Chapter 4 - The Truth My Mother Buried
A dead man’s voice played from an old recording device, whispering:
"Cara, if you hear this, run."
When Adrian Voss unlocked the hidden compartment inside my mother’s envelope, he found documents proving my father’s death was not an accident.
But one name appeared on every page:
"Isabella Voss."
Adrian finally discovered the betrayal started long before his wife tried to kill him.
The lights went out.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
I heard the sound of weapons being raised.
I heard someone breathing.
I heard my own heartbeat.
Then emergency lights turned back on.
Red.
Cold.
Like the entire room had become a warning.
The piece of paper with my mother’s handwriting was still in my hand.
Your father was the first man they killed.
I read the sentence again.
And again.
Because sometimes your mind refuses to accept the truth even when the words are right in front of you.
"My father died in a car accident," I whispered.
Nobody answered.
Adrian Voss was staring at the paper.
Not at me.
At the handwriting.
"You were told that?"
I looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
His expression was unreadable.
But I saw something behind his eyes.
Recognition.
Pain.
"Your father wasn't killed because of a random accident."
My fingers tightened around the paper.
"Then why?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
That scared me more than anything.
Because powerful men like Adrian Voss always had answers.
They always knew what to say.
But now he looked like a man searching through memories he had spent years trying to bury.
Marcus Hale stood near the doorway.
The guards still had their weapons pointed at him.
But nobody was watching him anymore.
Everyone was watching me.
"I need to know everything," I said.
Adrian looked at me.
"You might regret that."
"I already spent seven years not knowing."
The room became silent.
Because that was the truth.
Not knowing had followed me everywhere.
People thought losing someone meant losing a person.
They were wrong.
Sometimes losing someone meant losing pieces of yourself.
A missing explanation.
An unanswered question.
A memory that never made sense.
My father’s death had always felt wrong.
He wasn't the kind of person who drove carelessly.
He checked everything twice.
He fixed broken things instead of replacing them.
He was the man who taught me how to ride a bicycle by running beside me until his knees hurt.
And then one night, he drove home and never arrived.
Everyone told me it was bad luck.
A failed engine.
A dark road.
An accident.
I believed them.
Because I had no reason not to.
Until now.
Adrian walked toward the table and placed the old photograph beside the letter.
"Your father worked for me."
I froze.
"What?"
Marcus looked away.
Like he already knew this moment would come.
Adrian continued.
"Before I became who I am now, before Voss Security existed, your father was one of the few people I trusted."
I stared at him.
"My father worked for you?"
"He was my financial advisor."
That made no sense.
My father had been a simple accountant.
At least that's what I knew.
"He helped build the first version of my company."
Adrian looked at the photograph.
"He found something he wasn't supposed to find."
"What?"
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"A network inside my organization."
I glanced at Marcus.
Then at the pages.
"Isabella?"
Adrian didn't respond.
That was enough.
I felt my stomach drop.
"My mother knew?"
"Yes."
The answer came from Marcus.
Everyone turned toward him.
Adrian looked furious.
"You don't speak unless I ask."
Marcus ignored him.
"Your mother knew everything."
I stepped closer.
"Everything about what?"
Marcus looked at me.
"The people who wanted Adrian dead."
A guard moved forward.
But Adrian stopped him.
"Continue."
Marcus took a breath.
"Your father discovered that someone inside Adrian's company was moving money, selling information, and removing anyone who got close."
"And he was killed because of that?"
Marcus nodded.
"Yes."
The word hit harder than I expected.
Seven years.
Seven years believing my father had just been unlucky.
Seven years blaming a road.
A machine.
A moment.
Not people.
Not murder.
My hands started shaking.
"Who did it?"
Nobody answered.
Then Adrian's phone rang.
Everyone looked at him.
He checked the screen.
His face changed.
It was Isabella.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
He put the call on speaker.
At first, there was only silence.
Then a woman's voice.
Calm.
Beautiful.
Cold.
"Adrian."
The room froze.
"Where are you?" Adrian asked.
A soft laugh came through the phone.
"You still ask questions like you are in control."
Adrian's eyes hardened.
"You tried to kill me."
"No."
Isabella paused.
"I tried to stop you from finding the truth."
I felt a chill.
Adrian stepped closer to the phone.
"The truth about what?"
Another pause.
Then Isabella spoke.
"The same truth your little waitress has been carrying her entire life."
My blood ran cold.
Adrian looked at me.
I couldn't move.
"How do you know her?" Adrian asked.
Isabella laughed quietly.
"Because Cara isn't a stranger."
My breathing stopped.
"What are you talking about?"
Isabella continued.
"Ask her about the night her father died."
I shook my head.
"No."
Everyone looked at me.
Because I already knew.
There was something else.
Something my memory had buried.
"Ask her why she was there."
The call ended.
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Then Adrian looked at me.
"Cara."
I stepped backward.
"No."
He didn't raise his voice.
"Tell me."
"I don't remember."
But the moment I said it, I knew that wasn't true.
Because somewhere deep inside my mind, there was a memory.
A road.
A car.
A sound.
My father's voice.
And someone else standing beside me.
Adrian approached slowly.
"What happened that night?"
I closed my eyes.
Trying to find the memory.
Trying to reach something hidden.
Then suddenly—
A flash.
A broken windshield.
My father's hand covered in blood.
A woman screaming.
Not my mother.
Someone else.
A blonde woman.
A woman I had seen before.
My eyes opened.
And I whispered:
"Isabella."
Nobody spoke.
Because everyone understood.
I wasn't just connected to the murder.
I was there.
Seven years ago.
The night my father died.
The door behind us suddenly unlocked.
Slowly.
Everyone turned.
A figure stood in the darkness outside the security room.
And the voice that came from the hallway was one I had never forgotten.
May you like
"Cara..."
My father's voice.
