Chapter 5 - The Secret Hidden in the Family Accounts
I stared at the photograph on my phone.
My hands went cold.
The picture showed Richard standing inside my house.
Not outside.
Not through the window.
Inside.
The angle was impossible.
Whoever took it had been standing somewhere near the hallway, watching us.
Watching me open the door.
Watching Richard step inside.
I looked around the room.
Every corner suddenly felt different.
The walls that had always felt safe now felt like they were hiding something.
Richard noticed my expression.
"Margaret."
I looked at him.
"Who took this picture?"
He didn't answer.
That scared me more than anything.
"Richard."
His eyes moved toward the hallway.
Then toward the windows.
Like he was checking if someone was still there.
"Did you bring someone with you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
His face tightened.
"Yes."
I held up my phone.
"Then explain this."
Richard looked at the picture again.
For the first time since he arrived, he looked afraid.
Not guilty.
Not nervous.
Afraid.
"How long ago was this sent?"
I checked the message.
"Thirty seconds."
He immediately stepped away from the window.
"Turn off the lights."
I froze.
"What?"
"Margaret, turn off the lights."
I didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because if they can see us, they know we're looking at them."
The words sent a chill through me.
"They?"
Richard looked at me.
"The people who have been controlling Daniel's life."
I shook my head.
"You keep saying things like that, but you still haven't told me anything."
"I know."
"Then start."
Richard looked down at the envelope he had given me.
"Twenty years ago, when I left, I wasn't running away from you."
"Then what were you running from?"
He took a deep breath.
"Someone inside our family."
My heart sank.
"Who?"
Before he could answer, my phone rang.
Daniel.
Again.
I looked at Richard.
He slowly nodded.
"Answer it."
I hesitated.
Then I picked up.
"Daniel."
His voice came immediately.
"Mom, where is he?"
I looked at Richard.
"Why does it matter?"
"Because you don't understand what he's doing."
I almost laughed.
"You mean like how you understood everything while I knew nothing?"
"Mom."
"No."
My voice became stronger.
"Not this time."
There was silence.
Then Daniel said quietly:
"I was trying to protect you."
"By lying to me?"
"By keeping you away from something dangerous."
I looked at Richard.
"Your father says the same thing."
Daniel became silent.
That silence told me I had hit something.
"You know about him."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Mom..."
"How long, Daniel?"
A long pause.
"Since the day he came back."
My chest tightened.
"The day he came back?"
"Yes."
I sat down.
The room suddenly felt too large.
"You saw him?"
"Yes."
"And you never told me?"
"I was afraid."
I closed my eyes.
My son.
The child I spent my whole life protecting.
Was afraid of the truth.
"What were you afraid of?"
Daniel didn't answer.
Then he said:
"That you would believe him."
I looked at Richard.
"Why?"
"Because he has always been good at making people feel sorry for him."
Richard heard that.
His expression changed.
"Daniel."
I covered the phone.
"He can hear you."
"Good."
The anger in Daniel's voice surprised me.
"Then maybe he should finally tell you what he did."
I stood up.
"What did he do?"
Silence.
Again.
Everyone had answers.
But nobody wanted to give them.
"Daniel."
Finally, he spoke.
"When Dad left, he didn't just disappear."
"What does that mean?"
"He took something."
Richard looked at me.
"What?"
Daniel whispered:
"Control."
I frowned.
"Control over what?"
"Everything."
I heard him breathing.
"The money. The accounts. The business."
I looked at Richard.
He looked away.
"Daniel, what are you talking about?"
"Mom, Dad didn't leave because he failed."
"Then why?"
"Because he was caught."
The room went silent.
Richard closed his eyes.
Like he had been expecting those words.
"Caught doing what?"
Daniel didn't answer.
Then the call ended.
I stared at the phone.
He hung up.
Just like that.
I turned toward Richard.
"Now you explain."
He nodded slowly.
"I made mistakes."
"That's not an explanation."
"No."
He sat down.
"It isn't."
For the first time, Richard looked old.
Not because of his gray hair.
Because of the weight he carried.
"When Daniel was eighteen, I discovered someone had been moving money from our accounts."
"Someone?"
Richard nodded.
"I thought it was me at first."
"Why?"
"Because I had made bad decisions. I had debts. I thought maybe I had lost control."
He looked at me.
"But then I found documents."
"What documents?"
"Documents showing that someone had been using my name."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Who?"
Richard looked toward the envelope.
"The person Daniel trusted most."
My mind immediately went through every person we knew.
Friends.
Family.
Business partners.
Then one name appeared.
A person who had always been around.
Someone who helped Daniel after Richard disappeared.
Someone Daniel spoke about with respect.
I whispered:
"Lauren's father."
Richard didn't respond.
That was enough.
I stepped back.
"No."
"Margaret."
"No."
I shook my head.
"You're saying her family..."
"I don't know everything."
"Then why bring this to me?"
"Because Daniel is repeating the same mistake I made."
"What mistake?"
"Trusting the wrong person."
I looked at the photograph again.
The picture of Richard inside my home.
The unknown sender.
The warning.
The letter.
Everything was connected.
Then my phone buzzed.
Another message.
This time from an unknown number.
I opened it.
A document appeared.
A bank statement.
My bank statement.
I stared at the numbers.
The monthly transfers.
The money I sent Daniel.
But there was something I had never noticed before.
Every transfer had been routed through another account.
An account with a name attached.
My hands started shaking.
Because it wasn't Daniel's account.
It wasn't Lauren's.
It belonged to someone else.
Someone who had been receiving my money for years.
I looked at Richard.
"Who is this?"
He stepped closer.
Then his face changed.
Like he recognized the name.
"Margaret..."
"What?"
He looked terrified.
"That account shouldn't exist anymore."
"Why?"
Richard grabbed the paper from my hand.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he whispered:
"Because the person who owned it died twenty years ago."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He slowly looked toward the front door.
The same door where he had appeared that morning.
The same door someone had photographed him standing inside.
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Only silence.
Then a voice finally came through.
A voice I had not heard since the night my husband disappeared.
"Margaret..."
I froze.
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Because the person on the phone was not Richard.
It was someone else who was supposed to be dead.
