Chapter 4: The Lie About My Father
I couldn't sleep that night.
Claire slept in our bedroom.
I slept on the couch.
At 2:17 a.m., I heard her footsteps moving through the hallway.
I kept my eyes closed.
She stopped beside the living room.
“Marcus?””
I didn't move.
She waited.
Then I heard the soft click of the front door.
I sat up.
Through the window, I watched her walk toward her car.
She didn't turn on the headlights until she reached the end of the driveway.
I checked the time.
2:23 a.m.
My wife had left our house in the middle of the night.
And she hadn't told me where she was going.
I picked up my phone.
For several seconds, I considered calling her.
Instead, I called Daniel.
He answered after the fourth ring.
“What happened?””
“Claire just left.””
“Where did she go?””
“I don't know.””
“Follow her.””
I grabbed my keys.
But before I reached the garage, my phone vibrated.
A message from my mother.
*Marcus, I need to tell you something about your father. Please come upstairs.*
I stopped.
Then I went to her room.
Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed with a wooden box in her lap.
It was an old box my father had made during his retirement.
The corners were worn.
The lid had a small brass latch.
“What's this?”” I asked.
She looked at it.
“Something I should have shown you years ago.””
I sat beside her.
She opened the box.
Inside were photographs, letters, and a small black notebook.
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
“What is it?””
“Your father's records.””
I picked up the notebook.
The first page contained dates and amounts.
Bank deposits.
Property payments.
Insurance premiums.
I flipped through several pages.
Then I noticed a name.
Richard Cole.
I looked at my mother.
“Who's Richard?””
She closed her eyes.
“He was your father's business partner.””
My father had owned a small construction supply company before retiring.
Richard had worked with him for nearly fifteen years.
I remembered him attending my father's funeral.
He had stood near the back of the church and left before the reception.
I hadn't seen him since.
“What does he have to do with Claire?””
Mom hesitated.
“Your father discovered Richard had been taking money from the business.””
I stared at her.
“How much?””
“Almost two hundred thousand dollars.””
I looked down at the notebook.
There were repeated entries marked R.C.
“Did Dad report him?””
“No.””
“Why?””
“He wanted to settle it privately.””
I turned another page.
There was a letter dated three months before my father died.
The handwriting was shaky.
*Evelyn, if anything happens to me, do not let Richard near the property documents. He knows about the house and the insurance. Keep the original deed somewhere safe.*
My stomach tightened.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me?””
She wiped her eyes.
“Because your father asked me not to involve you.””
I kept reading.
The next page contained an address.
A storage facility in Marietta.
And beneath it, a name.
Richard Cole.
“Did Claire know about this?””
Mom nodded.
“She found the notebook while helping me organize the guest room.””
I felt cold.
“When?””
“About six weeks ago.””
I stared at the page.
“Why would she want Dad's old records?””
My mother looked at me.
“Because Richard contacted her.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?””
“He came to the house while you were at work. Claire answered the door. I heard them talking.””
“What did they say?””
“I couldn't hear everything. But I heard Richard mention the deed.””
“Did you tell Claire to leave?””
“I tried.””
“And?””
Mom's voice trembled.
“She told me Richard had proof that your father had borrowed money from him.””
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense.””
“I know.””
“Dad never borrowed money from Richard.””
“I know that too.””
I stood and paced across the room.
“Why would Claire believe him?””
Mom reached for my hand.
“Because he told her there was a way to get a large amount of money quickly.””
I stopped.
“How much?””
She looked down.
“Nearly one million dollars.””
I stared at her.
A million dollars.
For what?
“Mom, what does Richard want?””
She closed the wooden box.
“He wants the house.””
I looked at the notebook again.
Then I noticed a folded photograph tucked between two pages.
I pulled it out.
It showed my father standing beside Richard in front of a building.
On the back, my father's handwriting read:
*October 2018. The warehouse. The day I found out what Richard had done.*
There was another person in the photograph.
A woman.
Blonde hair.
A pale dress.
I stared at her.
The picture was old.
But I recognized the face.
It was Claire.
I turned toward my mother.
“Why is my wife in a photograph with Dad's business partner?””
Mom began crying.
“Because she knew Richard before she met you.””
My heart pounded.
“What?””
“They were together.””
I stared at the photograph.
Claire and Richard.
Before my father died.
Before I met Claire.
Before our wedding.
My mother whispered, “Your father found out they were planning something together.””
I sat down slowly.
“What were they planning?””
Mom reached into the wooden box and removed another envelope.
It was addressed to me.
The handwriting was unmistakably my father's.
She handed it over.
“Your father told me to give you this if Richard ever came back.””
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
*Marcus,*
*If you are reading this, Richard has probably returned. There is something I never told you because I wanted you to build your own life without carrying my mistakes.*
*The house is not simply a house. There is something connected to it that Richard believes belongs to him.*
*I made a decision that may have put you in danger.*
*Find the original deed. Read the handwritten note attached to it. Do not trust anyone who says the property is worth only what the county records show.*
I read the letter twice.
Then I looked at my mother.
“Where is the original deed?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Dad said you hid it.””
“I thought I did.””
“Where?””
She closed her eyes.
“Inside the house. Somewhere your father used to keep his important things.””
I stood.
“I'll find it.””
My phone rang.
Claire.
I answered.
“Where are you?””
Her voice sounded breathless.
“Marcus, listen to me. You need to stop talking to your mother.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Where are you?””
“I'm handling something.””
“Are you with Richard?””
Silence.
Then she whispered, “You don't understand what he knows.””
“Tell me.””
“Your father wasn't the man you think he was.””
I closed my eyes.
“Don't you dare use my father to justify what you've done.””
“Marcus, please.””
“Come home.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
A car door slammed on her end.
Then I heard a man's voice.
“Claire, we don't have time.””
I recognized it from somewhere.
Richard.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Marcus, don't go to the house in Marietta.””
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
My mother stood behind me.
“What's wrong?””
I looked at her.
“Claire knows where the original deed is.””
Then I remembered the address in my father's notebook.
The storage facility.
The warehouse.
And the photograph.
I grabbed my keys.
But before I could leave, Daniel called.
His voice was urgent.
“Marcus, I just checked the property records.””
“What did you find?””
“The house isn't the only thing connected to Dad's name.””
He paused.
“There's another property. A commercial lot downtown.””
I frowned.
“What commercial lot?””
“The one behind your construction company's old warehouse.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“That's impossible.””
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Marcus, the property was transferred out of Dad's estate five years ago.””
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“By whom?””
“Richard Cole.””
