Chapter 3: My Aunt Had Been Lying for Three Years
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph of my father standing outside that warehouse.
I saw my mother's handwriting.
And I heard Tom's words.
Your father disappeared because he found out Richard knew where you lived.
At eleven the next morning, I stood outside Aunt Linda's bedroom.
She was getting ready to go shopping.
Her expensive perfume filled the hallway.
"Can I talk to you?"" I asked.
She didn't turn around.
"If it's about money, the answer is no.""
"It's about Dad.""
Her hand stopped halfway through fastening an earring.
"What about him?""
I held up the photograph.
She turned slowly.
For one brief second, something flashed across her face.
Fear.
Then it disappeared.
"Where did you get that?""
"Who is Richard Hayes?""
She grabbed the photograph.
"Why are you asking about him?""
"Because someone told me he knew my parents.""
"Someone?""
"Tom Reed.""
The photograph slipped slightly in her fingers.
"That man?""
"You know him?""
"Emily, you need to stay away from those people.""
"Why?""
"Because they're dangerous.""
I felt my heart pounding.
"They came to my graduation.""
"And that was a mistake.""
"Why did they come?""
Linda placed the photograph on her dresser.
"Listen carefully. Those men have been involved in trouble for years. Your mother got mixed up with them, and look what happened.""
I stared at her.
"You said Mom died in a car accident.""
"She did.""
"Tom says that's not true.""
Aunt Linda's expression hardened.
"Tom Reed is a liar.""
"Then why did he have a letter from Mom?""
She went completely still.
I watched her face.
"How did you know about the letter?"" I asked.
She recovered quickly.
"Because your mother wrote all kinds of ridiculous things.""
"Did you read it?""
"Emily, stop asking questions.""
I stepped closer.
"Did you know Dad was alive?""
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
That was all the answer I needed.
I felt the room tilt.
"He's alive, isn't he?""
Linda picked up her purse.
"Your father is a complicated man.""
"That's not an answer.""
"He abandoned you.""
"Then why are you afraid to tell me where he is?""
She grabbed my arm.
"Because I spent three years protecting you from people who would destroy your life!""
I pulled away.
"Who?""
"Enough!""
Her voice echoed through the bedroom.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she pointed toward the door.
"Go to your room.""
I stared at her.
"Did you ever tell Dad that I didn't want to see him?""
Her face changed.
I knew.
I didn't need another answer.
"Emily—"
"Did you?""
She looked away.
I walked out.
My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped my phone.
I called Jace.
He answered on the second ring.
"Hey, graduate. Everything okay?""
"No.""
His voice immediately changed.
"What happened?""
"I think my aunt knows where my father is.""
There was silence.
Then Jace said, "Don't confront her alone again.""
"I already did.""
"Emily, listen to me. My father left something else behind. A box. Tom thinks we should open it with you.""
"What's in it?""
"I don't know. But he specifically told us not to open it until we found you.""
I closed my eyes.
"Can you come get me?""
"We'll be there in twenty minutes.""
When Jace arrived, he wasn't alone.
Tom sat in the passenger seat of an old black pickup.
Three other bikers were waiting outside the clubhouse.
They welcomed me without asking questions.
Inside, the place smelled of coffee, leather, and old wood.
A large photograph of Walter hung above the fireplace.
Someone had placed yellow flowers beneath it.
I recognized the daisies.
They were the same kind I'd bought for my graduation.
Jace noticed me looking.
"My dad loved those," he said.
"He always said your mother planted them outside the clubhouse.""
I touched one of the petals.
"He remembered?""
"Everything.""
Tom appeared carrying a battered wooden box.
"Your mother gave this to Walter shortly before she died.""
He placed it on the table.
My name was carved into the lid.
EMILY PARKER.
I sat down.
Jace pulled out the chair beside me.
Tom opened the box.
Inside were old photographs, bank statements, newspaper clippings, and several sealed envelopes.
There was also a small cassette recorder.
Tom picked up one of the photographs.
It showed my mother standing outside a charity building with several children.
"She helped run this organization," he explained.
"Your father handled the accounts.""
He placed a bank statement in front of me.
"These are the records he collected before he disappeared.""
I looked at the numbers.
Thousands of dollars had been transferred into private accounts.
The account holder's name was Richard Hayes.
"Why would he steal from children?""
"Because he believed nobody would ever investigate money donated to families who couldn't afford lawyers.""
I felt angry tears gathering.
"Did my father catch him?""
Tom nodded.
"He confronted him. Your mother had already collected evidence. A few days later, she was dead.""
Jace clenched his jaw.
"My dad spent years trying to prove what happened.""
Tom continued.
"After your mother died, your father realized somebody was watching you. He came to us and asked for help.""
"Then why didn't he take me with him?""
"Because he believed leaving you with your aunt would keep you safe.""
I shook my head.
"She hated having me there.""
Tom's expression softened.
"Your father didn't know that.""
I stared at him.
"What do you mean?""
Tom removed a folded document from the box.
It was a bank statement.
My name appeared near the top.
Below it were monthly deposits.
One thousand dollars.
Every month.
For three years.
I counted the transactions.
Thirty-six deposits.
Thirty-six thousand dollars.
My hands began trembling.
"Who sent this money?""
Tom pointed to the account information.
"Your father.""
I looked up.
"Every month?""
"Without missing one.""
I felt something break inside my chest.
"Why didn't I know?""
Tom reached for another document.
"This is where things get ugly.""
He turned the paper toward me.
It was a collection of signed receipts.
Each one confirmed that Linda Parker had received the monthly payments on my behalf.
At the bottom of the most recent receipt was a handwritten note.
Emily continues to refuse contact with her father. Please do not send further correspondence.
I stared at the handwriting.
It belonged to my aunt.
"She told him I didn't want him?""
Tom nodded.
"Every month.""
My eyes filled.
"She told me he was dead.""
Jace leaned forward.
"Emily, there's more.""
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a small white house with a porch and a wooden fence.
A man stood outside, holding a newspaper.
His hair was grayer. His face was thinner.
But I knew that face.
I'd seen it in every childhood photograph.
My father.
The newspaper was dated four days earlier.
I covered my mouth.
"Where did you get this?""
"One of my dad's friends took it," Jace answered.
"He found your father living outside Knoxville.""
I touched the photograph.
"He's alive.""
Tom nodded.
"Yes, sweetheart.""
Then I noticed someone standing beside him.
A woman.
She was wearing a familiar red coat.
My aunt's red coat.
I looked closer.
It was definitely Linda.
My aunt was standing beside my father, smiling as though they were old friends.
I couldn't understand it.
"Why is she with him?""
Tom's face became serious.
"That's the question we've been trying to answer.""
I picked up the photograph.
"She's been telling me he abandoned me. She said he was dead.""
Tom nodded slowly.
"Your father believes you stopped loving him. He believes you chose not to see him.""
I felt tears running down my face.
"Can I talk to him?""
"Yes.""
"Today?""
Tom looked at Jace.
Jace looked toward the door.
Then Tom placed one final photograph in front of me.
It showed my father standing beside Linda outside the same house.
But this time, I noticed something in her hand.
A large envelope.
On the back of the photograph, Walter had written seven words.
She knows where Emily's father is hiding.
I looked up.
Tom's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Emily, there's something we haven't told you about your aunt.""
He paused.
"She wasn't just collecting your father's money.""
He turned the photograph over.
"She was helping the man who killed your mother.""
And suddenly, I understood why my aunt had been so desperate to keep me away from those twenty bikers.
May you like
*She wasn't afraid they would hurt me.*
*She was afraid they would tell me the truth.*
