Chapter 3 - The Man Who Wasn't My FatherThe next day, Matthews brought me home.
The apartment felt different.
Not because the furniture had changed.
Because I knew someone had been watching me.
I checked every lock.
Every window.
Every blind.
Then I found the tracker.
It was smaller than a coin.
The police removed another one from the SUV.
Then another.
Three trackers.
Someone hadn't just wanted to know where I went.
They wanted to know everywhere I went.
Matthews stood near the door.
“Stay somewhere else tonight.”
“I have nowhere else.”
“You do now.”
My phone vibrated.
A message.
No number.
Just a photograph.
It showed my house when I was twelve.
My father stood in the driveway.
Beside him was a black sedan.
The same black sedan from the parking-lot surveillance video.
I stared.
“That's him.”
Matthews stepped closer.
“You recognize the car?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“It was always there.”
He enlarged the photograph.
A man stood beside my father.
I looked carefully.
Then my stomach dropped.
It was the same man from the parking lot.
The stranger who had met Derek.
How old was he?
Thirty?
Forty?
It was impossible to tell.
But I remembered him.
Not clearly.
Like a fragment from a nightmare.
He had stood outside our house the night my father disappeared.
I had seen him through the curtains.
My mother had told me not to look.
I remembered that.
Nothing else.
Matthews looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“My mother knew him.”
“Did your father?”
“I think so.”
Matthews stared at the photograph.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Matthews.”
A pause.
His eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
He hung up.
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“They found something in your brother's storage unit.”
We drove there.
Inside were boxes.
Old receipts.
Gambling records.
Bank statements.
And one locked metal case.
The police opened it.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
My family.
Dozens of them.
Some were recent.
Some were fifteen years old.
Some were taken without our knowledge.
My mother leaving work.
Me entering college.
Derek meeting people.
My father.
Always my father.
Always from a distance.
Then we found a photograph of me at twenty-two.
I was standing outside my first apartment.
On the back was written:
PHASE TWO COMPLETE.
I couldn't breathe.
“What does that mean?”
Matthews shook his head.
Then I saw another photograph.
It showed my mother meeting Derek in a parking lot.
They were exchanging an envelope.
The date was three years ago.
The year Derek's gambling problems became serious.
“Why would they be surveilling my family?”
Matthews didn't answer.
He picked up a folder.
Inside was a list of names.
Some I recognized.
Others were strangers.
Beside each name was an amount.
Most had been crossed out.
My name was last.
Beside it was one word:
TRANSFER.
I stared.
“What transfer?”
Matthews opened another document.
It was a corporate agreement.
A company called Bellmont Holdings had been formed twenty years earlier.
The listed owner was…
me.
I almost laughed.
“I was eleven.”
Matthews looked grim.
“There are signatures dated from when you were twelve.”
“But I couldn't sign corporate contracts.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
He turned the document toward me.
The signature was mine.
Or something designed to look like mine.
Then I saw a line at the bottom.
Beneficial Owner: [My Name]
Everything around me seemed to tilt.
I whispered, “My mother.”
Matthews nodded.
“She may have created the company using your identity.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
I stared at the papers.
Then another realization struck me.
“Derek knew.”
Matthews looked at me.
“What?”
“He asked for my SUV.”
“He wanted the vehicle.”
“No.”
I pointed to the corporate documents.
“He said, 'If I had that SUV, I could fix everything.'”
Matthews went still.
“What would a car have to do with a corporate account?”
“I don't know.”
Then we heard footsteps outside.
Both of us froze.
Someone was walking down the hallway.
Slowly.
One step.
Then another.
Matthews reached for his weapon.
The footsteps stopped outside the storage unit.
Three seconds of silence.
Then the metal door began sliding open.
A man stood outside.
The same man from the photographs.
He smiled at me.
“Your mother should have told you the truth years ago.”
Matthews drew his weapon.
“Hands where I can see them!”
The man raised both hands.
But he didn't look at Matthews.
He looked at me.
Then he said:
“Your father never abandoned you.”
My breath caught.
“He was trying to protect you.”
Matthews stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
The man's smile disappeared.
“Someone who was there the night he died.”
I whispered:
“My father is alive?”
The man looked at me.
“No.”
May you like
He paused.
“But he died because of your mother.”
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