Chapter 7: What Happened in 2005
“What happened in 2005?”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
Detective Collins didn't answer.
She stared at the black screen of my phone.
The video of Anna was gone.
The final message from Michael remained.
Ask Detective Collins what happened in 2005.
I stepped closer.
“What happened?”
“Daniel…”
“What happened to my real brother?”
She looked at Lily.
Then at me.
“Your brother's name was Elias.”
“I know.”
“He died when you were nine.”
“I know that too.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You know what you were told.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Collins looked toward the hidden corridor.
“Your parents told you Elias died in an accident.”
“Yes.”
“He didn't.”
The words hit me harder than they should have.
“What happened?”
She took a breath.
“Your family was being watched.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She hesitated.
“In 2005, your father discovered a financial network moving money through several companies.”
“What kind of money?”
“Black money.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Weapons?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked at me.
“Trust funds.”
I frowned.
“Trust funds?”
“Children's trust funds.”
My stomach turned.
“Whose children?”
“Children connected to wealthy families.”
“What were they doing with them?”
“Moving ownership.”
I didn't understand.
“Explain.”
“They would create trusts in children's names. Then use those trusts to hide money.”
“Why children?”
“Because children can't question financial decisions.”
I stared at her.
“And my family?”
“Your father discovered one of those trusts.”
“Whose?”
Collins looked at Lily.
“Yours.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Your father discovered a trust created before you were born.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Who created it?”
“Anna.”
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense.”
“Your wife knew.”
“How?”
“Because she helped create it.”
I stepped backward.
“My wife knew about this before we married?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She tried.”
I remembered Anna's strange behavior during the final months of her life.
Her locked office.
Her late-night phone calls.
Her sudden fear of Michael.
Her insistence that Lily never be alone with certain relatives.
I had thought she was stressed.
Maybe paranoid.
Maybe sick.
But she had been investigating something.
Something much bigger than I understood.
“What happened to Elias?”
Collins' expression darkened.
“He witnessed something.”
“What?”
“Your father meeting someone.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Then how did Elias die?”
“He didn't.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Elias disappeared.”
I stared at her.
“You said he died.”
“Your parents reported him dead.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
“From whom?”
“The people who were looking for him.”
I couldn't breathe.
“So my brother could be alive?”
“We don't know.”
“What about Michael?”
“He appeared in your life years later.”
“When?”
“2009.”
I frowned.
“He told me he was my brother.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Of course.”
“Daniel.”
She stepped closer.
“You were fourteen when Elias disappeared.”
I stared at her.
“I was nine.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You were nine when your parents told you he died.”
I felt dizzy.
“You were fourteen when you met Michael.”
I stared at her.
“That can't be right.”
“You remember meeting him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember where?”
I closed my eyes.
A house.
A summer evening.
A man standing in the doorway.
He smiled.
Called me by my childhood nickname.
I remembered running toward him.
I remembered believing my brother had come home.
But there was something strange.
Something I'd forgotten.
He didn't look like Elias.
Not exactly.
The face was different.
The voice was different.
But everyone told me grief had changed my memory.
My parents told me:
“He's been through a lot.”
I had believed them.
I opened my eyes.
“Who introduced Michael to me?”
Collins didn't answer.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
My stomach dropped.
“My father knew he wasn't Elias?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he let me believe it?”
“Because he had no choice.”
“Why?”
Collins looked at Lily.
“Because someone had your father under surveillance.”
I felt anger rising.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because most of the people involved are dead.”
“Except Michael.”
She nodded.
“And Mara.”
“And you.”
She went silent.
I stared at her.
“Were you there in 2005?”
“Yes.”
My heart stopped.
“You were?”
“I was a junior investigator.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And you knew my family?”
“I was assigned to the case.”
“What case?”
“Elias.”
I stared at her.
“You investigated my brother's disappearance?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
“What promise?”
“To keep you alive.”
I laughed bitterly.
“By letting me live with an impostor?”
Her eyes hardened.
“You don't understand what Elias knew.”
“Then tell me.”
“He knew who had been stealing the trust money.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your father.”
Silence.
I felt like I had been punched.
“My father?”
“He created the first shell company.”
“That isn't possible.”
“It is.”
“My father was a schoolteacher.”
“Officially.”
I stared at her.
“Then what was he really?”
“A financial broker.”
“Why would he hide it?”
“Because he was laundering money.”
“For whom?”
Collins looked away.
“That is the question your wife spent years trying to answer.”
