Chapter 8: The Father We Never Knew
My mother didn’t deny it.
That was the moment everything inside me shifted.
Not when Daniel read the birth certificate.
Not when I saw Victor Collins listed where Thomas’s name should have been.
It happened when Evelyn closed her eyes.
As if she had been waiting decades for this exact second.
Daniel held the paper toward her.
“Tell me it’s fake.””
She said nothing.
“Mom.””
His voice cracked.
“Tell me.””
“It isn’t fake.””
Daniel stumbled backward and sat on the bench beside the lockers.
I stared at my mother.
“What exactly are you saying?””
She looked at me.
“Victor is Daniel’s biological father.””
Daniel laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
“No.””
“Daniel—”
“No.””
He stood again.
“Thomas Collins was my father.””
“Yes.””
“You just said—”
“Thomas raised you. He loved you. He chose you every day of your life.””
Daniel pointed at the birth certificate.
“But Victor—”
“Was a mistake I spent thirty-five years regretting.””
I looked around the station.
People moved in the distance, dragging suitcases, drinking coffee, living ordinary lives while mine was being dismantled beside locker 417.
“When?”” I asked.
My mother understood.
“Before Daniel was born. Your father and I had separated for several months. Thomas’s business was collapsing.
We fought constantly. Victor was there.””
“You slept with Dad’s brother.””
“Yes.””
“And Dad knew?””
“Not at first.””
Daniel whispered, “When did he find out?””
“When you were six.””
Daniel stared at her.
My mother continued.
“Victor threatened to tell everyone during an argument. Thomas heard him.””
“What did Dad do?””
“He told Victor that biology changed nothing.””
Daniel looked down.
For the first time since he returned, he looked like the little brother I remembered.
Lost.
Julia remained several feet away.
Then she said quietly, “That explains the accounts.””
I turned.
“What?””
She opened the folder.
“Victor wasn’t just stealing money.””
She pointed to several transaction summaries.
“He was transferring assets into Daniel’s name.””
Daniel snapped his head up.
“I never received anything.””
“Not directly.””
Julia traced one line.
“These trusts were created when you were a child.””
My mother looked stunned.
“I didn’t know.””
Julia looked at her.
“I believe you.””
I took the pages.
“Why would Victor do that?””
“Maybe he intended Daniel to inherit everything.””
My mother shook her head.
“No. Thomas would have found out.””
“He did,” Julia said.
Silence.
That was the reason.
My father hadn’t discovered random financial fraud.
He had discovered Victor secretly moving company assets toward his biological son.
Daniel.
My brother covered his face.
“This happened because of me.””
“No,” I said immediately.
He looked at me.
“For once, listen to me.””
I stepped closer.
“You were a child when this started. You didn’t create those accounts.””
“But Dad died because—”
“We don’t know why Dad died.””
Julia interrupted.
“Actually, we might.””
She had connected the flash drive to a small laptop from her bag.
A list of files appeared.
Most were financial spreadsheets.
One was audio.
One was titled:
*FINAL INTERVIEW — T.C.*
Julia clicked it.
My father’s voice filled the station again.
“I’m recording this because Richard believes someone inside the investigation is compromised.””
Richard answered.
“Thomas, we need names.””
“I have one.””
“Victor?””
“No.””
The recording crackled.
“Victor thinks he’s protecting Daniel’s future. He doesn’t understand where the money originates.””
Richard’s voice became sharper.
“Then tell me.””
My father hesitated.
“The accounts were created before Victor had access to the company.””
Julia paused the recording.
Daniel frowned.
“That’s impossible.””
I understood before he did.
“If Victor didn’t create Northbridge…”
“Someone else did,” Julia said.
She pressed play.
My father continued.
“I traced the first account back twenty-seven years.””
Richard said, “Who authorized it?””
My father answered.
But the audio distorted.
We heard only fragments.
“…Collins…”
“…original signature…”
“…Evelyn must never know…”
Then static.
The recording ended.
My mother looked genuinely confused.
“I don’t understand.””
Neither did I.
Then I noticed another file.
A scanned letter.
I opened it.
The signature at the bottom belonged to my grandfather, Henry Collins.
He had supposedly died before Northbridge was created.
Except the date on the letter was three years after his funeral.
Daniel stared over my shoulder.
“That can’t be real.””
Julia whispered, “Unless Henry Collins didn’t die when your family said he did.””
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered without thinking.
A man spoke.
Old.
Calm.
Familiar in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Mara Collins.””
“Who is this?””
“You found Thomas’s locker.””
Everyone turned toward me.
My grip tightened around the phone.
“How do you know that?””
The man ignored the question.
“Your father came closer than anyone else.””
“To what?””
“To finding me.””
My mother’s face drained of color.
She reached for the phone.
But the man spoke again.
“Ask Evelyn what happened the night Henry Collins supposedly died.””
I looked at my mother.
She was shaking.
Then the caller delivered one final sentence.
“Because the man your family buried thirty years ago was not Henry Collins.””
The call ended.
May you like
My mother stared at me.
And I knew from her face that, once again, the stranger had told me something she already knew.
