Chapter 6 - The Man Who Was Supposed To Be Dead
The room became silent after Richard's words.
That number belonged to someone who was supposed to be dead.
I looked down at my phone again.
The message was still there.
Stop digging before you find out why Julian really died.
My fingers went numb.
For years, I had replayed the same memory in my mind.
The phone call.
The hospital.
The doctor walking toward me with an expression I would never forget.
Julian was gone.
That was the truth I had accepted.
The truth I had built my entire life around.
But now someone was telling me there was another truth.
A hidden one.
A truth my family had spent years burying.
I looked at Richard.
"Who sent this?"
He didn't answer.
That scared me more than anything.
"Richard."
He slowly looked at me.
"I need to know."
His eyes moved toward my father.
Then my mother.
Then back to me.
"Not here."
My mother immediately stepped forward.
"Clara, don't listen to him."
I looked at her.
For the first time, I saw something I had never noticed before.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not control.
Fear.
My mother was afraid.
And that told me everything.
I picked up my bag.
"We're leaving."
My mother laughed nervously.
"You think walking away changes anything?"
I stopped at the door.
"No."
I turned around.
"But protecting my son does."
I walked out.
And this time, nobody stopped me.
When I arrived home, Matthew was sitting on the couch drawing.
He looked up.
"Mommy?"
I forced a smile.
"Hey, sweetheart."
He noticed my expression immediately.
Children always notice the things adults try to hide.
"Are you sad?"
I sat beside him.
"No."
He looked at me.
The same look he had when he asked if he had done something wrong.
A look that made me realize how much he had learned to read people.
I pulled him closer.
"I just found out some things I should have known a long time ago."
"About Grandma?"
I paused.
"Yes."
He looked down at his drawing.
It was a picture of three people.
Me.
Him.
And Julian.
His father.
"You still remember him?"
He nodded.
"He told me something before he went away."
My heart tightened.
"What did he tell you?"
Matthew looked at the picture.
"He said I had to take care of you."
A tear escaped before I could stop it.
Because Julian had always been like that.
Even when he was the one leaving.
He was thinking about us.
Not himself.
"What else did he say?"
Matthew touched the drawing.
"He said some people smile when they don't mean it."
I froze.
"What?"
"He said I should always tell you if someone makes me feel scared."
My breathing stopped.
Because Matthew had spent years doing the opposite.
Keeping secrets.
Protecting me.
I held him tighter.
"I'm sorry."
He looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because you should never have had to be brave for me."
He didn't understand.
He was six.
He shouldn't have to.
That night, after Matthew fell asleep, I opened my laptop.
I had built a company by understanding information.
Numbers.
Patterns.
People.
And now I needed to understand my own past.
I contacted my security team.
Within an hour, I had everything connected to Julian's death.
The accident report.
The hospital records.
The insurance documents.
Everything.
Except one thing.
The original police file.
It was missing.
Not unavailable.
Missing.
Someone had removed it.
I called Daniel.
"Can you find who accessed Julian's case file?"
"I'll check."
A few minutes passed.
Then my phone rang.
"Clara."
His voice sounded serious.
"What did you find?"
"Someone accessed the file three weeks after Julian died."
"Who?"
Silence.
Then:
"Your father."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Another secret.
Another person who knew.
I wanted to be angry.
But somehow, I wasn't surprised anymore.
"What did he do?"
"That's the problem."
Daniel paused.
"He didn't just access the file."
"What then?"
"He requested a correction."
My body went cold.
"A correction?"
"Yes."
I stood up.
"What kind?"
Daniel hesitated.
"An amendment to the official cause of death."
I couldn't speak.
Because Julian's death had always been the one thing I thought was certain.
"What was changed?"
Daniel's voice lowered.
"The original report mentioned another vehicle."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Another vehicle?"
"Yes."
"What happened to that information?"
"It was removed."
The room felt smaller.
Someone had erased part of the story.
Someone had decided what I was allowed to know.
"Daniel."
"Yes?"
"Find the driver."
A pause.
"Clara..."
"Find him."
"I already started."
The next morning, Daniel arrived at my office.
He looked exhausted.
That was unusual.
Daniel was the kind of person who stayed calm even during disasters.
But now, he looked like he had seen something he couldn't explain.
He placed a folder on my desk.
"I found the driver."
I opened it.
The first page showed a name.
My heart stopped.
Because I knew that name.
Not personally.
But from my family's documents.
"Richard Hale?"
Daniel nodded.
"No."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"The driver wasn't Richard."
He turned the page.
"The driver was his brother."
I frowned.
"His brother?"
Daniel nodded.
"Thomas Hale."
I looked through the papers.
Then I saw the date.
The same night Julian died.
"Why was his name connected to the accident?"
Daniel sat down.
"Because Thomas Hale was the person who called emergency services."
I looked up.
"What?"
"He was there before anyone else."
My hands shook.
"Then why didn't he testify?"
Daniel looked away.
"Because he disappeared."
I felt cold.
"Disappeared?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
Daniel looked at me.
"The same week Julian died."
I stared at the documents.
A missing witness.
A changed report.
A hidden trust.
A family that knew more than they admitted.
Everything connected.
But there was one thing I couldn't understand.
Why?
Why would my family hide this?
Why would they let me believe Julian's death was an accident?
Unless...
Unless Julian's death wasn't just an accident.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Again.
This time, I answered.
No one spoke.
I waited.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
Older.
Tired.
Terrified.
"Clara..."
I froze.
Because I knew that voice.
Not because I had heard it recently.
Because I had heard it every day in my memories.
The voice of the man who used to call me before work.
The voice that used to say goodnight to our son.
The voice I had spent years trying to accept I would never hear again.
"Who is this?"
The man breathed heavily.
"Don't trust your family."
My heart stopped.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
Then he whispered:
"They lied about what happened to Julian."
I couldn't move.
The entire world disappeared.
"Tell me your name."
Silence.
Then the man said:
"I've been trying to reach you for years."
My hand covered my mouth.
Because I already knew.
I knew before he said it.
But I needed to hear the words.
"I am the reason your husband never made it home that night."
The call suddenly cut off.
A second later, a message appeared.
One location.
One address.
And one sentence.
Come alone if you want to know who killed Julian.
I stared at the screen.
Then I noticed the address.
May you like
Because it was not a stranger's house.
It was the place where Julian and I had first met.
