Chapter 9: The Father Who Knew More Than He Admitted
Nobody spoke.
My father's phone remained pressed against his ear.
I stared at him.
"Dad?""
He closed his eyes.
"Marcus, that's impossible.""
The attorney sounded exhausted.
"I wish it were.""
"You're reading it wrong.""
"I'm looking at the original evidence file. Your name is listed as the first person who arrived at the accident scene.""
My father shook his head.
"I wasn't there.""
I took a step toward him.
"Then why is your name on the report?""
He looked at me.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
Rochelle stood beside the desk.
"Darius, tell her the truth.""
He turned toward her.
"What truth?""
"The truth about that afternoon.""
He looked furious.
"You don't know what you're talking about.""
"Then explain it.""
My father lowered the phone.
For a moment, he looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.
Then he sat down.
"I was there.""
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
"What?""
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"I arrived after the accident.""
"Why didn't you tell the police?""
"I did.""
"Then why does the report say you weren't interviewed?""
He stared at the carpet.
"Because I was told not to discuss certain things.""
"By whom?""
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Who told you?""
He looked at me.
"Marcus.""
The name echoed through the room.
I felt a chill move through my body.
"Mr. Bennett?""
My father nodded.
"He told me there were inconsistencies in the report. He said the police were still investigating and that I shouldn't make statements without legal advice.""
Rochelle frowned.
"That doesn't explain why your statement disappeared.""
Darius swallowed.
"Because I never gave one.""
I stared at him.
"You were at Mom's accident, and you never told the police what you saw?""
"I was in shock.""
"What did you see?""
He looked away.
"Your mother was driving home from the grocery store. I had called her earlier. We argued.""
I froze.
"About what?""
He shook his head.
"It doesn't matter.""
"It matters to me.""
He took a breath.
"She had discovered some money was missing from an account. She thought I had used it without telling her.""
I remembered the bank statements.
The missing money.
The altered documents.
My mother's trust.
"Was she right?""
My father looked at me.
"Yes.""
My stomach tightened.
"How much?""
"About sixty thousand dollars.""
Rochelle stepped backward.
"Darius!""
He held up his hand.
"I was going to replace it. I had invested in a business with a friend. Things went wrong.""
"Mom knew?""
"She found the transfers. She told me she wanted the money returned before you turned eighteen.""
I stared at him.
"And then she had the accident?""
He nodded slowly.
"She called me that afternoon. She said she wanted to talk.""
"About the money?""
"Yes.""
He looked down.
"I told her I was on my way home.""
My throat tightened.
"Did you meet her?""
"No.""
"Then why were you at the accident scene?""
His voice broke.
"Because I got a call from a neighbor. They said your mother had crashed.""
I stared at him.
"Why does the report say you were there first?""
He looked toward the window.
"Because I was.""
The silence that followed was unbearable.
He continued.
"I was driving behind her.""
I felt my heart pounding.
"You were following Mom?""
He nodded.
"I wanted to talk to her. She wasn't answering my calls, so I drove toward the grocery store. I saw her car leave the parking lot.""
"And?""
"I followed her for several minutes. Then she lost control.""
He pressed his fingers against his eyes.
"I watched her hit the guardrail.""
I stumbled backward.
Caleb caught my arm.
I couldn't breathe properly.
"You watched?""
"I was several car lengths behind her.""
"Did you call for help?""
"Yes.""
"Did you get out?""
He nodded.
"Then why did you never tell me?""
My father looked at me.
"Because I was terrified.""
"Of what?""
"That you'd blame me.""
I stared at him.
"You let me believe she died because of a mechanical failure.""
"I didn't know what caused the crash.""
"But you knew something was wrong!""
He nodded.
"I found something in the car.""
"What?""
He swallowed.
"A small plastic bag. It contained a receipt from an auto repair shop.""
Rochelle stepped closer.
"What repair shop?""
My father looked at her.
"One I had never heard of.""
I felt my stomach twist.
"Where is the receipt?""
"I gave it to Marcus.""
I turned toward the phone.
"Marcus, are you still there?""
The attorney answered immediately.
