Chapter 3
I didn't tell my father about the messages that afternoon.
I wanted to.
I almost did three times.
But every time I looked at him, the words disappeared.
He had canceled two meetings and driven me home himself.
No security team inside the car.
No assistants.
Just Dad and me.
He kept glancing at my hands.
"You're quiet."
"I'm tired."
"Emily."
I looked out the window.
Boston blurred past us.
He knew when I was lying.
Unfortunately, I had learned from him.
"Today was a lot."
That answer was true enough to satisfy him for another few minutes.
When we reached our house in Beacon Hill, Dad stopped me before I went upstairs.
"Come here."
I turned.
He hugged me.
Not the quick one-arm hug he usually gave before leaving for work.
A real hug.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For asking you to hide who you were."
I pulled back.
"You didn't make Madison do anything."
"No. But I put you in a position where people thought they could."
"I agreed to it."
"You're sixteen."
"And?"
"And I'm supposed to know better."
I almost showed him my phone then.
Almost.
But the message about Mom sat inside my head like a splinter.
Ask your father what happened to your mother.
I needed to know whether Dad would tell me anything without being pushed.
So I asked casually.
"Do you ever think about Mom's accident?"
His entire expression changed.
It happened for less than a second.
But I saw it.
His shoulders stiffened.
His eyes sharpened.
Then the wall came back.
"Of course."
"What exactly happened?"
He stared at me.
"Why are you asking?"
There it was.
Not grief.
Suspicion.
I tried to keep my voice steady.
"We talked about her in class last week."
He said nothing.
I continued.
"I realized I don't know much about that night."
His gaze remained fixed on mine.
"It was raining. Your mother was driving home from a charity dinner. Another car ran a red light."
"And the driver?"
"Never identified."
I frowned.
"I thought you said the police arrested someone."
Dad went very still.
I remembered it clearly now.
I had been nine when I asked.
He had said the man responsible would never hurt anyone again.
Maybe I had misunderstood.
Maybe children remembered things wrong.
But Dad's silence told me I hadn't.
"Did you?" I asked.
"Did I what?"
"Tell me they caught him?"
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Ignored it.
"Emily, your mother's death was the worst night of my life."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
"Then answer me."
He rubbed one hand over his face.
"I told you what I thought a child could understand."
"I'm not a child anymore."
"No."
His voice softened.
"You're not."
For one second, I thought he was finally going to explain.
Instead, our house manager entered the hallway.
"Mr. Carter, Ms. Grant is here."
Dad's head snapped toward her.
"Already?"
"She's waiting in the library."
I knew that name.
Lauren Grant.
One of Dad's attorneys.
But not the attorney who handled companies or contracts.
Lauren handled criminal investigations.
Dad looked at me.
"Go change. We'll talk later."
"You called a criminal lawyer?"
His face tightened.
"For the school issue."
"Why would you need a criminal lawyer for bullying?"
He didn't answer.
That scared me more than any answer could have.
I went upstairs.
Then I did something I had never done before.
I listened at the library door.
Dad and Lauren were speaking quietly.
"We have to assume the message wasn't random," Lauren said.
My heart stopped.
He knew.
Dad had somehow seen the messages.
"Can you trace the number?"
"We're trying."
"And the wording?"
"Specific."
Silence.
Then Dad said, "Nobody outside five people knows about Evelyn."
My mother.
Evelyn Carter.
Lauren lowered her voice.
"Daniel, that's not true anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"The sealed police archive was accessed six days ago."
A cold wave moved through me.
"By whom?"
"We don't know yet. Credentials belonged to a retired detective."
Dad cursed under his breath.
Lauren continued.
"If whoever contacted Emily has those files, this could become dangerous."
Dangerous.
Not embarrassing.
Not painful.
Dangerous.
I backed away from the door before they could discover me.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number again.
LISTENING AT DOORS NOW?
I froze.
My entire body went numb.
Someone was watching me.
Inside my own house?
I spun around.
The upstairs landing was empty.
I looked toward the windows.
