Chapter 7 - THE LAST NIGHT OF MY FATHER
That night, nobody slept.
Olivia sat beside Mason's crib.
His fever had finally begun to drop.
I sat in the hallway with Michael, Eleanor, Dana, and my mother's attorney.
My mother was downstairs under supervision.
I wanted answers.
“All of them.”
Michael looked at me.
“Your legal father discovered the missing money.”
“From the company?”
“Yes.”
“Who took it?”
Michael shook his head.
“Not one person.”
“What does that mean?”
“There was a group.”
He explained that several investors had created shell companies connected to Carter Development.
Money moved through construction contracts.
Properties were bought and resold.
Invoices were inflated.
The company appeared profitable while millions disappeared.
My legal father discovered it.
“He was going to expose them.”
“Then he died.”
Michael nodded.
“Three days later.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“Was his death investigated?”
“Yes.”
“What was the official cause?”
“Cardiac arrest.”
My jaw tightened.
“He was forty-eight.”
Eleanor nodded.
“He had no significant heart disease.”
“Then why wasn't it investigated?”
“Because your mother refused an autopsy.”
I stood.
“She did what?”
Michael's voice was quiet.
“She said your father had been under enormous stress.”
I walked toward the window.
Everything I remembered from that week came back.
My mother crying.
Relatives whispering.
The funeral.
The closed casket.
The paperwork.
I had been twenty-nine.
I remembered asking why I couldn't see him.
My mother had said:
“Remember him as he was.”
Now I understood.
She hadn't been protecting my memory.
She had been protecting a secret.
Dana received a message.
She looked at her phone.
“We found something.”
She handed it to me.
A scanned medical report.
It showed unusual traces in my father's toxicology screening.
I looked at the page.
“Why wasn't this in the official report?”
“Because it was removed.”
“By whom?”
Dana didn't answer.
Eleanor did.
“Your mother.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
“She had access.”
I turned toward the stairs.
My mother stood there.
Her attorney was beside her.
“I didn't kill him.”
I looked at her.
“Then tell me what happened.”
She came down slowly.
“Your father had discovered the fraud.”
“Who was involved?”
She hesitated.
“Raymond.”
I looked toward my uncle.
He wasn't there.
“Raymond?”
My mother nodded.
“He was one of them.”
My mind raced.
The money.
The documents.
The folder.
Brandon.
Everything.
“Did Uncle Raymond kill him?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My mother began crying.
“I don't know.”
“You just said you knew.”
“I know who ordered it.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your grandfather.”
Silence.
I laughed.
“My grandfather was dead by then.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He died later.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
She whispered:
“Your grandfather faked his death.”
The room went completely silent.
Eleanor's face changed.
Michael stood.
“That isn't possible.”
My mother looked at him.
“You helped him.”
Michael shook his head.
“I never helped him.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Dana interrupted.
“Mrs. Carter, this is an extraordinary allegation.”
My mother nodded.
“I have proof.”
She walked toward a cabinet.
Her attorney tried to stop her.
She pushed his hand away.
Behind a stack of books was a small metal safe.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
An old passport.
And a handwritten ledger.
She placed them on the table.
The passport belonged to my grandfather.
The photograph showed him standing outside a building in Mexico.
The date was eight years after his supposed death.
I stared at it.
“He's alive?”
My mother nodded.
“Was.”
“Where is he now?”
She looked at me.
“He died six months ago.”
“Where?”
“Texas.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because he left one final instruction.”
“What?”
My mother took out another envelope.
It had my name on it.
She handed it to me.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Ethan,
If you are reading this, your mother has finally lost control of the story.
I looked up.
My mother's face was wet with tears.
I continued reading.
There are people who will tell you your father was murdered. They are wrong.
I stopped.
The next sentence was worse.
Your father was not the target.
May you like
My heart pounded.
You were.
