Chapter 5 - What My Father Hid
My father closed the door behind him.
Nobody spoke.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not weak.
Afraid.
That frightened me more.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"About Roman's partner."
Still nothing.
Roman stepped forward.
"You knew my family."
My father looked at him.
"I knew his father."
Roman's expression hardened.
"My father died believing you betrayed him."
"I didn't."
"Then who did?"
My father looked at me.
"Paulina, you need to leave."
"No."
His eyes widened.
I had never refused him before.
"I've spent my entire life being told I don't need to know anything. I'm done."
He lowered his head.
"The documents in that notebook aren't what they appear to be."
Roman laughed without humor.
"Then explain them."
My father walked toward the piano.
"Seven years ago, Roman's former partner discovered someone was stealing from the company."
"Who?"
"We didn't know."
"You knew enough to keep records."
My father swallowed.
"Your mother became involved."
I froze.
"My mother?"
"Not willingly."
Roman stepped closer.
"Who forced her?"
My father looked toward the hallway.
"Mrs. Volkov."
The name hung in the room.
"She had access to financial records," my father continued. "She manipulated several people into moving money through legitimate companies."
"Why?"
"Because she wanted control."
Roman's eyes narrowed.
"And my partner?"
"He discovered her."
My father looked at him.
"That's why he died."
Silence.
Roman's hands curled into fists.
My father continued.
"Your partner was preparing to expose her. Before he could, the evidence disappeared."
"Except the letter."
"Yes."
I looked down at the notebook.
"Why was my name in this?"
My father hesitated.
"Because you found the wrong document six months ago."
I remembered.
A damaged ledger had arrived at the museum.
I had flagged it because the inventory numbers didn't match.
My supervisor had told me to archive it.
Two weeks later, the ledger disappeared.
"That ledger contained evidence?"
"Yes."
I felt sick.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted you safe."
I laughed bitterly.
"You ignored me my whole life to keep me safe?"
"Paulina—"
"No."
I stepped away.
"You let everyone believe I was useless."
His face fell.
"I was trying to keep you away from this."
Roman looked at me.
"That's why I came to your family."
I turned.
"What?"
He reached into his jacket.
Another envelope.
"This was sent to me three months ago."
Inside was a photograph of me at the museum.
I stared.
Someone had been watching me.
On the back was one sentence.
She has the final piece.
I looked at Roman.
"I don't have anything."
"You don't know that."
My father suddenly spoke.
"The letter."
I turned.
"What letter?"
"The original letter from Roman's partner."
"I only saw a copy."
My father shook his head.
"No."
He looked at me.
"You saw the original."
I tried to remember.
Three years ago.
A box of private correspondence.
One letter with a damaged seal.
I had read it because the handwriting was beautiful.
Then I returned it.
Or thought I did.
Roman stepped closer.
"Where?"
"I don't remember."
My father looked toward me.
"Think."
I closed my eyes.
The museum.
The archive.
The Tolstoy collection.
The old storage room.
Then it came back.
A small envelope.
I had placed it inside another book because the original box had been damaged.
A book I had personally cataloged.
I whispered the title.
Roman's eyes sharpened.
"Where is it now?"
"At the museum."
My phone rang.
I answered.
It was Elena.
Her voice was shaking.
"Paulina, don't go back to the museum."
"Why?"
"I just got there."
My stomach dropped.
"What happened?"
"The archive door is open."
"Is anyone there?"
"No."
She paused.
"Except someone left your name on the floor."
I couldn't breathe.
"How?"
"Written in black ink."
Roman took the phone.
"What exactly does it say?"
Elena whispered:
May you like
"Paulina, bring Roman."
Then the line went dead.
