PART 3 – THE HIDDEN PAST OF THE FATHER
The clinking of the glass sounded like a gunshot in the silent night. Instantly I ducked and dropped to the cold kitchen tiles, holding the red box tightly against my body.
My breath came fast and shallow. In the dark, I saw a figure climbing inward through the broken window. The silhouette moved silently, as if completely familiar with the layout of the house. Every fiber of my body screamed for flight, but there was no escape.
The figure stopped at the back door and listened. Seconds felt like hours.
“I know you're awake,” a strange, raspy voice whispered through the kitchen. It wasn't my brother's voice. It sounded colder, more mechanical, as if this man possessed no emotions whatsoever.
“The box doesn't belong to you,” the voice continued. “Give it back, and no harm will come to you.”
No harm will come to you? Those words sent my stomach on a rollercoaster ride. What did this man want from me? And why was this red box so important that someone broke in in the middle of the night to take it?
While the intruder slowly stepped into the kitchen, my hand felt across the countertop in search of something to defend myself with. My fingers touched a heavy glass bottle. Without thinking, I grabbed it, ready to strike if he came closer.
For twelve years I had believed I was leading a normal life. My father had died when I was young, celebrated by the entire town as a philanthropist, as a man who had dedicated his life to the community. But when Mom died, she left behind a legacy that shook everything I thought I knew.
The figure came closer. I recognized the contours of a tall man in a dark coat. He smelled of rain and cigarette smoke.
“Your father wasn't a hero,” the man said suddenly, almost as if he could read my thoughts. He was now standing right at the entrance of the kitchen.
“You're lying!” I cried out before I could stop myself.
The man laughed softly, a cold, bitter sound. “Do you really think he earned his fortune honestly? Do you think your brother ran away because he argued over trifles? He ran for his life. And now... now it's your turn.”
Before he could take another step, the siren of a car echoed outside in the driveway...
