PART 10 — THE LAST LIE
I stood there with the blue ledger in my hands.
Rain poured around me.
The warehouse behind us was silent.
And on the first page, written in my mother's handwriting, were three words:
DO NOT TRUST RICHARD.
My father.
The man who had raised me.
The man who had held my hand when I was sick.
The man who had spent fourteen years telling me my mother died in an accident.
The man who had just admitted that he knew Jonathan was my biological father.
I looked at him.
"Dad."
He didn't move.
"Tell me the truth."
His eyes filled with tears.
"I have."
"No."
I held up the ledger.
"Not this time."
Jonathan stood several feet away.
Daniel remained behind me.
Detective Reed had disappeared into the darkness.
And Martin Caldwell was nowhere to be seen.
For the first time in my life, my father looked completely defeated.
"You want the truth?"
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"Then come with me."
"Where?"
"To the place where your mother died."
My heart stopped.
"The accident site?"
He nodded.
"Why?"
"Because there's something I should have shown you fourteen years ago."
* * *
An hour later, we stood beside an abandoned stretch of road outside the city.
The rain had stopped.
Fog covered the trees.
I remembered this place.
I had been six years old when they brought me here after my mother's death.
I remembered the flashing police lights.
The broken glass.
My father's hand covering my eyes.
He had told me:
"Don't look, Olivia."
Now I understood why.
He led me through the trees.
We stopped beside an old stone wall.
"Your mother died here."
I looked around.
"Where is the car?"
"Removed years ago."
"What happened that night?"
He took a deep breath.
"Your mother wasn't driving."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"She was brought here."
"By whom?"
"Jonathan."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
"She wanted to confront him."
"About the money?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"About you."
I froze.
"What about me?"
"Your mother discovered that Charles had been using Jonathan to move money through the company."
"But that's not all."
"No."
My father looked toward the road.
"She discovered Jonathan was your biological father."
I shook my head.
"I already know that."
"Not the whole story."
"What am I missing?"
He reached into his coat.
Then he pulled out a small envelope.
My mother's handwriting was on it.
FOR OLIVIA — ONLY IF RICHARD CONFESSES.
I took it.
My hands trembled.
"You've had this for fourteen years?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
"Because I was afraid of what it would reveal."
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I began reading.
My dearest Olivia,
If you're reading this, your father has finally decided to tell you what happened that night.
I stopped.
Your father.
Not Richard.
The wording mattered.
I continued.
There are three men you must never trust.
Jonathan.
Charles.
And the man who calls himself your father.
My breath caught.
I looked at Richard.
He lowered his head.
The letter continued.
Richard promised me he would protect you. I believed him.
But I was wrong to trust him completely.
My hands began shaking.
He did not kill me.
I looked up.
My father whispered:
"I told you."
But I kept reading.
However, he knew I was going to die.
I stopped.
"What?"
Richard closed his eyes.
"Olivia..."
I read the next line.
He knew about the plan.
He knew someone intended to silence me.
And he did nothing.
The world seemed to disappear around me.
I stared at my father.
"Is this true?"
He couldn't answer.
"You knew."
His voice cracked.
"Yes."
"You knew they were going to kill Mom?"
"Yes."
"And you let it happen?"
"No."
His eyes filled with tears.
"I tried to stop it."
"Did you?"
"I failed."
"That's not the same thing."
"I know."
I stepped backward.
"Why?"
"Because Charles threatened you."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"He said if I warned your mother, they would kill you too."
I shook my head.
"You should have protected her."
"I know."
"You should have told the police."
"I couldn't."
"You should have trusted me."
"You were six."
I screamed:
"She was my mother!"
My voice echoed through the trees.
Richard lowered his head.
"I know."
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then he whispered:
"There's one more thing."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Your mother wasn't the only person they tried to kill that night."
My blood ran cold.
"Who else?"
"Jonathan."
I froze.
"What?"
"Charles wanted both of them dead."
"Why?"
"Because they knew about the accounts."
"Then how did Jonathan survive?"
My father looked at me.
"He didn't."
I stared at him.
"But Jonathan is alive."
Richard's face became unreadable.
"The man you met tonight..."
He paused.
"...is not Jonathan."
I couldn't breathe.
"What?"
"The real Jonathan died fourteen years ago."
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
"Then who is that man?"
Richard didn't answer.
I grabbed his arm.
"Who is he?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"I don't know."
That was when I heard a sound behind us.
A branch snapping.
I turned.
Nobody.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
There was a photograph.
My mother.
Alive.
Standing in a room I didn't recognize.
The date on the photograph was yesterday.
I stared at it.
Impossible.
My mother had been dead for fourteen years.
Another message appeared.
You have been looking for the wrong dead person.
Then another.
Your mother is alive.
My hands went numb.
I looked at Richard.
He was staring at my phone.
His face had lost all color.
"Did you know?"
He whispered:
"No."
I showed him the photograph.
He stared at it.
Then he took one step backward.
"No..."
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
A final message appeared.
Come alone to the Whitmore estate at midnight.
Bring the blue ledger.
Then:
And don't tell Richard.
I slowly looked at my father.
He looked back at me.
For the first time, I couldn't tell whether he was afraid...
or relieved.
I closed my hand around the ledger.
Fourteen years ago, I lost my mother.
Tonight, I discovered she might still be alive.
But there was one question I couldn't escape.
If my mother was alive...
whose body had they buried?
And as I looked at the photograph again, I noticed something in the background.
A man standing behind her.
I zoomed in.
My heart stopped.
It was the same man who had threatened my father at the hospital.
The same man who had followed me to the old house.
And beneath the photograph was one final message:
You have until midnight to discover who your father really is.
The clock on my phone showed 11:17 p.m.
I had forty-three minutes.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I was racing toward the truth...
or walking directly into the trap they had prepared for me fourteen years ago.