I suddenly remembered the locked office.
Anna had kept dozens of files there.
She once told me:
“Daniel, your family isn't what you think.”
I had laughed.
I thought she was joking.
She wasn't.
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
Michael.
You're finally asking the right questions.
Then:
But Collins is lying to you.
I looked at the detective.
Another message appeared.
Your father didn't create the trust.
Then:
Your mother did.
My chest tightened.
Collins saw the screen.
“Don't believe him.”
“How do I know who to believe?”
“You don't.”
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
Her answer stunned me.
She continued:
“You shouldn't trust anyone right now.”
Then she pointed toward the hidden corridor.
“Because whoever built that passage knew this hospital better than most employees.”
“Who?”
“I think we should find out.”
We entered the corridor.
It was narrow and dark.
After about fifty feet, we reached another door.
This one wasn't red.
It was steel.
A keypad was mounted beside it.
Collins examined it.
“Do you know the code?”
“No.”
I looked at the wall.
There was a small engraving.
17-03-2005.
“March 17, 2005.”
I entered the numbers.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a room filled with old files.
Boxes.
Photographs.
Medical records.
And hundreds of cassette tapes.
I picked one up.
A label was attached.
ANNA CARTER - INTERVIEW 4
My hands shook.
“She recorded interviews?”
Collins nodded.
I found another.
DANIEL CARTER - CHILDHOOD
Another.
ELIAS CARTER - 2005
I turned toward Collins.
“Play it.”
She found an old cassette player.
Inserted the tape.
Static filled the room.
Then a child's voice.
My brother.
I knew it instantly.
“Mom said we aren't supposed to tell Daniel.”
I stopped breathing.
The recording continued.
A woman spoke.
My mother.
“Elias, listen to me. You cannot go back.”
“But Daniel is there.”
“We'll get him out.”
“Dad won't let us.”
“He doesn't know.”
A man's voice suddenly appeared in the background.
My father.
“Who are you talking to?”
The tape became chaotic.
A door slammed.
Then Elias screamed.
“DAD!”
The recording cut out.
I stood frozen.
Collins looked at me.
“Daniel…”
I barely heard her.
Because there was one final sound at the end of the tape.
A woman's voice.
Anna.
Whispering.
“I know where Elias is.”
The tape clicked.
Silence.
I turned toward Collins.
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“Anna knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then find it.”
“We will.”
“No.”
I grabbed her arm.
“You're not listening.”
She looked at me.
“Anna knew where Elias was.”
“Yes.”
“And she was investigating him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Michael tell me to ask about 2005?”
Collins' expression changed.
I continued.
“Because he wants me to find something.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
“About Elias?”
“No.”
I looked around the room.
The tapes.
The photographs.
The files.
The hidden corridor.
Then I saw something on the wall.
A child's drawing.
Two boys standing beside a red door.
One was holding a key.
The other was holding a small black box.
Underneath, written in childish handwriting:
BROTHERS DON'T ALWAYS SHARE THE SAME BLOOD.
I stepped closer.
Then I recognized the handwriting.
Mine.
I had drawn it.
But I had no memory of ever seeing that room.
No memory of the red door.
No memory of the box.
No memory of Elias.
A terrible thought entered my mind.
Maybe the memories weren't missing.
Maybe someone had taken them.
Behind us, the steel door slammed shut.
Collins spun around.
Locked.
She reached for her radio.
No signal.
Then the room's old speakers crackled.
A man's voice came through.
Michael.
“You finally found it.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“Where is Lily?”
“She is safe.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you will never find.”
“Let her go.”
“Not until you finish what Anna started.”
“What did she start?”
Michael laughed.
“You really don't remember?”
My blood ran cold.
“Remember what?”
A pause.
Then he said:
“The night your brother disappeared.”
I felt my heart stop.
“I was there, Daniel.”
“What?”
“I was there when Elias disappeared.”
The room went silent.
Then Michael whispered:
“And so were you.”
The lights went out.
A second later, a projector switched on.
A grainy video appeared on the wall.
It showed two children.
Two boys.
Standing in front of a red door.
One was Elias.
The other was me.
I watched myself in the video.
Nine years old.
Holding the silver key.
Then the boy beside me turned toward the camera.
Elias.
He said something.
I leaned closer.
His lips moved.
Three words.
“Daniel killed me.”
The video ended.
May you like
And from somewhere inside the darkness, I heard footsteps.
Coming toward us.
