Chapter 9: The Studio That Wasn’t Gone
The old studio was supposed to be empty.
Forgotten.
Destroyed.
At least, that was what my father had told me.
But the security footage showed something impossible.
A person walking through the building.
A light turning on.
A door opening.
Someone had been there.
Recently.
I stood outside the old studio twenty minutes later, staring at the abandoned building.
The city had changed around it.
New buildings.
New roads.
New people.
But this place remained frozen in time.
The sign above the entrance was faded.
*Carter Sound Studios.*
My mother’s dream.
The first place she built with her own hands.
Adrian stood beside me.
“You sure you want to go in?””
I looked at the locked door.
“Yes.””
My father stayed behind us.
Quiet.
Guilty.
I didn’t know which one hurt more.
The door opened with a loud creak.
Dust filled the air.
The inside smelled like old wood and forgotten memories.
But it wasn’t abandoned.
Someone had cleaned parts of it.
A chair had been moved.
A table had fresh fingerprints.
Someone had been searching.
Claire checked the security panel.
“The system says the last access was two hours ago.””
“Can you identify them?””
She shook her head.
“No. They disabled the cameras.””
I walked deeper inside.
Every room brought back memories.
My mother singing.
Engineers laughing.
Me sitting in the corner doing homework while she worked.
Then I saw it.
The recording booth.
The place where my mother created her first song.
The place mentioned in the letter.
I entered slowly.
The old microphone was still there.
Covered in dust.
I touched it.
And something fell from behind it.
A small black box.
Adrian picked it up.
“What is that?””
I examined it.
There was a label.
My mother’s handwriting.
*For Maya.*
My hands shook.
I opened it.
Inside was a small audio recorder.
A memory card.
And one photograph.
The photograph showed my mother standing beside someone.
Someone I recognized.
My father.
But they weren’t smiling.
They looked terrified.
On the back of the photo were three words.
*He knows everything.*
I turned toward my father.
His face had gone completely white.
“What is this?””
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.””
His voice was barely audible.
“I thought it was gone.””
“What was gone?””
He looked at the recorder.
“That.””
I stepped closer.
“You knew about this?””
“I thought Victor found it.””
The name made everyone tense.
“Why would Victor find it?””
My father looked at me.
Because this time, there was no way to hide.
“Because your mother recorded him.””
The room went silent.
I stared at the recorder in my hand.
“Recorded him saying what?””
My father looked away.
“The truth.””
“What truth?””
He took a shaky breath.
“The reason your mother died.””
The words echoed.
For years, I thought my mother lost a battle with illness.
For years, I visited her grave believing fate had taken her.
Now my father was telling me something else.
Someone had been involved.
Someone had a reason.
I looked down at the recorder.
A tiny piece of plastic.
A lifetime of secrets.
“Does it work?””
Claire checked it.
She inserted the memory card.
The device flickered.
One file appeared.
Created three days before my mother died.
Everyone gathered closer.
I pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my mother’s voice appeared.
Weak.
Whispering.
“Maya…”
My heart broke.
Because I hadn’t heard her voice in years.
Then she said something that made everyone freeze.
“If you’re hearing this, Robert failed to protect you.””
My father closed his eyes.
My mother continued.
“And if Victor Hale is still alive…”
A pause.
May you like
A shaky breath.
“…it means he got away with killing me.””
