I am. She also knows what happened to the company.
I stopped reading.
Jonathan pulled a chair closer.
"Are you all right?""
I shook my head.
"Why would he hide another daughter from me?""
"Perhaps he intended to explain.""
I continued.
Rebecca helped me investigate Martin Cole. She discovered that several accounts had been opened using shell companies connected to Patricia Whitmore.
I initially believed Patricia was acting alone. I was wrong.
Someone inside my family was helping her.
I have reason to believe Martin has been manipulating company records for years. He may have used Daniel's access, Patricia's influence, and my own trust in people to hide the transactions.
If you discover the original evidence, find Rebecca.
Do not trust anyone who tells you she is dead, missing, or dangerous.
And whatever happens, do not let them convince you that the company belongs to the Whitmores.
It belongs to you.
With all my love,
Dad.
I lowered the letter.
For several seconds, neither Jonathan nor I spoke.
Finally, I asked, "Why did Daniel know about her?""
Jonathan examined the envelope.
"Perhaps your father told him.""
"But why would Daniel say my father was supposed to meet her the morning he died?""
Jonathan looked up sharply.
"Did he say that?""
"Yes.""
He reached for his phone.
"I want the original records of your father's final appointments.""
While he made the call, I examined the photograph again.
My father looked happy.
Not the formal smile he wore at company events.
A real smile.
The kind I remembered from childhood.
I wondered how many dinners he'd shared with Rebecca while I believed he was working late.
The thought hurt more than I expected.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
*My name is Rebecca. Jonathan Reed gave me your number. We need to meet.*
I stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
*Please don't tell Daniel.*
I looked at Jonathan.
"She's contacting me.""
He read the message.
"Don't arrange anything until we establish who she is.""
Before I could reply, another message appeared.
*Your father didn't die of natural causes.*
The room seemed to lose all its air.
I stood abruptly.
"What does she mean?""
Jonathan took my phone.
"Don't respond yet.""
He called the number.
It rang four times before someone answered.
A woman's voice came through.
"Hello?""
"This is Jonathan Reed. I'm speaking on behalf of Nia Hayes Whitmore.""
There was a pause.
"Is she there?""
I took the phone.
"Rebecca?""
The woman exhaled.
"Yes.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Are you really my father's daughter?""
"Yes.""
"Why didn't I know about you?""
Her voice softened.
"Because your father was afraid that telling you would put you in danger.""
I closed my eyes.
"Did he tell you about me?""
"Every time we spoke.""
"Then why didn't you contact me after he died?""
A long silence followed.
"Because Martin told me you had chosen to work with him.""
I stared at Jonathan.
"What?""
Rebecca continued.
"He said you had signed away your voting rights and that your father had asked you to stay out of the business. I didn't believe him, but I couldn't prove otherwise.""
"Where are you?""
"Boston.""
"Can you come here?""
"Not yet.""
"Why?""
Her voice dropped.
"Because someone has been watching my apartment.""
Jonathan stepped closer.
"Rebecca, we need to know whether you have the original documents your father mentioned.""
"I have some of them. But not everything.""
"What happened the morning he died?"" I asked.
She hesitated.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your father called me at 6:40 a.m. He told me he had discovered who was helping Martin. He said he was going to meet that person.""
"Who?""
Rebecca's voice trembled.
"He told me it was Daniel.""
I couldn't move.
"That's impossible.""
"I know what you're thinking.""
"No, you don't.""
"He said Daniel had been sending information to Martin for months. But he also said Daniel might not understand how dangerous Martin really was.""
I remembered Daniel's face in the conference room.
His excuses.
His fear.
His constant insistence that he had been protecting me.
"Did my father meet Daniel that morning?""
"I don't know.""
"Then who did he meet?""
Rebecca went silent.
Finally, she answered.
"Patricia.""
The call ended a few minutes later.
I sat down slowly.
Jonathan stood beside the window.
"We need to bring her here under proper security.""
I nodded.
"Do it.""
Then he turned toward me.
"Nia, there's something I haven't told you.""
I looked up.
He reached into his briefcase and removed a document.
It was an old visitor log from the day my father died.
The final entry was recorded at 7:12 a.m.
*Visitor: Daniel Whitmore.*
I stared at the page.
"Why wasn't this included in the original investigation?""
Jonathan shook his head.
"Because the entry was removed from the archived copy.""
He placed another sheet beside it.
The original handwritten log had been signed by the security guard on duty.
At the bottom was a note.
*Visitor left building at 8:03 a.m. carrying brown leather briefcase.*
My father had died at 8:41 a.m.
And according to Daniel, he hadn't been anywhere near my father's house that morning.
I looked at the photograph of Rebecca.
Then at the visitor log.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether my husband had been involved in something far worse than stealing money.
And whether the truth about my father's death was the one thing he had spent our entire marriage trying to bury.
