Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Knew My Father
The door opened slowly.
I expected to see Wendy.
I expected another excuse.
Another carefully prepared explanation.
Instead, I saw Rebecca standing in the hallway.
She looked older than she did in the professional photos I had seen online.
Not because of age.
Because of exhaustion.
Like someone who had spent too long carrying a secret alone.
"Luca."
Her voice was quiet.
But the fear in her eyes was obvious.
I stepped away from the door.
"How did you get inside?"
She looked past me toward my mother.
"Your front door was unlocked."
I frowned.
"No, it wasn't."
Rebecca's expression changed.
And that small reaction told me something was wrong.
"Luca, listen to me carefully."
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
"Do not trust anyone in this house right now."
The words should have sounded dramatic.
They didn't.
Because after everything I had seen tonight, they sounded like a warning.
Not a threat.
A warning.
My mother grabbed the blanket tighter.
"Rebecca..."
The lawyer looked at her.
"I'm sorry."
My mother looked confused.
"For what?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"For not coming sooner."
That sentence created a silence I couldn't ignore.
I looked between them.
"You two know each other."
Rebecca nodded.
"Yes."
"How long?"
She didn't answer immediately.
And I hated that.
Because every person who delayed answering seemed to be protecting another piece of the truth.
"Since before your father died."
My chest tightened.
There it was again.
My father's name.
The one name that kept appearing everywhere.
The photo.
The letter.
The warning.
Wendy.
My father.
Fourteen years ago.
"What does my father have to do with this?"
Rebecca looked at my mother.
Then at me.
"Everything."
I wanted to demand answers.
I wanted to raise my voice.
But something stopped me.
Rebecca wasn't hiding information because she wanted power.
She looked terrified.
"I need you to understand something, Luca."
She walked toward the bed.
"Your mother didn't lose control of this house."
I looked at the documents on the table.
"Then why did Wendy have power of attorney?"
Rebecca picked up the papers.
"Because she created the appearance that your mother gave it willingly."
"Created?"
Rebecca nodded.
"The signature was copied."
I already suspected that.
But hearing someone confirm it made my stomach turn.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes."
She reached into her bag and removed a folder.
Inside were several documents.
"Your mother's original signatures from the past twenty years."
She placed them beside the power of attorney.
The difference was obvious.
Anyone could see it.
The handwriting looked similar.
But the person writing it was different.
My mother stared at the papers.
"I knew something felt wrong."
My eyes moved to her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked down.
"Because Wendy told me you would think I was losing my mind."
I closed my eyes.
The cruelty wasn't just what Wendy did.
It was that she used my mother's own fear against her.
Rebecca opened another document.
"This is where things become complicated."
She placed a property transfer agreement on the table.
I looked at it.
Then I saw the date.
Fourteen years ago.
The same year my father died.
"Why is this dated back then?"
Rebecca was silent.
"Because your father created a protection plan before he died."
I looked up.
"A protection plan?"
"He knew someone might try to take advantage of your mother."
My heart started beating faster.
"Someone like Wendy?"
Rebecca didn't answer.
But she didn't need to.
The silence was enough.
I walked away from the table.
"No."
Rebecca looked at me.
"No?"
"I married Wendy six years ago."
"I know."
"My father died fourteen years ago."
"I know."
"So how could he know about her?"
That was the question.
The impossible question.
Rebecca looked toward the old wooden box.
"The problem is..."
She stopped.
I waited.
"The problem is that Wendy was not a stranger to your family."
The room became completely still.
My mother covered her mouth.
I looked at Rebecca.
"What does that mean?"
Rebecca slowly opened her folder.
Inside was an old photograph.
Not the one I found.
A different one.
She placed it in front of me.
My hands froze.
It was my father.
Standing outside this exact house.
Beside him was a young woman.
A much younger Wendy.
I stared at the image.
"No."
Rebecca nodded.
"Yes."
I picked up the photo.
The date was written on the back.
Sixteen years ago.
Two years before my father died.
"She knew him."
Rebecca looked at me.
"She worked for him."
My mind struggled to process it.
"Wendy worked for my father?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
Rebecca looked at my mother.
Your mother should tell you.
I turned.
"Mom?"
My mother looked like she had been waiting fourteen years for this moment.
But she was still afraid.
"I didn't tell you because your father asked me not to."
I felt my throat tighten.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"The night before he died, he told me something was wrong."
"What?"
"He said someone close to him was stealing from his company."
My eyes moved to Rebecca.
"Who?"
She answered quietly.
"Wendy's family."
The room spun.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Everything I believed about my life had started collapsing.
My perfect marriage.
My father's death.
My mother's situation.
All connected.
"Why would she marry me?"
No one answered.
Because that was the question nobody wanted to say out loud.
Rebecca finally spoke.
"Because she needed access."
"To what?"
"To your father's documents."
I thought about the old wooden box.
The warning.
The photograph.
The hidden papers.
Then I remembered something.
The message.
"Before you confront your wife, check what she signed using your mother's name."
I looked at Rebecca.
"You sent that message."
She nodded.
"I did."
"Why now?"
Her expression became serious.
"Because Wendy found something tonight."
"What?"
Rebecca reached into her bag.
She pulled out a small envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Again.
My name.
But this time, I recognized the handwriting.
My father's.
"Where did you get that?"
"From Wendy's office."
My heart stopped.
"You broke into her office?"
"No."
Rebecca looked at the envelope.
"She sent someone to destroy evidence."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Someone?"
Rebecca nodded.
"And they failed."
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single page.
My father's handwriting covered it.
Luca,
If you are reading this, then I was right.
The person closest to me was never looking for money.
They were looking for the one thing I hid.
The truth about your mother.
My hands trembled.
I read the final sentence.
Do not trust the woman who says she loves you.
Because she already knew your name before you knew hers.
I looked up.
"What does that mean?"
Rebecca didn't answer.
Because suddenly we heard something.
A sound from downstairs.
A drawer opening.
Then closing.
My mother looked terrified.
"She's back."
I stood.
"Who?"
My mother's face turned pale.
"Wendy."
Rebecca immediately grabbed my arm.
"No."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"That wasn't Wendy."
The sound came again.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone walking through the kitchen.
Rebecca moved toward the door.
Then stopped.
Because her phone started ringing.
She looked at the screen.
And all the color disappeared from her face.
I saw the name.
The caller ID read:
Thomas Moretti.
My father's name.
Rebecca whispered:
"That's impossible."
The footsteps downstairs stopped.
Then a man's voice called from the hallway.
"Luca..."
My blood went cold.
Because I knew that voice.
I had heard it only once before.
Fourteen years ago.
On the night my father died.
The bedroom door slowly opened.
May you like
And the person standing outside said:
"Your father never died the way you were told..."
