Chapter 5 - The Man in the PhotographThe name was Daniel Cross.
My father's former business partner.
And a man who had disappeared from our lives when I was seventeen.
I remembered the night he left.
Police.
Shouting.
My father's broken office window.
A suitcase in the hallway.
And my mother crying.
I had never known why.
Dad sat across from me.
“Daniel didn't disappear.”
“What?”
“He ran.”
“From what?”
Dad looked at Ben.
Ben looked down.
My pulse accelerated.
“You both know something.”
Dad nodded.
“Daniel was involved with a financial scheme. He tried to use our family as collateral.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
Dad slid another document across the table.
It showed a trust.
My name was on it.
I stared.
“What's this?”
“The house wasn't really a gift.”
“Then what was it?”
Dad leaned forward.
“It was protection.”
“For what?”
“For an asset Daniel has been trying to recover.”
My head spun.
“What asset?”
Dad didn't answer.
Ben did.
“Your mother's.”
Silence.
My mother's name hadn't been spoken in this house in years.
“What does my mother have to do with Daniel?”
Dad's expression tightened.
“She discovered what he was doing.”
“And?”
“He tried to silence her.”
I stopped breathing.
“What are you saying?”
Dad shook his head.
“I'm saying your mother left something behind.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I stared at him.
“Where is it?”
Dad looked toward the window.
“We thought Daniel had destroyed it.”
“But?”
“But he didn't.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Ask your father why he never told you your mother kept a second copy.
I showed Dad.
His face changed.
“You need to leave the house.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Ben stood.
“What?”
Dad pointed toward the window.
“There's a car parked across the street.”
I looked.
A black SUV.
Engine running.
Then the lights flashed.
Once.
Twice.
The vehicle pulled away.
Dad's voice became urgent.
“That wasn't a warning.”
“What was it?”
“Confirmation.”
“Of what?”
He looked at me.
“They know you found the ledger.”
“But I haven't found it.”
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“Exactly.”
We searched the house again.
This time, Dad found a hidden compartment behind an old picture frame.
Inside was a key.
Nothing else.
He looked at Ben.
“You kept the key?”
Ben shook his head.
“I never knew it existed.”
Dad held it up.
An engraving was etched into the metal.
317.
My blood ran cold.
My mother's old locker number.
At least, that's what I remembered.
Dad noticed my expression.
“You know what it opens?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I whispered:
“The train station.”
That night, we drove there.
Three people.
One key.
And more questions than answers.
When we reached locker 317, Dad inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a small metal box.
My hands shook as I opened it.
There was a ledger.
A flash drive.
And a photograph of my mother.
On the back, three words were written.
Trust no one.
Then I turned the photograph over.
And saw someone standing behind her.
Ben.
Twenty years younger.
I stared at my husband.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
May you like
And whispered:
“I wasn't supposed to be there.”
