Chapter 7: The Last Night
“Your father didn't die naturally.””
I read the message again.
Then again.
The words blurred.
My mother reached for the phone.
“Give it to me.””
I pulled it away.
“No.””
“Claire, please.””
“You knew.””
She shook her head.
“I knew something was wrong.””
“That isn't the same thing.””
Her eyes filled.
“I suspected.””
Richard took the photograph from my hand and stared at it.
“Where was this taken?””
Mom answered before I could.
“At a warehouse your father owned.””
Richard looked at her.
“Marcus had access to it?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because your father trusted him.””
Richard slammed his palm against the steering wheel.
“My brother?””
Mom nodded.
“Your father thought Marcus was helping him investigate the missing money.””
I looked at the photograph.
Marcus's hand rested casually on Dad's shoulder.
He looked comfortable.
Almost affectionate.
“So Dad trusted him.””
“At first.””
“What changed?””
Mom looked at me.
“Your father found the accounts.””
“What accounts?””
“Shell companies. Fake vendors. Transfers. Millions.””
Richard went silent.
I looked at him.
“You knew?””
“No.””
“Your brother was stealing from your company.””
Richard shook his head.
“I had no idea.””
Mom whispered, “That's what your father believed.””
I turned toward her.
“And the night he died?””
She closed her eyes.
“Your father called Daniel.””
“Why?””
“He had found proof.””
“Proof of what?””
“That Marcus wasn't working alone.””
The air seemed to disappear from the car.
I stared at her.
“Who was working with him?””
Mom didn't answer.
“Mom.””
“I don't know.””
“You were there.””
“I was there because your father asked me to come.””
“Why?””
“He said he needed to speak to me.””
“About the money?””
She nodded.
“What happened when you arrived?””
“He was already angry.””
“At you?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“He accused me of knowing about the transfers.””
“Did you?””
“No.””
I studied her face.
She looked exhausted.
Not frightened anymore.
Broken.
“What happened next?””
Mom's voice became barely audible.
“Marcus arrived.””
Richard cursed under his breath.
“He came to the hospital?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“He said he needed to speak with your father.””
“Alone?””
Mom nodded.
“I left the room.””
My heart stopped.
“You left?””
“I went into the hallway.””
“And then?””
“I heard shouting.””
“Whose?””
“Your father's.””
“What did he say?””
Mom looked at me.
“He said, ‘You were supposed to protect her.’”
My skin prickled.
“Protect me from Marcus?””
“I don't know.””
“What happened after that?””
“I heard something hit the floor.””
Richard leaned forward.
“What kind of sound?””
“Metal.””
A long silence followed.
“Then the door opened,” Mom continued.
“Who came out?””
She looked at me.
“Marcus.””
My hands went cold.
“Was Dad alive?””
“He was breathing.””
“Then why did you tell me to stay in the hallway?””
Mom began crying.
“Because Marcus told me if I brought you inside, he would make sure you never left that hospital.””
Emily stared at her.
“You threatened Claire?””
Mom shook her head.
“Marcus did.””
“Why didn't you call the police?””
“I was afraid.””
“You were afraid for yourself?””
“For Claire.””
I looked away.
For years, I had believed my mother had kept me away from my father in his final moments because she was controlling.
Now I wasn't sure.
Maybe she had been terrified.
Maybe she had made a terrible choice.
Or maybe she was still lying.
I turned back.
“What happened to Dad?””
Mom wiped her cheek.
“His condition suddenly worsened.””
“Suddenly?””
“Yes.””
“Was there an investigation?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
She hesitated.
“Because the hospital recorded it as a cardiac event.””
Richard frowned.
“My brother was there.””
“Yes.””
“And you did nothing.””
“I thought he would come after Claire.””
I looked at my phone.
The unknown number was still there.
I typed:
*Who are you?*
The reply came almost immediately.
*Someone your father trusted.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*Someone who was in the hospital that night.*
I swallowed.
*Daniel?*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
A minute passed.
Finally, a photograph arrived.
It showed the hospital corridor.
The date stamp was seven years old.
My mother was standing beside the door to Dad's room.
Marcus was walking away.
And behind them, almost hidden by a vending machine, stood someone else.
Someone I recognized.
Emily's fiancé.
My sister's future husband.
I looked at Emily.
She saw the photograph.
Her face drained of color.
“That's Noah.””
Mom whispered, “No.””
Richard grabbed the phone.
“Noah wasn't even in Nashville that night.””
I looked at the timestamp.
The photograph proved otherwise.
Then my phone buzzed again.
*He wasn't there for your father.*
May you like
A second message followed.
*He was there for your mother.*
