Chapter 8: The Photograph on My Pillow
By the time I reached my mother's house, two police officers were standing beside the front door.
Catherine had insisted on accompanying me. Richard Hale remained with the investigators, and his archive box had been taken for examination.
I hadn't stopped thinking about the letter.
My father's handwriting.
My mother's name.
The possibility that the woman who had sacrificed everything to raise me might have been connected to the very scheme that destroyed our family.
It was absurd.
And yet the question had lodged itself in my mind.
What if Dad had suspected her?
What if she had known something she had never told me?
The front door opened before I could knock.
Mom rushed toward me and wrapped her arms around me.
“Thank God.””
I held her tightly.
“Are you hurt?””
“No. I was in the kitchen when I heard something upstairs. By the time I went to look, whoever it was had disappeared.””
The officers explained that they had found no sign of forced entry. The intruder might have used a key or entered through an unlocked window.
They had photographed the disturbed desk and the items left behind.
I asked to see the photograph on my pillow.
One officer handed me a clear evidence sleeve.
Inside was a printed picture of me standing outside the Northstar building earlier that afternoon. My face was turned toward Richard Hale.
On the back, someone had written in black ink:
Your father trusted the wrong woman. Don't make the same mistake.
My hands began to shake.
Mom read the message over my shoulder.
“Oh, Nia.””
I turned toward her.
“Mom, I need you to tell me everything you know about Dad's business.””
She stared at me.
“Everything?””
“Everything you remember. Even the things that seem unimportant.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You think I had something to do with what happened to him.””
“I don't know what to think. I found out today that Dad suspected someone close to him. His letter had your name on it.””
Mom stepped backward as though I had struck her.
“He suspected me?””
“I don't know what he meant.””
“Then why would you ask me to explain myself?””
“Because someone is trying to frighten us, and I need the truth.””
For a long moment, she looked at me with wounded disbelief.
Then she walked into the living room and sat in Dad's old armchair.
“I was never involved in his business,” she said.
“I knew Richard was dishonest. I knew your father was frightened. But I never moved money, signed guarantees, or helped anyone take a loan.””
“Did Dad ever accuse you of anything?””
“No.””
“Did you ever have access to his business accounts?””
“Only when he asked me to bring him paperwork. I didn't understand the transactions.””
She reached for a framed photograph on the side table.
It showed Dad holding me at my high school graduation, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
“I loved your father,” she whispered.
“If he believed I had betrayed him, he would have told me.””
I sat beside her.
“I'm sorry.””
She shook her head.
“No, sweetheart. You're trying to find answers. You have every right to ask.””
That was my mother.
Even when she was hurt, she tried to make room for my fear.
I took her hand.
“We'll find out what that letter means.””
Catherine joined us with a notebook.
“I've been thinking about the wording,” she said.
“The letter doesn't necessarily mean your father believed Evelyn was responsible. It may mean he suspected someone was using her identity or exploiting her access to the household.””
Mom frowned.
“But why would he write my name?””
“Because you may have been connected to a transaction without knowing it,” Catherine replied.
“We need the original records before drawing conclusions.””
I remembered the loan documents.
The forged deed.
The signature that looked almost like mine.
Someone had been able to imitate my handwriting and obtain personal records. It wasn't impossible that the same person had used Mom's identity years earlier.
Catherine asked whether Dad had kept old computers or storage devices.
Mom pointed toward the study.
“His desktop computer is still in the closet. It stopped working years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.””
We went upstairs.
Dad's study had always been the smallest room in the house. He had painted the walls a soft gray and installed shelves for his business books. After his death, Mom had left most of it untouched.
Now the desk drawers were open, and folders lay scattered across the carpet.
A small wooden box sat on the desk.
I recognized it immediately.
Dad used to keep spare keys inside it.
The box was open and empty.
“Did you keep the keys anywhere else?”” I asked.
Mom shook her head.
“He had one key for the office, one for the filing cabinet, and one for that old computer case.””
“Where is the computer?””
She pointed to the closet.
I opened the door.
The desktop tower was still there, dusty but intact. A yellow sticky note was attached to the side.
Dad's handwriting.
Backup drive — bottom drawer.
I pulled open the desk drawer.
Inside lay an old external hard drive wrapped in a plastic bag.
Catherine called the investigator assigned to the suspected fraud and asked whether the device could be collected and examined. He agreed to arrange a secure transfer.