Across the street, a dark sedan sat at the curb.
I couldn't see the driver.
My phone buzzed again.
SMART GIRL.
I ran into my bedroom and locked the door.
Then I took screenshots of everything.
I sent them to my private email.
Next I called the one person at Westbridge who had been kind to me.
Noah Bennett.
He wasn't popular.
He wasn't unpopular either.
He was the kind of person Madison mostly ignored because his family wasn't useful enough to impress and wasn't powerless enough to attack.
He answered on the second ring.
"Emily?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"After today? You can ask me literally anything."
I sat on the floor beside my bed.
"Did Madison know who my father was before today?"
"No way."
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. She was bragging this morning that your dad probably repaired air conditioners."
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
"Why?"
"Someone is texting me."
His tone changed immediately.
"What kind of texts?"
I read one.
There was a long silence.
"That's not Madison."
"How do you know?"
"Because Madison is cruel, but subtle isn't exactly her thing."
That was true.
Noah continued.
"And why would she know anything about your mom?"
"I don't know."
"You need to tell your dad."
"He already knows."
"Then tell the police."
"I think he's trying not to."
Another silence.
"Emily?"
"Yeah?"
"My sister heard something last year."
His sister graduated from Westbridge two years earlier.
"Heard what?"
"Something about the Blake family and your dad."
I sat straighter.
"What?"
"I don't remember exactly. There was some lawsuit or property fight years ago. My sister said Richard Blake hated Daniel Carter."
"Business rivals hate each other all the time."
"Not like this."
"What do you mean?"
"She said Richard once told someone that your father destroyed his family."
I felt the room tilt.
"Why would he say that?"
"I don't know."
Then Noah sucked in a breath.
"Wait."
"What?"
"My sister kept old yearbooks."
"So?"
"Your mother went to Westbridge."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"What?"
"Yeah. Evelyn Monroe. Class of 2001, I think."
I stood.
Dad had never told me that.
I crossed my room toward the bookshelf where Mom's old photographs sat.
There were childhood pictures.
College.
Her wedding.
Me as a baby.
Nothing from high school.
"Can you get the yearbook?"
"I think so."
"When?"
"Tonight."
"Send me pictures."
"I will."
I ended the call.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
I stopped breathing.
"Emily?"
Dad.
I opened the door.
He held my phone charger.
"You left this downstairs."
"Thanks."
He didn't move.
Neither did I.
Finally he said, "I know you've received more messages."
My stomach dropped.
"How?"
"We monitor threats against our family."
"Our family or me?"
"Both."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to frighten you."
"That's becoming a pattern."
Pain flashed across his face.
I hated that I felt guilty.
But I was angry.
"Did Mom go to Westbridge?"
The silence answered before he did.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It never seemed important."
"Really?"
I stepped closer.
"I transfer to the school my dead mother attended and you don't think that's important?"
His jaw tightened.
"Emily—"
"Did she know Richard Blake?"
Dad closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, he looked older.
"Yes."
"How?"
"They were friends."
"Just friends?"
He didn't answer quickly enough.
My heart began pounding.
"Dad."
"Richard dated your mother in high school."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"For less than a year."
"And you never thought to mention that?"
"It had nothing to do with you."
"Apparently someone thinks it does."
Dad stepped into my room and shut the door.
"Listen carefully. Whatever messages you're getting, do not respond."
"Why?"
"Because whoever is sending them wants you to react."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
His expression hardened.
"I'm protecting you."
"From what?"
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
He glanced down.
Then everything changed.
He answered immediately.
"Lauren."
He listened.
His face drained of color.
"When?"
Another pause.
"Is he alive?"
My skin prickled.
Dad looked at me.
I had never seen fear in his eyes before.
Not once.
"Where?"
He ended the call.
"What happened?" I asked.
Dad grabbed his coat from the chair.
"The retired detective whose credentials accessed your mother's file was found in his apartment."
I couldn't breathe.
"Found how?"
Dad opened the door.
He hesitated.
May you like
Then he said the words I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Someone tried to kill him."
