Chapter 9: The Last Piece
We didn't speak on the drive home.
Dad drove.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Karen and Madison were in the back.
The flash drive sat inside an evidence bag on the floor between us.
Nobody touched it.
Nobody wanted to be the first to ask the question.
Who was Robert to my father?
Finally, I couldn't take the silence anymore.
“Dad.””
“Yes?””
“Did you know Robert before Mom died?””
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“I knew of him.””
“That's not what I asked.””
“I met him through the company.””
“When?””
“Years before.””
“How many?””
“About six.””
My stomach tightened.
“Six years before Mom died?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“He worked with one of my father's business partners.””
“Did Mom know him?””
Dad hesitated.
“Yes.””
“Did she trust him?””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because she thought he was dishonest.””
I stared through the windshield.
“Then why was he at our house after she died?””
Dad's voice became quiet.
“He said he wanted to help.””
“Help with what?””
“The funeral.””
I turned toward him.
“Robert helped with my mother's funeral?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
“He offered to cover some expenses.””
“Why?””
“I thought he was being generous.””
“And now?””
Dad swallowed.
“Now I think he was buying my trust.””
I looked at him.
“What happened after that?””
“He started asking questions about the company.””
“What kind?””
“About your grandfather's assets.””
I felt cold.
“He knew about my inheritance?””
“He knew there was a trust.””
“Did he know I was the beneficiary?””
“Yes.””
I stared at him.
“And you still let him near us?””
Dad's voice cracked.
“I didn't know what he was doing.””
“You didn't know.””
“No.””
“You keep saying that.””
“I know.””
We reached the house.
The police car was still parked outside.
The front door was boarded where the glass had shattered.
Inside, Daniel and the attorney had set up a temporary workspace.
The flash drive was connected to a computer isolated from the internet.
Daniel looked at us.
“Before we open this, understand something.””
I nodded.
“If these files are authentic, they could establish fraud.””
“Open it.””
He inserted the drive.
A folder appeared.
Inside were dozens of files.
Bank statements.
Emails.
Scanned contracts.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
My hands went cold.
Daniel opened the first file.
It was a spreadsheet.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Transfers.
Robert had moved millions through shell companies.
Some accounts belonged to the family business.
Others belonged to individuals.
One account had my father's name.
Another had Karen's.
Another had Madison's.
And one had mine.
I stared at it.
“I never had an account there.””
Daniel nodded.
“Exactly.””
The account had been created when I was twelve.
Three months before Mom died.
I looked at Dad.
“Did you open this?””
“No.””
“Then who did?””
Daniel opened the account application.
The signature looked like mine.
But I was twelve.
The identification number was wrong.
The address was my old home.
And the emergency contact was Karen.
I stared at her.
“You helped open an account in my name.””
Karen started crying.
“I didn't know what it was for.””
“Then why did you sign?””
“Robert said it was necessary for the trust.””
Daniel shook his head.
“It wasn't.””
I opened another file.
It was an email.
From Robert.
To Karen.
The subject line was:
*Emily's Future*
The message contained only one sentence.
*Once Michael signs, the girl will have no claim.*
I felt sick.
I opened the next file.
Another email.
This one was sent two days before Mom died.
*She knows.*
Robert had written it to someone.
The recipient's name was hidden.
Daniel opened the metadata.
Then froze.
“What's wrong?””
He turned the screen toward us.
The email had been sent from Dad's office.
But not from Dad's computer.
“Who used it?””
Dad stared at the screen.
“I don't know.””
Then Karen spoke.
“I do.””
Everyone looked at her.
She whispered,
“Your mother.””
I turned.
“Mom sent the email?””
“No.””
Karen shook her head.
“She found Robert's files on your father's computer.””
I stared at the screen.
“Then who sent the message?””
Karen looked at Dad.
“Robert.””
Dad's face drained of color.
“How?””
“He had access to your office.””
Daniel leaned closer.
“And someone gave him the key.””
I looked at Karen.
She shook her head.
“Not me.””
Dad suddenly stood.
“I gave him one.””
Silence.
I stared.
“Why?””
“He said he needed access to records.””
“Dad.””