"Yes.""
"Do you have the receipt?""
"Not in the digital file. But I found a reference to it in the original evidence inventory.""
"Who was listed as the person who submitted it?""
There was a pause.
Then Marcus replied.
"Darius Carter.""
My father shook his head.
"I didn't submit it.""
"Your signature is on the evidence receipt.""
He stood abruptly.
"That signature is not mine!""
I looked at the document on the laptop.
Another disputed signature.
Another missing explanation.
Another piece of my family's history that didn't make sense.
Then Rochelle picked up the photograph from the wooden box.
She turned it over.
There was a second note beneath the picture.
Her face changed.
"Jada.""
I looked at her.
"What?""
She handed me the photograph.
On the back, my mother had written:
If Darius denies knowing who worked on the brakes, ask him about the blue truck.
I looked at my father.
"What blue truck?""
He went pale.
He didn't answer.
"Who owned it?""
He walked toward the window.
"Dad, answer me.""
He finally turned around.
"Your mother and I had a neighbor. A man named Franklin.""
Rochelle frowned.
"Franklin Price?""
My father nodded.
"He owned a blue pickup truck.""
"Was he at the accident?""
Darius shook his head.
"Not that I know of.""
"Then why did Mom mention him?""
My father looked at the photograph.
"Because Franklin worked at the repair shop.""
The room fell silent.
I felt a cold pressure in my chest.
"Did he work on Mom's car?""
My father hesitated.
Then he nodded.
"He replaced the brake pads about two weeks before the accident.""
Rochelle whispered, "Oh, my God.""
I stared at my father.
"Did the police know?""
"I told Marcus.""
"Did Marcus tell the police?""
"I don't know.""
The attorney interrupted.
"Darius, I need you to listen. Franklin Price was interviewed during the original investigation. His statement says he never worked on Denise's vehicle.""
My father shook his head.
"That's impossible.""
Marcus continued.
"But the repair receipt indicates he did.""
I looked at the photograph.
My mother had written his name for a reason.
Then Marcus added something else.
"There's another problem. Franklin's statement was signed two days after Denise's funeral.""
Rochelle frowned.
"Why is that important?""
"Because Franklin died three days before that statement was supposedly signed.""
I felt my entire body go cold.
"Then who signed it?""
Marcus paused.
"I don't know yet.""
My father stared at the phone.
"Marcus, what are you saying?""
"I'm saying someone used a dead man's name to close an investigation.""
I looked at the documents on the desk.
The forged deed.
The altered beneficiary form.
The missing will.
And now a suspicious accident report.
Everything seemed connected.
Then my father said something so quietly that I almost didn't hear it.
"Monique knew Franklin.""
I turned toward him.
"What?""
He nodded.
"She worked at the same insurance company where Franklin's brother was employed.""
Rochelle slowly sat down.
"Are you saying your wife knew the man who worked on Denise's brakes?""
"I don't know.""
"Did she ever mention him?""
My father stared at the floor.
"Once.""
"When?""
"About a year ago.""
"What did she say?""
He swallowed.
"She told me that someone had called asking questions about Denise's accident.""
I felt sick.
"Who?""
"She said it was a man from the insurance company.""
I stared at him.
"And you didn't investigate?""
"I didn't think it mattered.""
I stepped toward him.
"Nothing about Mom's death mattered enough for you to investigate?""
He flinched.
I continued.
"You let her name disappear from the house. You let her money disappear from the accounts. You let Monique use her memory against me. And now you're telling me you knew someone was asking questions about her accident?""
My father covered his face.
I turned away.
Caleb gently touched my shoulder.
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
One message.
Jada, stop looking into your mother's accident. Your father isn't the only person who knows what happened that afternoon.
Another message appeared.
Ask him why he was carrying two wedding rings when he arrived at the hospital.
I looked up.
My father was staring at me.
He had seen my expression.
"What's wrong?""
I showed him the phone.
He read the messages.
And for the first time that day, my father looked genuinely terrified.
Because slowly, his eyes moved toward the photograph of my mother.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"There's something I never told you about the day your mother died.""
