Chapter 9: My Father's Last Night
I didn't remember driving back to Boston.
I remembered the phone call.
I remembered Alexander's voice.
And I remembered the smell of smoke that had filled my father's garage thirteen years earlier.
My father had died three days after that fire.
The official report said he suffered a heart attack at home.
I'd been seventeen.
Nobody had told me there was anything suspicious about his death.
Michael sat across from me in his office.
"Daniel, we need to be careful.""
I stared at the old photograph of my father.
"Are you telling me someone killed him?""
"I'm telling you Alexander has made an allegation that requires investigation. We cannot treat it as fact without evidence.""
"What about the fire?""
"Do you remember what caused it?""
I closed my eyes.
"An electrical fault, according to the insurance investigator.""
"Was anyone else present?""
"No. My father was working late. He called me around eight and told me to go to bed.""
Michael wrote something down.
"Did he sound frightened?""
I thought about it.
At the time, I'd been annoyed because he'd promised to help me repair an old motorcycle the following morning.
But something had been different in his voice.
He'd sounded distracted.
"Actually, yes.""
"What did he say?""
I swallowed.
"He told me to stay away from the garage.""
Michael looked up.
"Did he ever say that before?""
"Never.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"I thought he was just worried about the fire.""
Michael leaned forward.
"Daniel, I want to request the original fire investigation records, medical records, and insurance documents.""
"Do it.""
He picked up the phone.
I stood and walked toward the window.
Outside, the city continued as if nothing had happened.
People crossed the street carrying coffee. Cars stopped at traffic lights. A delivery driver struggled with a stack of boxes.
And somewhere in that ordinary world, someone knew what had happened to my father.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Olivia.
*Olivia:* I need to tell you something about the night your father died.
I immediately called her.
She answered in a whisper.
"Daniel?""
"What do you know?""
"I found something in my father's old papers.""
"What?""
"A letter he wrote to my mother. It mentions your father.""
"Read it.""
She hesitated.
"I can't over the phone.""
"Olivia, I'm done with secrets.""
"I know. Please. Just meet me.""
I agreed to meet her at a public café near the courthouse.
When I arrived, she was already sitting in the back corner.
There was a brown envelope on the table.
She pushed it toward me.
"My father wrote this three days after Arthur died.""
I opened it.
Patricia,
Arthur is gone. I warned him to stop investigating Whitmore, but he wouldn't listen.
The fire destroyed most of the physical evidence. I don't know whether it was deliberate, but I know someone entered the garage that night.
I saw the vehicle.
It belonged to Richard Whitmore.
I stopped reading.
Olivia was watching me.
"Keep going," she whispered.
I continued.
I have copies of the missing safety reports. If anything happens to me, give them to Daniel when he is old enough to understand.
I am afraid Richard will come after the boy next.
My hands began shaking.
The letter continued.
I have made a decision. I will not allow Olivia to become part of this. She deserves a normal life.
I looked up.
"Did your father ever give you these papers?""
"No. My mother found them after he died.""
"Why didn't she contact me?""
Olivia looked down.
"She was afraid. Richard had threatened to accuse my father of stealing company property. My mother believed he could destroy our family.""
I pushed the letter away.
"That doesn't explain why you helped him.""
"I know.""
"Did you know about my father's death before we started dating?""
She closed her eyes.
"Yes.""
The words hit harder than I expected.
"What?""
"My father told me about the fire when I was younger. He said your father had died during a difficult dispute with Whitmore.""
I stared at her.
"And you still came into my life?""
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I didn't know Richard would use me to get the patents. At first, I just wanted to study the research.""
"At first?""
She looked at me.
"Alexander approached me during my first year of graduate school. He told me the company had been looking for Arthur Carter's son for years.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Why?""
"He said the final design might still be in your possession.""
I stood.
"So the relationship wasn't an accident.""
Olivia started crying harder.
"Daniel, I did love you.""
I laughed once.
"Don't.""
"I did!""
"You knew my father had died under suspicious circumstances. You knew Whitmore wanted his invention. You knew I had the notebooks. And you let me sell the garage to pay for your PhD.""
"I was going to tell you.""
"When?""
She couldn't answer.
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I walked away.
My phone rang before I reached the parking lot.
Michael.
"Daniel, come back to the office. We received the original fire investigation report.""
I returned immediately.
Michael had spread several documents across his desk.
"Look at this.""
The report described the fire as accidental.
But attached to it was an additional page.
A maintenance inspection had been conducted at the garage two days before the incident.
The electrical system had been examined.
No faults were identified.
I read the next paragraph.
A witness had reported seeing a black sedan outside the property shortly before the fire started.
The license plate was partially recorded.
Michael placed another document beside it.
"Daniel, we ran the registration number.""
I looked at the name.
Richard Whitmore.
My father's old enemy.
Michael pointed to another page.
"And there's something else.""
A supplemental report had been filed six months after the original investigation.
It stated that the fire may have involved an accelerant.
But the report had been withdrawn before the investigation was completed.
"Who withdrew it?"" I asked.
Michael slid the final document toward me.
The authorization carried the signature of the insurance company's regional director.
Beneath it was a handwritten instruction:
*Close the investigation. No further action required.*
I looked at the date.
Then I looked at Michael.
"Who was the director?""
He turned his laptop around.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
A familiar silver-haired man stood beside Richard Whitmore at a charity event.
The caption identified him as the company's former financial adviser.
But that wasn't the part that made my blood run cold.
His name was Daniel Carter.
My name.
I looked closer.
The photograph was old.
The man standing beside Richard wasn't me.
It was my father's younger brother.
My uncle, Robert Carter.
The uncle who had disappeared from our family immediately after my father's funeral.
The man my father had once described as someone he would never trust with a dollar.
I slowly sat down.
"Michael, find him.""
Michael nodded.
"Already trying.""
Then his computer chimed.
An email had arrived from an unknown sender.
No greeting.
No explanation.
Just one photograph.
It showed my father standing outside the garage on the night of the fire.
Beside him was Robert.
And behind them, partially hidden in the darkness, stood Alexander Whitmore.
May you like
Underneath the photograph was a single sentence.
*Your uncle didn't just witness what happened to your father, Daniel. He helped arrange it.*
