Chapter 4: The Message From The Past
I stared at the text message until the words blurred.
*She didn’t just take your money. She took his too.*
For a few seconds, I wondered if it was some kind of joke.
A cruel one.
A stranger sending a random accusation after the worst day my family had experienced.
I looked at the phone number again.
No name.
No profile picture.
Nothing.
My father noticed my expression.
“What is it?””
I locked my screen.
“Someone texted me.””
“Who?””
I hesitated.
After everything that happened, I didn’t want to create another explosion without knowing the truth.
“I don’t know yet.””
My father studied my face.
“Marcus, after today, I need you to show me everything.””
I handed him the phone.
He read the message.
His jaw tightened.
“Who sent this?””
“I have no idea.””
He looked back at the house.
“Maybe it’s someone trying to make things worse.””
“Maybe.””
But deep down, I knew there was something different about the message.
The person who sent it knew about the account.
They knew Denise had been hiding things.
And they knew there was more.
That night, I moved into my apartment.
Dad helped me carry the last boxes.
Neither of us said much.
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was heavy.
Like we were both trying to understand how the same house could feel like home one day and a crime scene the next.
Before he left, my father stood at my doorway.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?””
I smiled sadly.
“I think you have enough to deal with.””
He nodded.
Then he surprised me by saying something I never expected.
“I’m proud of you.””
I looked at him.
“For leaving?””
“For knowing when something was wrong.””
After he left, I sat alone in my new apartment.
The walls were empty.
The furniture was cheap.
But it was peaceful.
No one could knock on my door and demand more money.
No one could make me feel like a guest in my own family.
Then my phone buzzed again.
The same number.
This time, there was a photo attached.
I opened it.
My heart stopped.
It was a picture of a document.
A bank transfer.
Not mine.
My father’s.
The sender was Denise.
The receiver was a private account I didn’t recognize.
The amount?
$25,000.
I immediately called my father.
He answered after one ring.
“Marcus?””
“Dad, you need to see this.””
There was silence as I sent the picture.
A few seconds later, his breathing changed.
“What is this?””
“I don’t know.””
“Where did you get it?””
“Someone sent it to me.””
My father was quiet.
Then I heard him whisper.
“No…”
“What?””
“That account number.””
“You know it?””
“Yes.””
His voice became low.
“That’s an account Denise opened years ago.””
I sat up.
“Why would she send herself twenty-five thousand dollars?””
“She wouldn’t.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What do you mean?””
My father didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Because that money was supposed to go somewhere else.””
I stood up.
“Where?””
Another long silence.
Then my father spoke.
“Marcus, your grandmother left me an inheritance before she passed away.””
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with this?””
“Everything.””
I heard him take a deep breath.
“Because Denise was the only person who helped me handle the paperwork.””
My stomach dropped.
The message suddenly made sense.
This wasn’t just about my rent.
It was bigger.
Much bigger.
“Dad…”
“I need to check something.””
“What?””
His voice was shaking.
“My inheritance account.””
The call ended.
I stood in my apartment staring at the phone.
Ten minutes later, it rang again.
My father.
I answered immediately.
“Did you find something?””
He didn’t speak.
That scared me more than anything.
“Dad?””
Finally, he said:
“Marcus…”
May you like
His voice cracked.
“She has been taking money from me for years.””
