Chapter 8 - The Voice From The Past
The voice behind us said my name.
"Evelyn."
I froze.
Not because I recognized the voice.
Because I didn't.
And somehow that was worse.
My father.
Daniel.
Marcus.
Victor.
All of them were connected to my past.
All of them carried pieces of a story I had spent years trying to understand.
But the person standing behind me was someone I had never met.
Slowly, I turned around.
A man stood near the entrance of the dining room.
He was older than Marcus.
Younger than Daniel.
Wearing a gray suit that looked expensive but deliberately simple.
No watch.
No jewelry.
No expression.
Just a calm face that made me immediately uncomfortable.
Because people who had nothing to hide usually looked nervous when they walked into a room full of secrets.
This man looked like he already knew everything.
Marcus stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The man ignored him.
His eyes stayed on me.
"Evelyn Hart."
I hated hearing my full name from strangers.
Especially now.
"Who are you?"
He looked at the envelope on the table.
Then at the letter in my hand.
Then at Daniel.
"You finally told her."
Daniel's expression hardened.
"You shouldn't be here."
The man smiled slightly.
"Neither should you."
The tension between them was instant.
Not anger.
History.
I looked between them.
"You know each other."
Nobody answered.
That was becoming the most frustrating part of my life.
Everyone knew something.
Everyone except me.
I stepped closer.
"I am done asking."
My voice echoed through the empty restaurant.
"I want answers."
The man looked at me.
Then slowly reached into his pocket.
Marcus immediately reacted.
"Don't."
The man stopped.
Then slowly pulled out a small identification card.
He placed it on the table.
"My name is Adrian Cross."
Nobody spoke.
Then Victor looked at him.
And for the first time that night, Victor looked surprised.
"You're alive."
Adrian smiled.
"Apparently, everyone keeps saying that."
The same sentence.
The same pattern.
People who disappeared.
People who were supposed to be gone.
People who came back carrying pieces of the truth.
I looked at Marcus.
"Do you know him?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Adrian did.
"He knows my name."
That wasn't an answer.
I was tired of answers that weren't answers.
"What do you want?"
Adrian looked at the envelope.
"To stop you from making the same mistake your mother made."
My body went still.
"My mother?"
He nodded.
"Your mother trusted the wrong people."
Daniel stepped forward.
"Don't."
Adrian looked at him.
"Still protecting her?"
"Still lying to her?"
The words hit the room.
I turned toward Daniel.
"Lying about what?"
Daniel looked away.
That hurt.
Because silence was becoming his answer.
Adrian picked up the envelope.
Nobody stopped him.
Not even Marcus.
That worried me.
He opened it.
Slowly.
Then he removed the paper inside.
A single page.
He looked at it.
Then laughed quietly.
Not happily.
Almost sadly.
"She really did it."
"What?"
Adrian looked at me.
"Your mother left a trail."
I frowned.
"A trail to what?"
"To the truth."
I looked at the envelope.
"What does it say?"
Adrian didn't answer.
Instead, he handed the paper to me.
I took it.
My mother's handwriting appeared again.
But this time, the message was shorter.
Evelyn,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep you away from them.
But I need you to know one thing.
Your father did not leave us.
He was taken from us.
And the person who helped them was someone you trust.
My hands became cold.
Someone I trust.
I looked up.
Immediately, my eyes went to Marcus.
Then Daniel.
Then Victor.
Every person in the room became a possibility.
And that was the worst feeling.
Because I wanted to trust someone.
But I didn't know who deserved it.
Adrian watched my reaction.
"You see?"
"See what?"
"How quickly you looked at him."
His eyes moved toward Marcus.
Marcus's expression changed.
"Careful."
Adrian ignored him.
"Your mother knew this would happen."
"What would happen?"
"That you would search for a person to blame."
I looked down at the letter.
"And she was right?"
Adrian didn't answer.
That scared me.
I turned toward Marcus.
"Did you know my father?"
Marcus was quiet.
"Yes."
"Did you know my mother?"
Another pause.
"Yes."
My heart sank.
"How?"
Marcus looked at the floor.
"My father introduced us."
I stared at him.
"Your father introduced you to my family?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Before I was old enough to understand what was happening."
I stepped back.
"How old?"
Marcus looked at me.
"Seventeen."
I shook my head.
"No."
"What?"
"My mother never mentioned you."
Marcus's expression changed.
"Because she didn't want you involved."
"Why?"
Nobody spoke.
Then Daniel finally answered.
"Because Marcus was there the night your father disappeared."
The room went completely silent.
I looked at Marcus.
"What?"
Marcus closed his eyes.
Like he had been waiting years for that sentence.
"Yes."
The word barely came out.
"You were there?"
He nodded.
"I was."
My chest tightened.
"And you never told me?"
"I didn't know who you were."
"But you knew my father."
"Yes."
"You knew my mother."
"Yes."
"And you never thought to tell me?"
Marcus looked at me.
"I tried."
"When?"
"After I saw your proposal."
I frowned.
"What?"
"I recognized your father's handwriting."
The room went silent.
Marcus continued.
"I knew your last name wasn't a coincidence."
"Then why invite me here?"
"Because I wanted to know if you knew."
The honesty hurt.
"So I was a test?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Marcus looked at me.
"The only chance I had to find out what happened to my father."
That stopped me.
Because suddenly I understood.
He wasn't just investigating my family.
He was searching too.
But that didn't make the betrayal disappear.
Adrian stepped forward.
"This is exactly what they wanted."
I looked at him.
"Who?"
He pointed at the envelope.
"Whoever wrote the message telling you not to open it."
My phone vibrated.
Everyone froze.
Another message.
Unknown number.
I looked down.
One sentence.
Ask Marcus what he saw the night your father disappeared.
I slowly raised my eyes.
Marcus was already looking at me.
And this time...
He looked afraid.
"Marcus."
He didn't answer.
"Tell me."
His jaw tightened.
Then he whispered:
"I saw your father walk into the building."
A pause.
"And I saw who walked out with him."
Nobody moved.
I waited.
"Who?"
Marcus looked toward the dark windows of the restaurant.
His face turned pale.
Because outside, across the street, a figure stood under the streetlight.
Watching us.
May you like
Marcus whispered the name he had spent twelve years trying to forget.
"Your mother."
