Chapter 3 - The Secret Hidden Behind My Father's Death
A woman stood frozen beside an open conference room door, whispering: "My father's name is on this file."
When Alex Carter entered the abandoned room, she found an old black archive box covered in dust. But one label was attached to the front: "Richard Carter — Closed Case." Alex suddenly realized her father's death was never the truth she believed.
The conference room door remained open.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The silence felt impossible.
A few minutes earlier, I was worried about losing my career.
Now I was standing in a luxury hotel, holding a message that connected the man helping me to my father's death.
My entire life had just shifted.
Again.
Roman Costa stood near the hallway, staring at the open door.
His expression had changed.
The calm confidence was gone.
For the first time since I met him, he looked like someone who was afraid of what he might find.
"You knew about my father."
I said it quietly.
Roman didn't answer.
That was enough.
My stomach tightened.
"You knew."
He finally looked at me.
"I knew his name."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
His voice was low.
"It's not."
I stepped closer.
"Eight years ago, my father died in a car accident."
Roman looked away.
"That's what everyone was told."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Everyone was told.
Not everyone knew.
Not everyone believed.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
But before I could, Roman walked toward the conference room.
"Stay behind me."
I almost laughed.
"You're giving me orders now?"
"No."
He looked back.
"I'm telling you that whoever opened that door wanted us to find something."
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
Not a warning.
A fact.
We entered the room.
It was supposed to be empty.
A forgotten space used by hotel executives.
But someone had been inside.
The table was covered with papers.
A laptop sat open.
A black archive box rested in the center.
And on the box was a label.
Richard Carter.
My father's name.
I stopped breathing.
I hadn't seen his name written like that in years.
Not on documents.
Not on anything.
My father had been gone for eight years.
Everyone told me to move forward.
Everyone told me accidents happened.
Everyone told me there was nothing left to discover.
But now his name was waiting for me inside a locked hotel room.
I reached for the box.
Roman grabbed my wrist.
"Wait."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because someone wanted you to open it."
I pulled my hand away.
"And you think I should walk away?"
"No."
His eyes stayed on the box.
"I think you should understand that opening it changes everything."
I stared at him.
"Everything already changed."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I opened the box.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
Old investigation reports.
And one small envelope.
My name was written on it.
Alex.
Not printed.
Handwritten.
My father's handwriting.
My fingers started shaking.
I knew that handwriting.
I remembered birthday cards.
Notes he left on the kitchen counter.
Little messages before school.
The same handwriting that disappeared when he died.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single page.
Only one sentence.
"If Preston Hayes ever finds this, you are already in danger."
My heart stopped.
Roman read it over my shoulder.
His expression became darker.
"Preston knew your father?"
I looked through the remaining papers.
There were contracts.
Financial records.
Names.
Dates.
One document caught my attention.
A transaction between an offshore company and an antique dealer.
The same antique dealer from Roman's photograph.
The same network connected to Preston.
But the date was impossible.
Eight years ago.
Before Preston entered my life.
Before I knew his name.
Before he became my boyfriend.
My hands tightened around the paper.
"This started before me."
Roman nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked at the documents.
"Because your father discovered something."
"What?"
Roman didn't answer.
I turned toward him.
"You know."
A long pause.
Then he spoke.
"Your father wasn't investigating stolen antiques."
My heartbeat increased.
"Then what was he investigating?"
Roman looked directly at me.
"A group of people who used legitimate businesses to hide illegal transactions."
I stared at him.
"And Preston?"
"He was part of it."
The room became silent.
I wanted to reject it.
I wanted to say Roman was manipulating me.
But every piece of evidence pointed in the same direction.
Preston wasn't just trying to frame me.
He had been connected to my life long before I met him.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
I looked down.
Another unknown number.
Another message.
This time, there was a photo.
I opened it.
My blood went cold.
It was my father.
Alive.
Standing outside a building.
The date was written below.
Three years after his supposed death.
I couldn't speak.
Roman took the phone from my hand.
His face changed.
"Where did you get this?"
I stared at him.
"You're asking me?"
Roman zoomed in on the image.
Then he whispered something I never expected to hear.
"That's impossible."
"What?"
He looked at me.
"Because I took this photo."
The room felt like it disappeared.
"You took it?"
Roman slowly nodded.
"Eight years ago."
"No."
I stepped back.
"You just said it was three years after his death."
Roman looked at the screen again.
"I was wrong."
A terrible realization crossed his face.
"I wasn't looking at the date."
I watched him carefully.
"What date?"
He turned the phone toward me.
The timestamp.
My hands became cold.
Because the photo wasn't taken three years after my father's death.
It was taken three days after.
My father wasn't missing.
He wasn't hiding.
Someone had made sure I believed he was dead.
Then the laptop on the table suddenly turned on.
Neither of us touched it.
The screen displayed one folder.
No password.
No security.
Just one file.
"FOR ALEX."
I stared at it.
Roman moved toward the computer.
The file opened automatically.
A video appeared.
My father's face filled the screen.
Older.
Tired.
Scared.
I covered my mouth.
Because after eight years, I heard his voice again.
"Alex, if you are watching this..."
The video paused.
The screen flickered.
Then another message appeared.
Not from my father.
From someone else.
A name appeared in white letters.
May you like
The person who recorded the video was...
Preston Hayes.
