Chapter 6: The Stranger Who Knew My Father
My father stared at the name for nearly a minute.
“Thomas Reed,” he whispered.
I watched his face carefully.
“Do you know him?””
Dad shook his head.
Then he looked at the phone number again.
“No. I don't think so.””
But his hands were trembling.
The officer finished documenting the notebook and the other items, then explained that the materials would need to be examined properly. Margaret arrived shortly afterward and reviewed the initial inventory.
She didn't promise that the documents proved fraud. Instead, she explained that the account numbers, dates, and names gave us specific leads to verify.
The notebook was taken for secure examination.
Dad kept the inventory receipt in his jacket pocket as though he were afraid someone might steal even that.
When we returned home, he went straight to his study.
I followed him.
He sat at his desk and opened the bottom drawer, removing a thick folder of family documents.
“What are you looking for?”” I asked.
“Your grandparents' estate papers.””
He spread the documents across the desk.
“My parents died within eighteen months of each other. I was thirty-two when my father died and thirty-three when my mother passed away. They left me a small investment portfolio and the house I grew up in.””
“Did Linda know about it?””
“She knew I had inherited money. I never discussed the details.””
He pulled out a statement.
“I sold most of the portfolio after your mother became ill. I used some of it for medical expenses, some to pay the mortgage, and the rest went into an account Eleanor and I shared.””
He turned the page.
“This account was closed six months before I married Linda.””
I leaned closer.
“Where did the money go?””
“That's what I'm trying to understand.””
He found a transaction summary.
One transfer stood out.
A substantial amount had been moved to an investment account held by a company I didn't recognize.
The transfer had been authorized by a signature that looked like Dad's.
But the date was wrong.
“I was overseas that week,” he said.
“Can you prove it?””
He opened his laptop and searched through old emails.
“There.””
He turned the screen toward me.
An email from his employer confirmed that he'd been attending a conference in Chicago during the dates in question.
“I couldn't have signed this document in person,” he said.
“Could someone have forged your signature?””
He leaned back.
“Possibly. But there's another explanation.””
“What?””
“Someone may have used an authorization I'd signed earlier and applied it to a transaction I never approved.””
I looked at the account statement.
“And Thomas Reed?””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“I need to find out who he is.””
He called Margaret.
She advised us not to contact the man directly until his identity and connection to the records could be verified. She also asked Dad to preserve the original statements and provide the dates of his travel.
For the next hour, he worked through old paperwork.
I sat on the sofa, looking at the family photographs lining his bookshelves.
There was one from my eighth birthday. Mom was holding a cake, laughing as Dad tried to light the candles while I blew them out too early.
Another showed us at the beach, my mother's hair blowing across her face as she carried my shoes.
I touched the frame.
“Did she know this would happen?””
Dad looked up.
“I don't know.””
“Do you think she suspected Linda would marry you?””
He was silent for a moment.
“No. I think she suspected someone was using her illness to get access to our money. She may not have known who was behind everything.””
“Then why did she write Linda's name?””
“Because she had evidence connecting Linda to the transfers.””
He paused.
“But evidence isn't the same as knowing the entire story.””
His words stayed with me.
For the first time, I understood that uncovering the truth wouldn't be as simple as proving Linda had lied.
We were pulling at a thread that might unravel everything my father believed about his own life.
At six that evening, Margaret called.
She had located a public business registration for Thomas Reed, who had worked as a financial consultant years earlier. His former company had been dissolved, but the contact details listed in an old directory led to a current address.
“He appears to be retired,” Margaret explained over the phone.
“I can't yet confirm any connection between him and the disputed transfers. If you want to approach him, I recommend arranging a meeting through my office.””
Dad agreed.
The meeting was scheduled for the following afternoon.
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Linda standing in the living room, clutching the letter and smiling as she accused me of lying.
At three in the morning, I heard footsteps outside my bedroom.
I sat up.
The hallway light was on.
“Dad?””
No answer.
I opened my door and found him standing beside the stairs, staring at an old photograph he'd taken from the study.
It showed him as a young man standing beside another man in front of a lake.
“Who is that?”” I asked.
Dad looked down at the photograph.
