Chapter 6 - The Person Behind the Lie
The principal’s words stayed in my head.
"They gave us your name."
I stood frozen in my mother’s kitchen.
The letter from my father was still in my hand.
The person who changed everything was someone we both trusted.
Someone who told us they were saving the family.
My phone was pressed against my ear.
"Mrs. Reynolds," I said slowly. "Who came to the school?"
There was a pause.
"I don't know if I should say this over the phone."
My heart started beating faster.
"Please."
Another pause.
Then she whispered:
"Your brother."
I looked at my mother.
She was already pale.
"Austin?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
I left my mother’s house immediately.
I didn’t say goodbye.
I didn’t ask more questions.
Because suddenly I was tired of hearing pieces of the truth from everyone else.
My entire life had become a collection of half-stories.
Half-truths.
Half-confessions.
Everyone knew something.
Everyone protected something.
And somehow, I was always the last person to find out.
When I reached the school, Principal Reynolds was waiting near the entrance.
Her expression told me this wasn’t a normal conversation.
"Mrs. Parker."
"What happened?"
She looked around before speaking.
"Your brother came here about an hour ago."
"Why?"
"He requested access to Penelope’s records."
My stomach tightened.
"Why would he need my daughter’s records?"
She hesitated.
"He said he was helping you."
I almost laughed.
Helping me.
That word again.
Everyone used it.
My mother.
Austin.
Everyone who had taken something from me always had a reason.
"I didn't authorize that."
"I know."
She handed me a printed form.
"He tried to sign the request."
I looked down.
My hands went cold.
Because the signature at the bottom looked familiar.
Too familiar.
It was mine.
Again.
I walked into the principal’s office.
She closed the door.
"I need to ask you something."
I nodded.
"Has anyone else used your information before?"
I thought about it.
My mother.
Austin.
The documents.
The bank account.
Then something clicked.
"My mother handled paperwork after my father died."
"Did she ever have access to your signature?"
"Yes."
"Your identification?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Reynolds looked at the paper.
"Because whoever signed this knew exactly what they were doing."
I stared at the form.
"What does that mean?"
"It means this wasn't someone guessing."
She pointed at the signature.
"This was someone who had practiced."
My chest tightened.
Someone had been preparing.
Not for one moment.
Not for one mistake.
For years.
I called Austin.
He answered immediately.
"Did you go to the school?"
Silence.
That was enough.
"Austin."
"I was trying to help."
My grip tightened around the phone.
"By pretending to be me?"
"I didn't access anything."
"You requested my daughter's records."
"I needed proof."
"Proof of what?"
His breathing changed.
Like he was deciding whether to tell me something.
Finally, he said:
"Proof that Mom wasn't the only person involved."
I looked out the office window.
"Then tell me the truth."
"I don't know if you'll believe me."
"Try me."
A long silence followed.
Then Austin said:
"Mom didn't take Dad's money for herself."
I frowned.
"What?"
"She was scared."
"Scared of who?"
He lowered his voice.
"Uncle Daniel."
I froze.
The name meant nothing.
Then everything.
My father's older brother.
Someone who had disappeared from our family years ago.
Someone nobody mentioned anymore.
"What does he have to do with this?"
Austin sighed.
"Everything."
I drove home after leaving the school.
My mind was racing.
Uncle Daniel.
The name from my childhood.
The person who always arrived late to family events.
The person who my father argued with behind closed doors.
The person my mother always defended.
I remembered something.
A conversation from years ago.
I was sixteen.
My father was sick.
I walked into the kitchen late at night.
My parents were arguing.
My mother was crying.
My father said:
"You don't know what he's capable of."
I had asked who they were talking about.
They stopped immediately.
My mother smiled.
She told me:
"Nothing, sweetheart. Adults just worry too much."
I believed her.
I was a child.
That was the problem.
Everyone kept deciding what I was allowed to know.
When I arrived home, I found an envelope on my front door.
No name.
No address.
Just my initials.
I picked it up carefully.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
A handwritten message.
"I know you found your father's journal."
My breathing stopped.
I looked around.
Nobody was there.
I continued reading.
"You are asking the wrong people the wrong questions."
The next line made my blood run cold.
"The person who betrayed your father is still protecting you."
I turned the paper over.
Nothing else.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just one final sentence.
"Ask your mother why she lied about the night he died."
I went inside.
I didn’t even take off my coat.
My mother’s words repeated in my head.
Your father wasn't the man you think he was.
Austin’s words repeated too.
Mom wasn't the only person involved.
I opened my father’s journal again.
I searched every page.
Every mention of money.
Every mention of Daniel.
Every warning.
Then I found it.
A page folded at the corner.
Something I had missed before.
My father had written:
"Daniel knows about the account."
I froze.
The next sentence was scratched out.
Completely covered with black ink.
But underneath, I could still see some words.
"...if something happens..."
My heart started racing.
I turned the page.
There was a date.
The day before my father died.
And one final entry.
"I spoke with him tonight."
Then below:
"He admitted everything."
I stared at the words.
Everything.
What did he admit?
I reached for the next page.
But it was missing.
Someone had removed it.
That night, I called my mother.
She answered after one ring.
Like she had been waiting.
"You found the letter."
I didn’t ask how she knew.
"Who is Daniel?"
Silence.
A long silence.
Then she whispered:
"You need to stop looking."
"No."
My voice was calm.
"I should have looked years ago."
"You don't understand what you're opening."
"Then explain."
Her breathing became shaky.
"I was trying to protect you."
"From Daniel?"
No answer.
"Mom."
Finally, she said:
"Your father found out what Daniel had done."
"What did he do?"
Another silence.
Then:
"He took the money."
My stomach dropped.
"What money?"
"The money your father left for you."
I closed my eyes.
"How?"
"He convinced your father to sign documents."
My fingers tightened.
"Why would Dad do that?"
"Because Daniel was family."
That word again.
Family.
The excuse everyone used.
The reason they expected forgiveness.
I drove to my mother’s house.
I needed answers.
This time, I wasn’t asking.
I was demanding.
When I arrived, her front door was open.
That was strange.
My mother always locked her door.
I stepped inside.
"Mom?"
No response.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
I walked through the hallway.
"Mom?"
Then I saw something on the floor.
The brown journal.
My father’s journal.
Open.
Pages torn out.
My heart started pounding.
Someone had been here.
Someone had searched the house.
Someone had found the same thing I found.
I picked up the journal.
A new message appeared on my phone.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
"You're too late."
I looked toward the back room.
The door was slightly open.
A light was moving inside.
Someone was there.
I slowly walked forward.
My hand reached for the handle.
May you like
The door opened from the inside.
And standing there was the person I thought I would never see again.
