PART 5 — MY BROTHER WASN’T ALONE
I stared at the message on my phone.
DON'T OPEN THE DOOR. DANIEL ISN'T ALONE.
My hand froze above the door handle.
On the other side, my brother waited.
I could hear his breathing.
Slow.
Controlled.
Almost impatient.
"Olivia?"
Daniel's voice came again.
"Open the door."
I didn't answer.
My father grabbed my wrist.
"Don't."
Claire moved toward the corner of the room.
She looked terrified.
"How does he know we're here?"
I whispered:
"Someone told him."
My father's face tightened.
"Or he's been watching."
Three seconds passed.
Then Daniel knocked again.
"Olivia, I don't want to hurt anyone."
I almost laughed.
After everything that had happened, those words sounded ridiculous.
"You already did," I said.
Silence.
Then Daniel sighed.
"You don't understand."
"I understand enough."
"You think Vanessa attacked Dad."
"I don't think it."
"I know."
Daniel became quiet.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"She didn't do it."
I looked at my father.
Claire stared at me.
Daniel continued.
"She wasn't the one who hurt him."
My heart began pounding.
"Then who was?"
No answer.
"Daniel!"
Finally, he spoke.
"You need to leave this alone."
"Who hurt Dad?"
"Someone who wanted him frightened."
"Why?"
"Because he wouldn't give them something."
I looked at my father.
"What?"
Daniel didn't answer.
My father whispered:
"The ledger."
I looked back at the door.
"Where is it?"
Daniel said:
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"It's the truth."
"Then why are you here?"
A long pause.
"Because they're going to kill him."
My father's face became pale.
"Who's they?"
Daniel lowered his voice.
"The same people who killed Mom."
Everything inside me went still.
I stepped away from the door.
"You know who killed her."
"No."
"You just said—"
"I know who ordered it."
My breath caught.
"Who?"
Daniel didn't answer.
Then another voice came from behind him.
A man's voice.
Cold.
Commanding.
"Enough."
I looked at Claire.
She immediately recognized it.
Her face drained of color.
"No..."
I whispered:
"Who is that?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Claire."
She looked at me.
"It's Detective Reed."
The name hit me like a bullet.
Thomas Reed.
The detective who had supposedly arrived at my mother's accident before anyone else.
The man my father had warned me about.
I pulled out my phone and quietly activated the recording.
Then I raised my voice.
"Detective Reed."
Silence.
I continued.
"You should know something."
"What?"
"You're being recorded."
Another silence.
Then Reed laughed.
"You always were your mother's daughter."
My stomach twisted.
"So you knew her."
"I knew many people."
"You knew she was investigating the money."
"She was asking questions she shouldn't have asked."
"Did you kill her?"
He didn't answer.
I pressed harder.
"Did you kill my mother?"
Daniel suddenly shouted:
"Olivia, stop!"
I ignored him.
"Did you arrange the accident?"
Reed finally spoke.
"Your mother made a mistake."
My entire body went cold.
"What mistake?"
"She trusted the wrong people."
"Like Daniel?"
"No."
"Then who?"
He laughed quietly.
"You're asking the wrong question."
"What should I ask?"
"Ask yourself why your father stayed silent for fourteen years."
I looked at my father.
He closed his eyes.
Reed continued.
"Ask yourself why Daniel protected him."
"Ask yourself why your mother left that ledger behind."
Then he said:
"Ask yourself who benefited from her death."
The lights suddenly came back on.
I looked at Claire.
"Stay with Dad."
I unlocked the door.
My father grabbed my arm.
"No."
"I have to."
"Olivia, please."
"I won't go far."
I opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
Daniel was gone.
Reed was gone.
Only a small black device lay on the floor.
I picked it up.
A recording device.
My phone vibrated.
Another message.
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.
Then another.
GO TO THE OLD HOUSE.
Then:
COME ALONE.
I looked at the clock.
4:29 a.m.
I knew it was a trap.
But someone had just threatened my father.
And if they had the ledger...
They might have the answers I needed.
I turned to Claire.
"Take Dad somewhere secure."
"Where?"
"I'll contact federal security."
She grabbed my arm.
"And you?"
"I'm going to the old house."
"No."
"Claire..."
"You can't go alone."
I looked at her.
"I won't."
I pulled out my badge.
"I'll have people watching."
She looked relieved.
But I wasn't telling her everything.
I already suspected someone inside the local police department was compromised.
I couldn't trust them.
So I called an old colleague.
Special Agent Marcus Hale.
He answered on the second ring.
"Olivia?"
"I need help."
His voice immediately changed.
"What happened?"
"My father was assaulted."
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Who's responsible?"
"I don't know yet."
"What do you need?"
"Surveillance."
"Where?"
"The Whitmore family house."
He paused.
"That property was transferred to your brother."
"I know."
"Olivia, if this involves your family—"
"It does."
"And you're going there?"
"Yes."
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe."
I looked at the hallway.
"But I need to know what's inside."
Marcus sighed.
"Give me fifteen minutes."
"I don't have fifteen."
"Then give me ten."
I hung up.
Claire was waiting.
"Be careful."
"I will."
I walked toward the elevator.
Before the doors closed, I looked back at my father.
He raised his hand weakly.
I smiled.
Then the doors shut.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I stood outside the old Whitmore house.
The place looked exactly as I remembered.
Same stone walls.
Same iron gate.
Same oak tree beneath which my mother used to sit and read.
But something was different.
The front door was open.
I immediately reached for my weapon.
My training took over.
I moved silently inside.
The house smelled old.
Dust covered the furniture.
But the floor was clean.
Too clean.
Someone had been here recently.
I walked toward the study.
The room where my mother used to work.
Her desk was still there.
I searched the drawers.
Nothing.
Then I remembered my father's words.
A second safe.
I looked around.
Behind the bookshelf.
Nothing.
Under the desk.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the old painting above the fireplace.
A picture of my parents.
October 14.
The same date written on the photograph.
I removed the painting.
Behind it was a small metal panel.
My heart started racing.
A keypad.
Four digits.
I tried my mother's birthday.
Wrong.
My father's birthday.
Wrong.
My birthday.
Wrong.
Then I remembered something.
My mother always said:
"Never forget the day everything changed."
October 14.
I entered:
1014.
The lock clicked.
The panel opened.
Inside was a blue ledger.
I reached for it.
But underneath the ledger was something else.
A photograph.
I pulled it out.
It showed my mother standing beside three people.
My father.
Daniel.
And Detective Thomas Reed.
But that wasn't what shocked me.
There was a fourth person standing behind them.
A man whose face had been partially hidden.
I lifted the photograph closer.
I knew that face.
I had seen it hundreds of times.
On television.
In newspapers.
At charity events.
In our own family photographs.
My blood ran cold.
The fourth person was the man who had inherited everything after my mother's death.
My father's business partner.
Charles Whitmore.
My uncle.
And on the back of the photograph, my mother's handwriting said:
He was the one who ordered it.
Then I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
I slowly turned.
Someone was standing in the doorway.
A man's voice whispered:
"You shouldn't have come here, Olivia."
I raised my weapon.
The man stepped into the light.
It wasn't Daniel.
It wasn't Detective Reed.
It was someone I never expected to see.
My father's attorney.
And he was holding a gun.
