Chapter 3 - The Locked RoomThe gunshot sent me backward.
Dad grabbed me.
"Down!"
Glass shattered somewhere behind us.
People shouted.
Someone knocked over a chair.
Ryan disappeared.
I heard footsteps running down the hallway.
Then another sound.
A woman's scream.
The emergency lights flickered on.
Dad was already moving.
"Stay here."
I grabbed his sleeve.
"No."
He looked at me.
"I'm coming."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
We moved into the hallway.
Claire followed.
The second executive stayed behind with the security team.
Ryan was gone.
We found the first body near the elevator.
Not dead.
A security guard lay unconscious, blood running from his forehead.
Claire checked his pulse.
"Alive."
Dad looked toward the elevator.
"Where is Ryan?"
No answer.
The private elevator doors were opening.
Empty.
I felt a cold sensation crawl up my spine.
"He couldn't have gotten out."
Dad looked at the security panel.
"Unless he knew the override."
I looked at him.
"How would he know?"
Dad didn't answer.
Then we heard something from the library.
A faint scratching sound.
Dad pulled open the door.
The room was empty.
Except for the giant portrait of my mother on the wall.
I stared.
"That wasn't there before."
Dad went still.
"What?"
"The portrait."
He looked at it.
His face changed.
"Move."
He walked toward the painting.
There was a small gap between the frame and the wall.
Dad pressed the corner.
A hidden panel opened.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
Claire stared.
"You had a secret room?"
Dad looked at me.
"Your mother did."
I stepped inside.
The room was dark.
Old papers covered a desk.
Boxes lined the walls.
And in the center sat a locked metal cabinet.
My mother's handwriting was written across the top.
FOR EMMA.
My breath caught.
I looked at Dad.
"You knew about this?"
"No."
He sounded genuinely shocked.
Claire examined the lock.
"It requires a code."
I already knew it.
My mother's birthday.
I entered the numbers.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a stack of envelopes.
One had my name.
I opened it with trembling fingers.
Emma,
If you're reading this, something has gone wrong.
Your father may tell you that he protected me.
He did.
But protection is not the same thing as truth.
There are people inside Carter Global who have been moving money for years.
I found the pattern.
I found the names.
And I found the person giving them access.
I stopped reading.
"Who?"
My mother had written one line in bold.
THE PERSON CLOSEST TO YOUR FATHER.
Dad read it over my shoulder.
Claire looked at him.
"Who was closest to you?"
Dad's face became expressionless.
"Several people."
"Names."
He didn't answer.
I opened another envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother stood beside a man.
Victor Hale.
But there was another person in the picture.
Ryan's father.
I stared.
Ryan's father had died six years ago.
Why was he standing with my mother?
I turned the photograph over.
A handwritten sentence waited on the back.
THEY WERE WORKING TOGETHER.
I looked at Dad.
"Why would Mom work with Ryan's father?"
Dad didn't know.
Then a phone rang.
Not mine.
Not Claire's.
Dad reached into his pocket.
His face tightened.
It was a secure line.
He answered.
"Richard."
A man's voice whispered through the speaker.
"They found the room."
Dad's eyes narrowed.
"Who is this?"
A pause.
Then:
"You already know."
The call ended.
Dad's phone displayed no number.
Claire looked at him.
"Who was that?"
Dad slowly lowered the phone.
"My wife."
My blood ran cold.
"Mom?"
Dad shook his head.
"Impossible."
"She's alive?"
"No."
He stared at the screen.
"She died eighteen years ago."
The room seemed to tilt.
Claire stepped closer.
"Then who was on the phone?"
Dad didn't answer.
The phone rang again.
This time, a message appeared.
DON'T TRUST RICHARD CARTER.
May you like
I looked at my father.
For the first time in my life, I wondered whether the person standing beside me had been the one lying all along.
Related Stories
