Detective Harris was retired, but she answered Brandon's call.
She arrived at our house the following morning.
Age had changed her.
Her hair was almost completely gray.
Her movements were slower.
But her eyes were the same.
She placed the photograph on the table.
“The ring,” she said.
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
Brandon leaned forward.
“Whose?”
Harris looked at him.
“Your father's security consultant.”
I frowned.
“My father had a security consultant?”
“Privately.”
“Why didn't we know?”
“Because Richard hired him after he discovered the financial irregularities.”
“What was his name?”
Harris turned the photograph around.
“Thomas Vale.”
The name meant nothing to us.
But Harris continued.
“Vale worked for Richard for nearly a year.”
“Then why did nobody mention him?”
“Because he disappeared.”
Again.
Another missing man.
Another disappearance.
Another secret.
Brandon stood.
“How many people disappeared around my father's death?”
Harris answered quietly.
“Three.”
The first was Michael.
The second was Thomas.
The third was Samuel Greene.
I looked at her.
“Samuel didn't disappear.”
“No.”
“He died.”
“Officially.”
The room went silent.
“What does that mean?”
Harris opened a folder.
Samuel Greene had died six years after Richard.
His death had been recorded as natural causes.
But the medical examiner had noted an unusual medication interaction.
No investigation had followed.
“Why?”
“Because no one connected it to Richard's case.”
Brandon looked at the documents.
“Then someone may have been cleaning up.”
“Yes.”
Harris turned another page.
“And there is one more problem.”
“What?”
“Thomas Vale was not the man who came to your hotel.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because Vale had a scar across his left cheek.”
The man in the hotel photograph had no scar.
I remembered him clearly.
“So there is another person.”
“Yes.”
Harris studied the old photograph.
“Richard knew him.”
“Who is he?”
“We don't know.”
Brandon sat down.
“This is endless.”
“No,” Harris said.
“It ends somewhere.”
She pointed to the photograph.
“Your father labeled him a witness.”
“Witness to what?”
Harris looked at the documents.
“That is the question.”
That afternoon, Barbara called.
Brandon almost didn't answer.
Then he did.
“Hello.”
Her voice sounded older than I remembered.
“I know you found the storage unit.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't want you to.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew it would reopen everything.”
“You should have told us years ago.”
“I was afraid.”
Brandon's voice hardened.
“Of what?”
“Of the person who was still watching.”
Silence.
“Who?”
“I don't know his name.”
“You've seen him?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At Richard's office.”
“When?”
“The night before he died.”
I looked at Brandon.
He placed the phone on speaker.
Barbara continued.
“Richard had discovered that someone had copied the trust documents.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
“Then how do you know it was the same person?”
“Because of the ring.”
My stomach tightened.
The black stone.
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did you contact Emily?”
“Because I wanted her to know.”
“Know what?”
Barbara paused.
“That Richard didn't choose her by chance.”
I felt my pulse increase.
“What do you mean?”
Barbara answered directly.
“Richard knew Emily's father.”
I stared at Brandon.
“What?”
Barbara continued.
“Your father knew her family before she ever met him.”
I sat down.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He was involved in a case years ago.”
“What case?”
Barbara hesitated.
“A financial fraud investigation.”
Brandon's voice changed.
“Was Emily's father involved?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He was a witness.”
I felt dizzy.
My father had died when I was young.
I knew almost nothing about his professional life.
My mother rarely discussed him.
Barbara said, “Richard believed your father had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did he trust Emily?”
“Because Richard believed the evidence would eventually lead back to her.”
I looked at the old photograph.
The man standing beside Richard.
The black ring.
The word witness.
Everything was connecting.
My father had been a witness.
Richard had known him.
The trust had been placed in my name.
The person who had been watching me may have been looking for something my father had left behind.
I asked Barbara, “What did my father witness?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I swear I don't.”
I believed her.
Not because I trusted her.
Because she sounded genuinely frightened.
Brandon asked, “Where is the evidence?”
Barbara answered.
“Your mother's house.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
“She kept something.”
“What?”
“A red notebook.”
I remembered it.
I had seen it as a child.
A small red notebook in my mother's desk.
After she died, I had searched through her belongings.
I never found it.
I had assumed it had been thrown away.
I looked at Brandon.
“We need to go.”
Harris stopped us.
“Not without protection.”
We returned to my mother's old house the next morning.
The property had been empty for years.
Dust covered the windows.
The garden had grown wild.
I unlocked the door.
The smell of old wood and paper filled the hallway.
Memories came rushing back.
My mother sitting at the kitchen table.
My father laughing in the living room.
The red notebook.
I walked toward the bedroom.
The desk was still there.
I opened the drawers.
Nothing.
Harris searched the walls.
Brandon checked the floorboards.
Then Lisa, who had come with us, called from the hallway.
“Mom?”
I turned.
She was standing beside an old bookshelf.
“There is a loose board.”
I crouched.
She was right.
One panel moved.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside was the red notebook.
I took it out.
The cover was faded.
My mother's initials were written inside.
I opened the first page.
Dates.
Names.
Payments.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Richard Sterling.
I turned another page.
There was a photograph.
My father.
Richard.
Thomas Vale.
And the unknown man.
The black ring.
On the back my mother had written:
They know.
I turned the photograph over again.
Another line appeared beneath it.
If anything happens to us, trust Richard.
My hands began shaking.
My father had trusted Richard.
Richard had trusted me.
The chain had existed long before Brandon and I met.
Harris examined the notebook.
“This could reopen the entire case.”
Brandon looked at me.
“Then we do it.”
I nodded.
We left the house with the notebook sealed in an evidence bag.
As we reached the car, a black sedan passed slowly.
I recognized it.
The same model from the old photograph.
The same car that had been outside my childhood home.
It stopped at the corner.
Then accelerated away.
Harris watched it disappear.
“Don't move.”
She called for backup.
But before the officers arrived, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
The voice was calm.
“You finally found the notebook.”
I said nothing.
“You should have left it where it was.”
“Who are you?”
A pause.
Then the voice answered.
“My name is Thomas Vale.”
The call ended.
Brandon stared at me.
Harris looked toward the road.
“The dead man just called you.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Last Secret Belonged to My Father, and When It Finally Came to Light, We Understood Why Richard Had Chosen Me
I Thought I Was Marrying Into a Family, Until One Strange Package Arrived and Made Me Question What They Were Really Planning
Part 14 of 15