As I placed the drive on the desk, something slipped from beneath it.
A small folded sheet of paper.
I opened it.
The handwriting was my father's.
If the original records disappear, check the account ending in 4419. The password is the date Nia was born.
I stared at the note.
An account number.
Another trail.
Catherine photographed the paper and instructed me not to attempt to access any account until the authorities verified what it was.
Then my phone rang.
The caller ID displayed a number I didn't recognize.
I answered on speaker.
A woman's voice came through, breathless and frightened.
“Is this Nia Bennett?””
“Yes. Who is this?””
“My name is Laura Mitchell. I used to work in the accounting department at Northstar Holdings.””
Catherine immediately began recording the call with the woman's permission.
Laura continued.
“I saw your name in the news reports about the wedding. I recognized Marcus. I've been trying to find a way to contact you.””
“What do you know about him?””
“He wasn't just involved in the company. He controlled the accounts after his father disappeared.””
I exchanged a look with Catherine.
“Disappeared?””
“Richard Hale didn't die. He left the country after an internal investigation began. Marcus took over several of his companies.””
“Why didn't anyone report it?””
“People did. But the companies kept changing names, and the records became impossible to follow. Some employees were threatened. Others were paid to stay quiet.””
My throat tightened.
“What does this have to do with my father?””
Laura was silent for a moment.
“Daniel Bennett discovered the fraudulent guarantees. He was preparing to provide evidence to investigators. The night before he died, he contacted our office and asked for the original ledger.””
Mom covered her mouth.
“What happened to him?”” I asked.
“I don't know. But I remember Marcus coming into the office the following morning. He told us Daniel had suffered a heart attack and that the matter should be considered closed.””
A chill ran down my spine.
“He knew my father was dead before anyone had confirmed what happened?””
“I can't prove what he knew. But he was unusually calm, and he ordered us to destroy several files.””
Catherine leaned closer to the phone.
“Ms. Mitchell, do you still have access to any records?””
“No. But I kept copies of a few emails because I was afraid I'd be blamed if the investigation reopened.””
“Can you send them to me?””
“Yes. There's something else you need to know.””
Laura's voice dropped.
“Marcus was planning to marry Nia because he needed access to her mother's property. But that wasn't the only reason.””
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“What was the other reason?””
“Daniel left a private account that was never included in the company's official records. Marcus has been searching for it for years.””
I looked at the note in my hand.
Account ending in 4419.
“Do you know where the money went?”” I asked.
“I know where it was supposed to go. Daniel was trying to move it into a protected trust before he died.””
Catherine's expression sharpened.
“Who was the beneficiary?””
Laura hesitated.
Then she answered.
“His daughter.””
I couldn't speak.
My father had created a financial account for me, hidden from Richard Hale and the company.
And Marcus had spent years trying to find it.
“Why didn't he simply ask me?”” I whispered.
Laura gave a bitter laugh.
“Because he didn't want you to know the money existed. If you knew, you'd have had the power to stop him.””
The call ended shortly afterward, with Laura agreeing to provide the emails to Catherine and cooperate with the investigation.
I stood in my father's study, staring at the old hard drive.
All my life, I had believed my father left us a house and a collection of memories.
Now I was learning that he might have left me something far more valuable—and that someone had been willing to destroy our family to get it.
Catherine placed a hand on my shoulder.
“We'll have the drive examined. If there's evidence of the trust, it could explain the motive behind the fraud.””
I nodded.
Then I noticed something on the computer monitor.
A small green light was blinking.
The computer wasn't connected to the internet, but the external drive had been plugged into a separate power adapter.
Someone had turned it on recently.
I leaned closer.
“Catherine, did you touch this?””
“No.””
Mom shook her head.
“I haven't been in this room since the officers arrived.””
The screen flickered.
A window opened.
A file appeared on the desktop.
Its name was simple.
*READ_THIS_FIRST.*
I moved the mouse.
The file opened in a text editor.
Five words appeared on the screen.
Your father was murdered.
Beneath them was a second sentence.
And the person who ordered it is still alive.
Before I could read another word, the screen went black.
Then my phone rang.
Marcus's name appeared on the display.
I answered without speaking.
His voice came through, low and controlled.
“I know you found the drive.””
My heart hammered.
“How?””
“Because you're looking in places you were never supposed to look.””
“What happened to my father, Marcus?””
May you like
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, “If you want to know the truth, ask your mother what she did the night he died.””