“I think it's Thomas Reed.””
I stepped closer.
The man beside my father was younger than the person I had imagined from the notebook's name. He had dark hair, a narrow face, and a small scar above his left eyebrow.
Dad turned the photograph over.
On the back, someone had written:
David and Tom. Summer of 1989.
“I found it in my parents' old album,” he said.
“I haven't looked at this thing in years.””
“You knew him.””
Dad shook his head slowly.
“I remember the face. I can't remember why.””
He studied the picture.
“We were friends, I think. Or perhaps he worked with my father.””
“Why wouldn't you remember?””
“Because something happened that summer.””
His voice grew distant.
“I had an accident when I was younger. A car crash. I spent weeks in the hospital, and afterward there were parts of that year I couldn't remember clearly.””
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.””
“It was before you were born. I didn't think it mattered.””
He looked at the photograph again.
“Your mother knew about it.””
“Did she ever mention Thomas?””
“No.””
Then he frowned.
“Actually, she asked me about that summer once. Shortly before she became ill.””
“What did you tell her?””
“That I didn't remember much.””
He turned toward me.
“She asked whether my father had ever told me why he changed his will.””
My heart began to pound.
“Did he?””
Dad shook his head.
“He died before he could explain it.””
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Dad returned to his study and opened another box of family papers.
At the bottom was an envelope bearing his father's name.
Inside was a handwritten note dated three months before his death.
Dad read it once.
Then again.
His face turned gray.
“What does it say?”” I asked.
He handed me the page.
The note was brief.
David, if you ever discover that the money was moved before my death, do not trust the person who claims to have acted on my behalf. Ask Thomas what happened the night of the accident.
Below the message was a final line.
And whatever you do, do not let them convince you that your mother knew nothing about it.
I looked up.
“Your grandmother?””
Dad slowly shook his head.
“No. My mother died believing the estate had been settled properly.””
“Then who does this mean?””
He didn't answer.
His phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unknown number.
Dad answered cautiously.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through, low and rough around the edges.
“David Mitchell?””
“Yes. Who is this?””
“My name is Thomas Reed.””
Dad gripped the phone.
“How did you get this number?””
“Margaret Collins's office contacted me. She said you had found something that belonged to Eleanor.””
Dad glanced at me.
“Yes. We found her notebook.””
The line went silent.
Then Thomas said something that made my father sit down.
“Listen carefully, David. Your wife was right to be afraid. But the person you need to worry about isn't the woman you've been married to.””
Dad's voice dropped.
“Then who is it?””
Thomas took a shaky breath.
“Your father didn't lose that money because of a bad investment. He didn't lose it because of a forged signature. He lost it because someone inside your family arranged the transfer before the accident.””
My father went completely still.
“Who?””
Thomas hesitated.
Then he said a name.
A name that had appeared in our family photographs, our holiday stories, and every memory my father had of the people who raised him.
*“Your mother, David. Your own mother authorized the original transfer.””*
Dad stared at the phone.
“That is impossible.””
“I wish it were.””
“Why would she do that?””
“Because she believed she was protecting you.””
Dad's voice cracked.
“Protecting me from what?””
Thomas answered quietly.
“From the truth about the night of your accident.””
Then the call ended.
My father remained seated, staring at the phone.
I stood beside him, unable to move.
The notebook, the forged signatures, the missing letter—everything had begun with my mother's suspicions about Linda.
But now we had discovered something far older.
Something that had happened before Linda entered our lives.
And according to Thomas Reed, my mother's final investigation had uncovered a secret that could destroy not only Linda's marriage to my father, but the entire history of the Mitchell family.
Dad looked up at me.
“Jasmine, tomorrow we're going to hear what happened that night.””
He glanced at the old photograph in his hand.
“And if Thomas is telling the truth, we may discover that the person who started all of this has been dead for years.””
I swallowed.
“Then why is Linda so afraid?””
Dad looked toward the dark hallway.
“Because she knows something Thomas hasn't told us yet.””
His phone buzzed again.
May you like
A message appeared from Linda.
*I know you've spoken to Thomas Reed. If he tells you what happened to your mother, ask him why he was standing outside her hospital room the night she died.*
