PART 3 — THE SECRET MY FATHER TOOK TO HIS GRAVE
I didn't sleep that night.
Michael had sent me copies of the documents.
I sat alone in a hotel room, staring at my father's signature.
It was unmistakable.
The same sharp letter “R.”
The same final underline.
The same signature I had seen hundreds of times.
But there was one problem.
The document was dated three years after his death.
I called Michael at seven the next morning.
“You said you verified the signature.”
“I did.”
“Could someone have forged it?”
“We're investigating that.”
“Michael.”
“I know what you're thinking.”
“No, you don't.”
“I think Andrew's family had access to something connected to your father.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“His old company records.”
My father had owned a small investment firm before he died.
After his death, I inherited most of the assets.
But there had been one strange thing.
A box of documents had disappeared.
I remembered asking my father's accountant about it.
He'd told me not to worry.
I had forgotten about it.
Until now.
“Where are those records?”
Michael answered immediately.
“That's what I want you to find.”
I drove to the storage facility where my father's remaining files were kept.
For years, I had avoided opening those boxes.
They smelled like dust and old paper.
I found the oldest container.
Inside were contracts, photographs, tax records, and letters.
Then I found an envelope.
My name was written across it.
CARLA — OPEN ONLY IF YOU EVER QUESTION ANDREW.
I stopped breathing.
Andrew.
My father had written his name.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single letter.
My father's handwriting filled the page.
Carla,
If you're reading this, then something has gone wrong.
I need you to understand something about the Falk family.
They are not what they appear to be.
I read faster.
Years ago, I invested in their company. It was struggling, but I believed Andrew's father could turn it around.
I was wrong.
My heart raced.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
I discovered that money was being moved without my authorization.
I confronted them.
They denied everything.
If something happens to me, do not trust anyone connected to the Falk family.
I lowered the letter.
My father had been investigating them.
But why?
I found another document beneath it.
A list of transactions.
My father's name.
The Falk family company.
And enormous sums of money.
But one name appeared repeatedly.
Andrew.
Not Andrew's father.
Andrew.
I stared at the page.
He had been involved before we met.
I called Michael.
“I found something.”
“Send it to me.”
I photographed the documents and sent them.
He called back less than a minute later.
“Carla, where did you find this?”
“My father's storage.”
“Don't move anything.”
“Why?”
“Because this is bigger than your marriage.”
I swallowed.
“What do you mean?”
“I ran Andrew's name through the old corporate records.”
“And?”
“He was never supposed to have access to the company.”
“Why?”
“Because your father removed him.”
I froze.
“Removed him from what?”
“The board.”
“When?”
“Two months before your father's death.”
I looked at the date.
The same year.
The same summer.
Everything suddenly felt connected.
My father's death.
The missing records.
Andrew's family.
The money.
I whispered:
“Michael, I need to know how my father died.”
There was a long silence.
“We already know.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“I know what the official report says.”
“Carla…”
“Was he investigating Andrew?”
Michael didn't answer.
That was my answer.
I drove directly to the cemetery.
My father's grave was covered with fallen leaves.
I stood there for several minutes.
“I should have looked sooner,” I whispered.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
“Hello?”
A man's voice answered.
“You're looking in the wrong place.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“You're searching for the person who took your money.”
“Yes.”
“You should be searching for the person who killed your father.”
My heart slammed against my chest.
“Who killed him?”
The man breathed heavily.
“Your father didn't die in an accident.”
I couldn't speak.
“He was murdered.”
The call ended.
I stood completely still.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
It showed my father standing outside a restaurant.
Next to him was a younger Andrew.
And beside Andrew stood Theresa.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
There was another person in the photograph.
A woman.
I zoomed in.
My hands began to shake.
I knew her.
She had been my father's secretary.
She had disappeared shortly after his death.
Her name was Elena.
And according to the official records...
Elena had died six months before my father.
But the photograph was dated three weeks after her supposed death.
I stared at the screen.
Someone had been lying for years.
And suddenly I knew why.
Because the woman everyone believed was dead...
might still be alive.
* * *
