Chapter 9: The Voice From the Past
I stared at the phone screen.
The number remained there.
Impossible.
A number that should not exist.
A person who should not be calling.
Natalie looked at me.
“Who was it?””
I couldn’t answer.
My mind was trying to catch up.
“This number…”
“What?””
“It belongs to Richard Whitmore’s former assistant.””
Natalie’s face changed.
“Daniel?””
“You know him?””
She nodded slowly.
“Everyone who worked there knew him.””
“What happened to him?””
She looked away.
“He died.””
The wind moved through the trees.
“How?””
Natalie hesitated.
“The official story was an accident.””
“But?””
She looked at me.
“But nobody believed it.””
My phone buzzed again.
This time, a message.
No words.
Only a location.
And one sentence.
*Come alone if you want the truth.*
I showed Natalie.
“No.””
Her answer was immediate.
“No?””
“Emily, that’s how they trap people.””
I looked at the location.
An old warehouse district near the river.
“What if it’s not them?””
Natalie shook her head.
“Then why ask you to come alone?””
Because they knew.
They knew I wanted answers.
They knew curiosity was my weakness.
But they also knew something else.
I wasn’t running anymore.
“I’m going.””
Natalie grabbed my arm.
“You don’t understand.””
“No.””
I looked at her.
“I understand perfectly.””
I had spent years believing honesty protected people.
Now I knew secrets protected the people who benefited from them.
“I need to know.””
Natalie stared at me.
Then slowly released my arm.
“Then don’t go alone.””
I looked at her.
“You just said—”
“I said don’t go alone.””
She picked up her coat.
“I didn’t say bring me.””
An hour later, Claire met us two blocks away from the warehouse.
She looked angry.
“You went after a dead man’s phone number?””
I didn’t answer.
She looked at Natalie.
Then stopped.
“You.””
Natalie nodded.
“Hello, Claire.””
The silence between them was heavy.
“You knew she was alive?””
Claire looked at me.
“No.””
Then she turned to Natalie.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
Natalie’s expression hardened.
“Because the last time I trusted someone at Whitmore Holdings, my life was destroyed.””
Claire looked hurt.
“I wasn’t them.””
“I know.””
Natalie’s voice softened.
“But I didn’t know that then.””
A sound from the warehouse interrupted us.
A door closing.
We all turned.
Claire whispered:
“Someone’s inside.””
We entered through a broken side entrance.
The building smelled like rust and dust.
Every step echoed.
Then we found the room.
A single desk.
A chair.
And a box.
No person.
No trap.
Just evidence.
Claire opened the box carefully.
Inside were files.
Photographs.
Hard drives.
And one envelope.
My name was written on it.
Emily Carter.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
But the first sentence destroyed me.
*If you are reading this, then Grant failed to protect you the way he failed to protect me.*
I looked at Claire.
Then Natalie.
“What is this?””
Natalie stepped closer.
“Read it.””
I continued.
*My name is Daniel Reeves. I worked for the Whitmore family for twelve years. I know what they did. I know what Grant did.*
My heartbeat accelerated.
The next line was underlined.
*The night before your wedding, Grant tried to stop them.*
I stopped.
Claire looked at me.
“What?””
I read further.
*But he was too late.*
The warehouse suddenly felt colder.
Because the letter wasn’t saying Grant was innocent.
It was saying something worse.
Grant had tried to stop them.
And failed.
At the bottom of the page was one final sentence.
*Emily, the man you married is guilty of one thing more than anything else.*
I turned the page.
May you like
And read the final words.
*He knew exactly what they planned to do to you.*
