Chapter 4 - The Night My Father Died
The message remained on Daniel’s phone screen.
Stop digging into the past, or Margaret will learn what really happened the night her father died.
I read it again.
Then again.
Each time, the words felt heavier.
My father had been dead for twelve years.
For twelve years, I had believed I knew how he died.
A heart attack.
That was what everyone told me.
That was what Daniel told me.
That was what the doctors told me.
But now, standing in my son’s apartment with old files spread across the table, I realized one terrifying truth.
Everyone had only told me what they wanted me to know.
“Who sent that?” I asked.
Daniel didn’t answer.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
“Daniel.”
He looked at me.
And I saw something that scared me.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Fear.
Pure fear.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
My son immediately stepped forward.
“You do know.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“No,” my son said. “Not anymore.”
The tension between them was something I had never seen before.
A father and son.
Two people who loved each other.
But also two people who had been carrying the same secret.
I looked at Daniel Jr.
“How long have you known?”
He lowered his eyes.
“About six months.”
Six months.
I felt something inside me break.
“You knew there was something wrong with your grandfather’s death for six months?”
“I didn’t know everything.”
“But you knew something.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
I turned away.
I couldn’t look at him.
My own son.
The child I protected.
The child I raised.
The child I thought would always tell me the truth.
Everyone had decided I was too fragile for the truth.
My husband.
My son.
Maybe even my father.
I laughed quietly.
A painful sound.
“Apparently, I’m the only person in this family who didn’t know my own life.”
“Mom…”
“Don’t.”
My voice stopped him.
“I need answers.”
Nobody spoke.
So I picked up the folder again.
I opened it.
The documents inside suddenly looked different.
Not like old memories.
Like evidence.
The first page was a report.
At the top was a date.
Twelve years ago.
The week my father died.
I started reading.
And within seconds, my hands began shaking.
It wasn’t a medical report.
It was an investigation report.
My father had been watched.
By someone.
For months before his death.
I looked at Daniel.
“What is this?”
He sat down slowly.
“Your father was investigating someone.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then he said:
“Me.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“You were investigating yourself?”
“No.”
Daniel took a deep breath.
“Your father hired me to investigate a company he believed was involved in fraud.”
“And?”
“I found evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
Daniel looked at the documents.
“Evidence that connected powerful people.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with you?”
His face changed.
“Because I was connected to them.”
My heart sank.
“What are you saying?”
Daniel looked at Claire.
She spoke softly.
“Daniel wasn’t working for your father because your father trusted him.”
I turned toward her.
“Then why?”
“Because your father suspected him.”
I felt like the room tilted.
I looked at my husband.
“You were investigating my father while he was investigating you?”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you still married me?”
His eyes filled with regret.
“Yes.”
I stepped back.
“How?”
My voice cracked.
“How could you look at me every day knowing all of this?”
Daniel stood.
“Because I fell in love with you before I understood what your father had discovered.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the worst part.
A part of me still wanted to believe the man standing in front of me was the same man who held my hand during our wedding.
The same man who stayed beside me when my mother died.
The same man who promised he would never lie.
But promises meant nothing when the truth was hidden for decades.
“What did my father find?” I asked.
Daniel didn’t answer.
My son did.
“He found out Dad wasn’t the person everyone thought he was.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
My son pulled another photograph from the folder.
He placed it on the table.
It was a picture of Daniel.
A younger Daniel.
Standing outside a building.
Beside him was another man.
I recognized him immediately.
A man from my father’s old business circle.
Someone my father never allowed inside our home.
Someone whose name he refused to mention.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Daniel looked at the photograph.
Then closed his eyes.
“His name was Richard Cole.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But the way everyone reacted told me it should.
“Who was he?”
Daniel answered quietly.
“The man who destroyed my family.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“When I was twenty-seven, my father worked for Richard.”
“Doing what?”
Daniel looked away.
“Something illegal.”
The room became silent.
“My father tried to expose him.”
I listened carefully.
“He disappeared.”
My breath caught.
“Disappeared?”
Daniel nodded.
“Everyone thought he ran away.”
“But?”
“But I found evidence that he was killed.”
I looked at the files.
“And my father knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“Because he discovered something worse.”
I waited.
“What?”
Daniel looked directly at me.
“He discovered Richard wasn’t acting alone.”
A cold feeling moved through my body.
“Who was with him?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
My son looked down.
Claire closed her eyes.
And that told me the answer was something I wasn’t ready to hear.
“Who?” I asked again.
Daniel whispered:
“Someone close to you.”
I felt my heartbeat increase.
“Who?”
He opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Because suddenly, there was a loud knock at the apartment door.
Everyone froze.
It wasn’t a normal knock.
It was slow.
Deliberate.
Three knocks.
Then silence.
Daniel immediately looked frightened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
My son moved toward the door.
Daniel grabbed his arm.
“No.”
The command in his voice stopped everyone.
My son looked at him.
“Dad, we can’t keep running.”
Daniel stared at the door.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Daniel didn’t move.
The knocking came again.
Three times.
Stronger.
My entire body went cold.
Because Daniel whispered something I never expected to hear.
“They found us.”
Nobody spoke.
The apartment lights suddenly flickered.
Then my phone vibrated.
I looked down.
A message from an unknown number.
One sentence.
Margaret, ask your husband who was driving the car the night your father died.
I looked at Daniel.
His face had gone completely pale.
May you like
Because before I could ask the question, someone outside slowly turned the doorknob.
And the door began to open.
