Chapter 8 - Not About EmmaI replayed the sentence five times.
Emma isn't the reason I'm doing this.
Harris looked at me.
“There's context missing.”
“Find it.”
The storage card contained eleven more files.
Most were short recordings.
Conversations.
Phone calls.
Meetings.
One recording was dated eight months earlier.
Melissa and Victor were in the same car.
Victor asked:
“How much longer?”
Melissa said:
“Until he trusts me again.”
“You said the marriage was already dead.”
“It is.”
“Then why wait?”
“Because he still has access to money.”
I stared at Harris.
Money.
Of course.
My company had been preparing to sell a division.
A bonus had been tied to the sale.
A very large one.
I had never told Melissa the exact amount.
But she knew the deal was happening.
The next recording made the motive clearer.
Victor said:
“The account?”
Melissa answered:
“Once he signs the transfer.”
“What transfer?”
“The one I've already prepared.”
I felt sick.
There was another file.
Melissa was speaking to a woman.
The woman was crying.
I recognized her voice.
My mother.
I froze.
“What is she doing in this?”
Harris looked surprised.
We played it.
My mother said:
“You promised you wouldn't involve Emma.”
Melissa answered:
“You shouldn't have betrayed me.”
“Daniel has a right to know.”
“He will know when it's finished.”
“Know what?”
Melissa's voice became cold.
“That his father wasn't who he thought he was.”
The recording ended.
I stared at Harris.
“What does my father have to do with this?”
“I don't know.”
My father had died when I was fourteen.
He had been a quiet man.
Honest.
Ordinary.
At least that's what I'd believed.
I called my mother.
She didn't answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then she finally called back.
Her voice was shaking.
“Daniel?”
“Mom, what is going on?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“I should have told you years ago.”
My chest tightened.
“Told me what?”
“Your father had debts.”
“Everybody knew that.”
“Not those debts.”
“What does Melissa know?”
Another silence.
“Your father was involved with a man named Adrian Vale.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“Adrian Vale.”
The name felt unfamiliar.
“Who was he?”
“He owned several businesses.”
“What kind?”
My mother whispered:
“Businesses that weren't entirely legal.”
Harris looked at me.
I put the phone on speaker.
My mother continued.
“Your father borrowed money from him.”
“How much?”
“Enough to ruin us.”
I sat down.
“Did he steal from him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He knew something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“I swear.”
She started crying.
“After your father died, Adrian's people came to the house.”
“What did they want?”
“They wanted documents.”
“What documents?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom!”
“The ones you inherited.”
I felt a chill.
“I inherited nothing.”
“Yes, you did.”
“What?”
“Your father left you a box.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I don't remember any box.”
“Because Melissa found it before you did.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Harris.
“When?”
My mother whispered:
“Three years ago.”
I hung up.
Harris stared at me.
“Your wife found your father's box?”
“Apparently.”
We searched the house.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
There was one place Melissa had never allowed me to touch.
The old attic cabinet.
I opened it.
Empty.
Harris checked the hinges.
One was newer.
He removed the panel.
Behind it was a sealed envelope.
Inside was a photograph of my father standing beside another man.
The other man was Adrian Vale.
And behind them stood a younger Melissa.
I stared.
“Impossible.”
Harris looked at the photograph.
“How old was Melissa?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Your father would have been…”
“Forty-eight.”
I looked at the back.
Three words were written there.
SHE KNOWS WHY.
Then I heard a sound behind us.
A floorboard creaked.
Harris reached for his weapon.
We turned.
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Melissa.
I answered.
Her voice was low.
“You finally found the photograph.”
My blood turned cold.
“Where is Emma?”
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“Ask yourself why I chose you.”
“What?”
She laughed softly.
“Your family has been lying to you for twenty years.”
Then the call ended.
On the floor beside the attic cabinet, Harris found something.
May you like
A small brass key.
Stamped with the number:
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