Chapter 9: What My Father Buried
The officers immediately secured the warehouse.
Detective Harris called for a specialist team to examine the concrete section Margaret had identified.
I stood beside the workbench, holding the photograph.
“Did Dad build a basement here?”” I asked.
Margaret nodded.
“Not exactly. It was an underground storage room. He used it for sensitive business records.””
“Why didn't Richard know about it?””
“He did. But your father changed the entrance after discovering the financial fraud.””
Harris looked at her.
“How do we access it?””
Margaret pointed toward a metal support beam.
“There's a release mechanism behind that panel.””
An officer removed the panel.
Behind it was a small lever.
He pulled.
A deep mechanical sound echoed beneath our feet.
Then a rectangular section of the concrete floor shifted.
A narrow staircase appeared.
Cold air rose from below.
I stepped closer.
“Was Dad hiding there?””
Margaret shook her head.
“No. But he left something there that Richard never found.””
Harris ordered everyone to wait while the officers checked the stairs.
A few minutes later, one officer called out.
“Clear!””
We descended.
The room was small but carefully constructed.
There were metal shelves, filing cabinets, a desk, and an old computer.
A battery-powered lamp still worked.
I recognized the desk immediately.
It had belonged to my father.
He used to keep a small wooden clock on the left corner.
It was still there.
I walked toward it slowly.
My fingers brushed against the dusty surface.
“Dad,” I whispered.
On the desk sat a photograph of our family.
Me at seventeen.
Toby at six.
My father standing behind us.
My mother beside him.
Liam and Leo hadn't been born yet.
I picked it up.
For a moment, I remembered what our family had been before Richard entered our lives.
Sunday breakfasts.
Dad singing terribly while making pancakes.
Toby falling asleep on his lap.
My mother laughing at the dinner table.
I wanted those days back so badly that it hurt.
Then I noticed a small metal box beneath the desk.
It had a number pad.
317.
I looked at the blue key in my hand.
“Is this what it opens?””
Margaret nodded.
“Your father said the key was only half of the combination.””
Detective Harris examined the lock.
“Do you know the other half?””
Margaret shook her head.
I looked at the photograph again.
The fishing trip.
The silver boat.
The words my father had written.
The truth doesn't disappear just because someone hides it.
Then I remembered the summer Toby and I had spent with him at the lake.
Dad had taught us to count the fishing buoys.
There had been three red buoys, one white buoy, and seven green buoys.
He'd made a joke about remembering the numbers.
“Three, one, seven,” Toby had said.
I looked at the lock.
“That's the combination.””
I inserted the blue key and entered 317.
The box clicked open.
Inside were several USB drives, a thick folder, and a small audio recorder.
I opened the folder.
The first document was a legal agreement.
The second was a list of bank accounts.
The third was a handwritten statement signed by my father.
But the fourth document made my blood run cold.
It was a medical report.
Patient: Michael Parker.
Date of examination: October 18.
Status: Alive.
I stared at the paper.
There was a note at the bottom.
Patient sustained head trauma and multiple fractures following a suspected vehicle collision. Patient reports possible deliberate interference with vehicle braking system.
I covered my mouth.
My father had survived the crash.
He had been taken to a hospital.
Someone had deliberately changed his identity.
Harris photographed the document.
“That's significant evidence.””
I reached for the recorder.
“Can we listen to this?””
He nodded.
An officer connected it to a portable speaker.
There was a brief crackling sound.
Then my father's voice filled the underground room.
“If you're hearing this, it means I couldn't come home.””
I began crying immediately.
“My name is Michael Parker. I'm making this recording because I believe Richard Hale intends to destroy the evidence connecting him to the missing funds.””
My father's voice sounded tired.
But unmistakably alive.
“I also believe someone in my family has been helping him.””
I closed my eyes.
The recording continued.
“Richard has been moving money through a company registered under my wife's name. I confronted her. She denied knowing anything about it.””
A pause.
Then Dad spoke again.
“Emily, if this reaches you, I need you to understand that none of this is your fault.””
My tears fell onto the photograph in my hand.
“I tried to protect you and your brothers. I arranged for the children's trust to be secured independently. Richard cannot access it without the original authorization.””
Detective Harris leaned closer.
Then my father said something that made everyone in the room go still.
“The original authorization isn't in this warehouse.””
I frowned.
“Where is it?””
My father's voice continued.
“It's inside the house. Behind the photograph of our family in the living room.””
I felt my heart pound.
The photograph above the fireplace.
The one my mother had refused to remove after Dad's funeral.
Then came the next sentence.
“And Emily, there's something you need to know about the night of the accident.””
The recording crackled.
“I wasn't alone in the car.””
I looked at Margaret.
She had gone completely pale.
Dad continued.
“Richard was driving. Your mother was sitting beside him.””
My knees weakened.
“They followed me from the office. When I realized what they were doing, I tried to escape. But someone struck the back of my vehicle.””
I covered my mouth.
“The person who caused the accident wasn't Richard.””
A long silence followed.
Then Dad said:
“It was someone I trusted with my life.””
The recording stopped.
Detective Harris looked at Margaret.
“Who was it?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
But her face said otherwise.
I turned toward her.
“You recognized something.””
She began backing away.
“Margaret?””
She looked at the staircase.
Then at the officers.
Finally, she whispered:
“Your father wasn't talking about Richard.””
My blood turned cold.
“Then who?””
Margaret started crying.
“I'm sorry, Emily.””
She pointed toward the photograph of my father.
“The person who rammed his car was your mother's brother.””
I froze.
My mother had told us she was an only child.
Margaret swallowed.
“His name is Daniel Parker.””
Before I could ask another question, an officer's radio crackled.
“Detective, we have a problem at the hospital.””
Harris grabbed it.
“What happened?””
“An unidentified man entered the pediatric ward. He asked for Toby Parker.””
My stomach dropped.
“Who was he?””
The officer hesitated.
Then his voice came through.
“He showed hospital security a photograph of Emily and said he was their uncle.””
I stared at Margaret.
She was crying uncontrollably now.
Because there was only one reason a man who had supposedly never existed would suddenly appear at the hospital.
He knew we had found the recording.
May you like
And he was coming for the last person who could identify him.
Toby.
