Chapter 8: The Secret Buried With My Father
The message stayed on my phone all night.
I read it again.
And again.
You still don’t know why your father really died.
A normal person might have ignored it.
A normal person might have called it a cruel prank.
But my life had stopped being normal the moment Mr. Bennett looked at my sleeve and recognized my mother’s stitches.
Secrets had surrounded me for years.
And now I knew they weren’t finished.
The next morning, my mother sat across from me at a small coffee shop near the school.
For the first time in years, we were together.
Not in a dream.
Not in a memory.
Actually together.
She looked different without fear controlling her.
But I could still see the sadness she carried.
“Who sent you the message?”” she asked.
I placed my phone on the table.
“I don’t know.””
She read it.
Her face changed.
“Amara…”
“You know something.””
She looked away.
That hurt more than anything.
“Mom.””
She closed her eyes.
“There are things I never told you.””
I almost smiled.
“Of course there are.””
The pain in my voice made her flinch.
“I’m sorry.””
I looked out the window.
“I need the truth.””
She nodded.
“You deserve it.””
She reached into her bag.
And pulled out a small notebook.
Old.
Worn.
The edges were damaged.
“This belonged to your father.””
I touched the cover.
“Michael’s?””
“Yes.””
“Why do you have it?””
“Because he gave it to me the night before he died.””
My fingers froze.
“What?””
My mother looked down.
“He knew Richard was dangerous.””
She opened the notebook.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Names.
Dates.
Numbers.
And one sentence written in bold.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, LOOK FOR THE SECOND ACCOUNT.
“The second account?””
My mother nodded.
“Your father discovered Richard had hidden money.””
I remembered Daniel’s words.
Financial crimes.
Records.
Evidence.
“But why would that get him killed?””
My mother hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Because the money wasn’t just from businesses.””
“What was it from?””
She looked at me.
“It was connected to a family trust.””
I frowned.
“What family trust?””
Before she could answer, the coffee shop door opened.
Mr. Bennett walked in.
He looked exhausted.
Like he hadn’t slept.
“Jonathan?””
He walked toward us.
“I need to tell you something.””
My mother immediately stood.
“What happened?””
He placed a folder on the table.
“I found the second account.””
My heart raced.
“How?””
He looked at me.
“Because your father hid the information in the one place Richard would never search.””
He opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of my mother.
Not of my father.
Of a building.
A huge estate.
I stared at it.
“What is this?””
Mr. Bennett answered quietly:
“Your grandfather’s house.””
I blinked.
“My grandfather?””
“Yes.””
I felt confused.
“My grandfather is dead.””
Mr. Bennett nodded.
“But his estate isn’t.””
He pointed to the photograph.
“This property belonged to the Cole family before Michael lost everything.””
My mother looked shocked.
“That house was supposed to be inherited by Amara.””
I stared.
“Me?””
Mr. Bennett nodded.
“Your father wasn’t just a businessman.””
He paused.
“He was the heir to a fortune.””
The room became silent.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The fear.
The secrets.
The lies.
Richard hadn’t just wanted money.
He wanted control.
My mother whispered:
“That’s why he targeted us.””
Mr. Bennett nodded.
“Michael’s inheritance was worth millions.””
I stared at the notebook.
My father had died protecting something.
Protecting me.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, there was a picture attached.
My blood froze.
It was a photograph of my father.
Taken the day he died.
And standing beside him…
Was someone I knew.
Someone I trusted.
I looked at Mr. Bennett.
The color drained from his face.
Because he recognized the person too.
May you like
The message below the picture appeared:
*Ask Jonathan Bennett what happened that night. He was there.*
