Chapter 10: The Father Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For twelve years, I'd believed my father was buried beneath a granite headstone in a cemetery outside Savannah.
I'd attended his funeral at nineteen, watched my mother lower a white rose onto his coffin, and spent years learning to live with the absence he left behind.
Now Daniel Brooks stood in my conference room, telling me my father had authorized the first suspicious transfer.
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“Take that back.””
Daniel didn't move.
“Ethan—”
“My father is dead.””
“I know what you were told.””
“You were at the funeral?””
“No.””
“Then don't pretend you know anything about my family.””
Daniel's face tightened.
“I know because I received an email from him eleven months ago. It came from an account associated with his old consulting business.””
I shook my head.
“Someone used his name.””
“That's what I thought. Then I received a voice message.””
He pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it on the table.
“Listen.””
A man's voice filled the room.
“Daniel, it's Robert Carter. We need to discuss the company before Ethan makes a decision he'll regret. The transfer is authorized. Keep Linda out of the details, and don't contact me at the old number.””
My knees nearly gave way.
It was my father's voice.
Older, rougher, but unmistakable.
For a moment, I was nineteen again, sitting in a hospital corridor while a doctor explained that a highway collision had taken my father's life. I remembered the smell of disinfectant, my mother's trembling hands, and the funeral director asking whether we wanted the casket opened.
We'd said no.
I'd never questioned why.
I looked at Daniel.
“Where did you get this?””
“From an email sent to my company account. I saved it because I thought someone was impersonating him.””
“And you never told me?””
“I didn't know whether it was real. Then Victor appeared, and the financial transfers began. I started investigating quietly.””
“Quietly?”” I snapped.
“You let me believe my company was being robbed while you sat on this?””
Daniel lowered his eyes.
“I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“Of what Robert might do if I exposed him.””
I stared at the phone.
“My father was a decent man.””
“He was a brilliant businessman,” Daniel replied.
“But he wasn't always decent.””
I wanted to punch him.
Instead, I picked up the phone and listened to the recording again.
The voice was identical. The pauses, the slight rasp at the end of each sentence, even the way he pronounced my name.
“Who else knows about this?””
“My attorney. And possibly Victor.””
Rebecca stepped between us.
“Daniel, if you have evidence connecting Robert Carter to these transactions, you'll need to provide the original files. We cannot rely on a recording alone.””
“I have them.””
“Then turn them over.””
Daniel hesitated.
I leaned toward him.
“If my father is alive, I deserve the truth. If he's dead and someone is using his identity, I deserve to know who.””
Daniel reached into his briefcase and removed a sealed document pouch.
Inside were printed emails, account records, and a photograph.
The photograph showed a silver-haired man standing outside a waterfront office building in Charleston.
He wore a dark coat and held a newspaper beneath one arm.
His face was thinner than I remembered, and his hair had turned almost entirely white.
But it was my father.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date: September 29, 2026.
Three weeks earlier.
I sat down.
“He's alive.””
Nobody answered.
I looked at Daniel again.
“Where is he?””
“I don't know. The last message came from an address associated with a private office in Charleston.””
“Then we're going there.””
Rebecca shook her head.
“Not without a plan. If Robert is involved in a financial scheme, approaching him could jeopardize the investigation.””
“He's my father.””
“And you're the owner of a company someone may be attempting to seize. We need to protect both.””
I forced myself to breathe.
She was right, and I hated her for it.
Daniel pointed to a printed email.
“There's another detail. Robert mentioned a meeting on November first. He said the transfer of control would be finalized then.””
“The same date in the Project Cedar spreadsheet,” I said.
Daniel nodded.
“Victor wants your shares. Robert may be helping him obtain them.””
“Why would my father want to take my company?””
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“Because he believes it belongs to him.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
“Your father founded the original Carter business. Before his disappearance, he transferred several assets into a family trust. When he supposedly died, the trust was dissolved and ownership passed to you.””
“I know the history.””
“Then you know there were unresolved disputes about how those assets were transferred.””
My stomach tightened.
“You're saying my father believes I stole his company?””
“I'm saying he may believe he has a legal claim.””
Rebecca opened the document pouch and examined a copy of the trust agreement.
“This document needs independent verification,” she said.
“If it's authentic, it could explain the motive. It doesn't justify forgery or unauthorized transfers.””
I barely heard her.
I was looking at the photograph.
Twelve years of grief. Twelve years of believing my father had died without saying goodbye.
And now, apparently, he'd been watching me from a distance while someone dismantled everything I'd built.
My phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
“Ethan Carter?””
The male voice was low and measured.
“Who is this?””
“Someone who can explain why your father disappeared.””
I stood.
“Where is he?””
“Alive. And he wants to see you.””
“Put him on the phone.””
A pause.
Then the caller said, “Your father says you should bring the Porsche keys.””
My blood turned cold.
“Why?””
“Because the car contains something that belongs to him.””
The call ended.
I looked toward Rebecca.
Then I remembered the velvet ring box hidden in the Porsche's center console.
I'd assumed it was the only thing waiting there.
Apparently, someone else knew about the car.
And if my father was truly alive, he hadn't returned to explain the past.
May you like
He'd returned to collect something.
Something he'd left behind twelve years ago.
