Chapter 9: The Truth He Left Behind
Beverly stood in the center of the ballroom holding my father's letter like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
Maybe it was.
Because for the first time all night, she looked like someone who knew she had lost control.
“Give me the letter,” I said.
She shook her head.
“You don't know what you're asking for.””
“I know exactly what I'm asking for.””
“No, Ethan.””
Her voice cracked.
“You think this is about money. About your mother. About my company.””
She looked at the pages in her hand.
“It isn't.””
George stepped forward.
“Beverly, stop.””
She turned toward him.
“You knew.””
The words froze him.
“You knew what he found.””
George's face changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
My stomach dropped.
“George?””
He looked away.
That was enough.
I walked closer.
“What did my father find?””
George sat down slowly.
The strongest man in the room suddenly looked broken.
“Your father discovered the transfers.””
“From Martinez Holdings?””
“Yes.””
“Through fake companies?””
“Yes.””
I looked at Beverly.
“And you?””
She said nothing.
“Were you involved?””
Her silence was louder than any answer.
Fiona covered her mouth.
“Mom…”
Beverly looked at her daughter.
“I did what I had to do.””
“That’s what you keep saying.””
“Because it's true.””
“No,” Fiona whispered.
Her tears fell.
“You keep saying that because you don't want to admit you hurt people.””
Beverly looked wounded.
But I couldn't tell if it was guilt or anger.
My mother stepped beside me.
“Beverly, the truth is already here.””
Beverly laughed bitterly.
“You always were better than me.””
Mom frowned.
“No.””
“Yes.””
Beverly looked around the ballroom.
“You had everything I wanted.””
My eyebrows tightened.
“What?””
She smiled sadly.
“Respect.””
Nobody spoke.
“My entire life, people looked at my family and saw money. Status. A last name.””
She looked at my mother.
“But they looked at you and saw someone they trusted.””
Mom stayed silent.
“That made me angry.””
The honesty surprised everyone.
“Angry enough to steal?”” George asked.
Beverly looked at him.
“Angry enough to survive.””
George shook his head.
“You destroyed everything.””
“No.””
She pointed at him.
“You destroyed everything when you trusted Eleanor.””
The room went silent.
I looked at George.
“What does she mean?””
George closed his eyes.
“Your father wasn't the only one who investigated.””
“Who else?””
“Me.””
“When?””
“After your father died.””
My heart tightened.
“You knew he was right?””
“Yes.””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
George looked ashamed.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
He swallowed.
“Of losing everything.””
I looked around the ballroom.
The expensive decorations.
The perfect flowers.
The family name.
Everything they had built.
All of it was standing on secrets.
“My father died trying to expose this.””
George nodded.
“He left evidence.””
“Where?””
Nobody answered.
Then Beverly looked at me.
“You really want to know?””
“Yes.””
She stared at me.
“Your mother has it.””
I turned.
Mom didn't deny it.
“What evidence?””
She reached into her handbag again.
This time, she removed a small black notebook.
My father's notebook.
I recognized it instantly.
He used to carry it everywhere.
“No.””
My voice shook.
“Where did you get that?””
“Your father gave it to me.””
“When?””
“The night before he died.””
The room became painfully quiet.
I stared at her.
“He knew something would happen?””
Mom's eyes filled.
“He knew someone was watching him.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because you were twenty-eight years old and grieving your father.””
“I deserved the truth.””
“Yes.””
She looked down.
“I know.””
That was the first time I heard regret in my mother's voice.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Regret.
She handed me the notebook.
I opened it.
The first pages were numbers.
Dates.
Company names.
Then one page stopped me.
A list of names.
At the bottom was a sentence written in my father's handwriting.
*The person closest to the money is not always the person closest to the crime.*
I looked up.
“What does this mean?””
Mom looked at George.
George looked terrified.
Then Beverly spoke.
“It means your father was smarter than all of us.””
I turned another page.
There was a photograph.
An old one.
My father.
George.
And another person.
Someone I recognized.
Someone who made my entire body go cold.
“Fiona?””
She stepped closer.
“What?””
I held up the picture.
“Who is this?””
Her face changed.
She recognized the person.
“No…”
“What?””
She whispered.
“That’s impossible.””
“Who is it?””
Fiona looked at her mother.
Then at George.
Then at me.
“That’s my uncle.””
Nobody moved.
George's face went pale.
“Fiona…”
She looked terrified.
“My uncle died ten years ago.””
I stared at the picture.
The date written beneath it was nine years old.
One year after my father died.
That meant one thing.
The person everyone believed was gone…
wasn't.
Then my phone rang.
Everyone looked at it.
The number was unknown.
I answered.
A voice came through.
A voice I had never heard before.
But the first sentence made my blood freeze.
“Ethan Brooks?””
“Yes.””
“You need to stop looking into your father's death.””
The ballroom disappeared.
“Who is this?””
A pause.
May you like
Then:
“Someone who knows what really happened that night.””