“I thought he was helping me.””
“You gave him access to Grandpa's company.””
“Yes.””
“And Mom found out.””
“Yes.””
“And then she died.””
Dad's eyes filled with tears.
“I never knew he was following her.””
I looked at the photograph from the safe.
Robert.
Mom.
Dad.
Three days before her death.
Then I noticed something.
There was a reflection in the restaurant window.
Someone standing across the street.
A woman.
I zoomed in.
Karen leaned closer.
“That isn't me.””
“No.””
I enlarged it.
The face became clearer.
My mother's best friend.
Susan.
I remembered her.
She had moved away after Mom died.
She never came to the funeral.
I looked at Daniel.
“Who is Susan?””
“Your mother's closest friend.””
“Do you know where she is?””
Daniel nodded.
“I may have an address.””
I stood.
“Call her.””
He did.
The number rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a woman answered.
“Hello?””
Daniel said,
“Susan? This is Daniel Brooks.””
Silence.
Then Susan whispered,
“Is Emily with you?””
I grabbed the phone.
“Yes.””
Her breathing changed.
“Oh God.””
“You know what happened?””
“I've been waiting fourteen years for someone to call.””
My heart pounded.
“What do you know?””
Susan was silent.
Then she said,
“Your mother wasn't alone that night.””
I closed my eyes.
“Who was with her?””
“Robert.””
My breath caught.
“Did he kill her?””
“I don't know.””
“But you saw him.””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
“I followed your mother because she called me.””
“Why?””
“She said she had proof Robert was stealing from the company.””
I looked at Dad.
Susan continued.
“She told me she was going to meet someone.””
“Who?””
“Your father.””
Dad whispered, “No.””
Susan heard him.
“Michael?””
“Yes.””
“Then you know what happened.””
Dad shook his head.
“I never met her that night.””
Susan went silent.
Then she said,
“Michael, I saw your car.””
Dad looked confused.
“My car?””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
“Outside the warehouse.””
The room went silent.
I remembered the photograph.
My mother's office.
The warehouse.
The key.
The documents.
Everything connected.
I asked,
“What time?””
Susan gave us the time.
Dad looked at me.
“That was the night your mother died.””
I nodded.
“And you were at the warehouse?””
Dad shook his head.
“I wasn't.””
Susan spoke again.
“I saw someone get out of your car.””
“Who?””
“I couldn't see clearly.””
“Was it a man?””
“Yes.””
“Was it Robert?””
“I don't know.””
“Was it Karen?””
Silence.
I looked at my stepmother.
She was crying.
Susan suddenly said,
“Emily, there's something I never told the police.””
“What?””
“Your mother called me from the warehouse.””
“When?””
“Twenty minutes before the crash.””
“What did she say?””
“She said she was afraid.””
“What else?””
“She said someone had betrayed her.””
“Who?””
Susan took a shaky breath.
“She said, ‘It was someone I trusted with Emily.’”
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at Karen.
Karen shook her head violently.
“No.””
I whispered,
“Mom thought Karen betrayed her.””
Karen covered her face.
“No, Emily.””
“Did she?””
“No.””
“Then who?””
Karen looked up.
Her eyes were filled with terror.
She stared at Dad.
“Michael.””
Dad stepped backward.
“What?””
Karen's voice broke.
“It wasn't me.””
I looked between them.
“Then who betrayed Mom?””
Karen pointed toward the computer.
At the bank records.
At the emails.
At the trust documents.
Then she said the words that finally made every piece fall into place.
“Your mother trusted the wrong person.””
I stared at her.
“Who?””
Karen's finger slowly lifted.
And pointed directly at my father.
Dad whispered,
“Karen, don't.””
But she did.
“He was the one who gave Robert everything.””
My father's face crumpled.
And before I could ask what she meant, the computer screen went black.
Every file disappeared.
Then one message appeared in white letters.
*YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.*
A second line appeared.
*NOW YOU'LL NEVER GET THE TRUTH.*
And beneath it was a name.
Not Robert.
Not Karen.
Not Dad.
May you like
It was mine.
*EMILY CARTER — ACCOUNT TERMINATION PENDING.*
