Chapter 9 - The Person Behind The Missing Years
The message stayed on my screen.
Your father wasn’t the person who took your art.
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Hundreds of people sat inside Lucille.
Hundreds of phones lit up at the same time.
The same sentence.
The same warning.
The same mystery.
I looked at my father.
He looked back at me.
And for the first time that night, I saw something I never expected.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Who sent that?”
My voice was quiet.
My father didn’t answer.
Victoria looked around the restaurant.
“Everyone received it?”
Connor checked his phone.
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
That scared me more than anything.
Because whoever sent that message wasn’t trying to contact me.
They were making a statement.
They wanted everyone to know.
My mother grabbed her purse.
“We need to leave.”
I looked at her.
“You knew this would happen?”
She froze.
“No.”
But her hesitation came too late.
I noticed it.
My father noticed it too.
“Lauren.”
My mother looked at him.
“What?”
“You knew something.”
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
I felt my heart sink.
“Mom.”
She closed her eyes.
“I knew there was someone else involved.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Someone else?”
She looked at me.
“Your father wasn’t the only person who wanted control over your work.”
My father immediately turned.
“What are you saying?”
My mother looked at him.
“You never told me everything either.”
The room went silent.
For years, I thought my parents were a united front.
A perfect team.
But standing there, I realized something.
They weren’t protecting each other.
They were protecting themselves.
Victoria stepped forward.
“Who else knew about the collection?”
My mother looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.”
Victoria’s voice was firm.
“You know something.”
My mother’s hands started shaking.
Then she reached into her purse.
She pulled out a small key.
Old.
Metal.
With a number engraved on it.
I stared at it.
“What is that?”
My mother looked at me.
“It belonged to Daniel Carter.”
The name changed everything.
“Why do you have it?”
She hesitated.
“Because he gave it to me.”
My father’s face went pale.
“You had that?”
My mother looked at him.
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“No.”
The silence between them was different now.
Not anger.
Betrayal.
I looked at the key.
“What does it open?”
My mother swallowed.
“A storage vault.”
Victoria immediately stepped closer.
“Where?”
My mother looked at her.
“At Carter Urban Design Group’s private archive.”
My heart started racing.
“The warehouse?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“The warehouse was only one place.”
Nobody moved.
“There was another.”
Connor looked confused.
“Another place where her artwork was stored?”
My mother nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked at my father.
“How many places?”
He didn’t answer.
That was becoming his answer.
Always.
I stepped toward him.
“How many?”
My father finally spoke.
“One.”
I stared.
“You’re lying.”
His eyes moved away.
Victoria whispered:
“He’s lying.”
My father looked at her.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
She pointed at the key.
“Because Daniel never trusted you.”
The sentence shocked me.
My father’s face changed.
“He knew?”
Victoria nodded.
“He knew you were hiding things.”
My breathing slowed.
“Daniel knew?”
She looked at me.
“He suspected your father would try to control your career.”
My father’s voice became sharp.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No.”
Victoria shook her head.
“That’s why he created protections.”
My eyes moved back to the key.
“Protections?”
She nodded.
“Daniel knew that if anything happened to him, someone would try to take control of your work.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Why me?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then my mother said:
“Because he believed your work was important.”
The words sounded impossible.
My entire life, I had been told I was chasing something meaningless.
But Daniel Carter had spent years protecting it.
A stranger had believed in me more than my own family.
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
Evelyn.
I opened it.
Amber, your parents are telling you the truth now. But they are still hiding the biggest part.
My stomach tightened.
I showed Victoria.
She read it.
Then looked at my parents.
“What is she talking about?”
My father looked away.
My mother looked terrified.
I felt my patience disappear.
“No more.”
My voice echoed slightly.
“No more secrets.”
I placed the phone on the table.
“No more protecting me.”
I looked at my father.
“No more deciding what I can handle.”
Then my mother.
“No more choosing what I should know.”
Nobody spoke.
“Tell me everything.”
My father sat down.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a small envelope.
Not old.
Not damaged.
New.
He placed it on the table.
“This was supposed to be destroyed.”
I looked at it.
“By who?”
He didn’t answer.
I opened it.
Inside was a document.
A letter.
From Daniel Carter.
My hands shook as I read the first line.
Amber,
If you are reading this, it means Jason failed to keep the truth hidden.
I stopped.
My father looked away.
The letter continued.
I know what he did.
I know what Lauren signed.
But there is something neither of them knows.
My heart started beating faster.
I continued reading.
Your artwork was never taken.
It was protected.
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
I read the next sentence.
And everything changed.
The collection hidden in the warehouse was only a copy.
I froze.
“What?”
Victoria grabbed the letter.
She read the line.
Then looked at me.
“No…”
My father stepped backward.
“What?”
I looked at him.
For the first time that night, he looked completely lost.
The letter continued.
The original collection was moved before the contract was ever created.
I felt dizzy.
“Where?”
The next line was written beneath Daniel’s signature.
A location.
A place I knew.
A place I had visited hundreds of times.
My childhood home.
I looked at my mother.
She covered her mouth.
Because she knew.
I looked at my father.
And whispered:
“The artwork was never in your warehouse.”
His face went pale.
“Amber…”
I held up the letter.
“Where did you hide the originals?”
My father didn’t answer.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And this time, he didn’t look afraid.
He looked defeated.
Because the caller was someone whose name I had never seen before.
But my mother recognized it immediately.
She whispered:
“No…”
I turned toward her.
“Who is it?”
My mother stared at the phone.
May you like
And said the name of the person who had been controlling everything from the beginning.
“Your grandfather.”
