Chapter 8: The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong.
The room was already full of impossible things.
A hidden deed.
Secret money transfers.
A letter from my grandfather.
A family built on years of carefully protected lies.
But this was different.
This wasn’t a secret.
This was something that should have been impossible.
I looked at my father.
“What did you just say?””
His face had gone pale.
“Daniel.””
“No.””
I stepped closer.
“Say it again.””
My father swallowed.
“Thomas Reed died.””
Nobody moved.
Even Margaret looked surprised.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
My father looked at her.
“You knew.””
Her expression changed.
“I knew he disappeared.””
“Disappeared?””
I looked between them.
“What does that mean?””
My mother sat down slowly.
Like her legs could no longer hold her.
“I thought he left.””
I stared.
“Everyone thought that?””
Nobody answered.
That was enough.
I looked at the message again.
*Daniel, your father has told you half the truth. If you want the rest, come alone to the old office where your grandfather kept his records.*
I looked at my father.
“Then who sent this?””
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.””
His voice dropped.
“I don’t know.””
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I was exhausted from hearing that answer.
Nobody knew anything.
Nobody remembered anything.
Nobody could explain anything.
But somehow everyone had spent years making decisions that changed my life.
“I’m going.””
Claire immediately grabbed my hand.
“Daniel.””
I looked at her.
She shook her head.
“Not alone.””
I knew that look.
The same look she had when she was worried but trying not to panic.
“I need to know.””
“I know.””
Her voice softened.
“But knowing the truth doesn’t mean you have to walk into danger without thinking.””
I looked at the others.
My father looked away.
My mother looked terrified.
Melissa looked lost.
For the first time in years, this family had no answers.
And somehow that made me trust them even less.
Margaret closed her briefcase.
“I’ll go with you.””
My father immediately said:
“No.””
Everyone looked at him.
He realized what he had done.
Too late.
I stared.
“Why not?””
He hesitated.
“I just mean…”
“No.””
I shook my head.
“Why don’t you want Margaret there?””
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t know what Thomas wants.””
I looked at him.
“You said he was dead.””
Silence.
I stepped closer.
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“What aren’t you telling me?””
His face changed.
And suddenly I knew.
There was another layer.
There was always another layer.
My father sat down.
“I didn’t see Thomas after that night.””
“What night?””
“The night Grandpa died.””
The room became silent again.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Tell me.””
My father rubbed his hands together.
“I argued with your grandfather.””
“You already said that.””
“No.””
He looked at me.
“I didn’t tell you how bad it was.””
Nobody interrupted.
Not even my mother.
“I went to the house that night because Thomas had contacted me.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
“Because he found more information.””
“What information?””
My father looked at the floor.
“About the company.””
I waited.
“He said he had proof that some of the money transfers weren’t just mistakes.””
My heartbeat increased.
“What did he mean?””
My father closed his eyes.
“He believed someone had been manipulating accounts.””
Everyone looked confused.
“Someone?””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
My father didn’t answer immediately.
Then he whispered:
“I thought it was me.””
The confession stunned me.
“What?””
“I thought I had made the mistakes.””
He looked at his hands.
“Thomas showed me records. Transfers I didn’t remember approving. Documents I didn’t recognize.””
Margaret frowned.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?””
My father looked at her.
“Because I was ashamed.””
That was the first time I had ever heard my father admit shame.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Shame.
“I thought I was losing control.””
He looked at me.
“And then your grandfather found out.””
“What happened after?””
My father’s voice became quieter.
“He told me to leave.””
I froze.
“Grandpa told you to leave?””
“Yes.””
“What did you do?””
“I left.””
“And then?””
He stared at the floor.
“Then he died.””
The words sat heavily in the room.
I looked at the letter.
At Grandpa’s handwriting.
At everything he had left behind.
“Dad.””
He looked up.
“What happened between you and Thomas?””
He hesitated.
Then said:
“I don’t know.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
His expression tightened.
“I really don’t.””
I studied him.
For years, I had known my father as someone who always had an answer.
Now I was realizing maybe that was the illusion.
Maybe he had simply been good at hiding questions.
Margaret stood.
“There’s something I should tell you.””
Everyone looked at her.
“Thomas Reed was not listed as deceased.””
My father looked shocked.
“What?””
She looked at him.
“I searched after receiving the message.””
My eyes narrowed.
“You searched?””
She nodded.
“I had concerns after seeing the number.””
“And?””
She took out her phone.
“There is no death record.””
My father went still.
“But I saw…”
“You saw what?””
He didn’t answer.
That bothered me.
“What did you see?””
He looked at me.
“I saw him fall.””
The room went silent.
My mother gasped.
“What?””
My father looked like he regretted saying it.
“Robert,” she whispered.
He covered his face.
“That night…”
I waited.
“My argument with your grandfather ended when Thomas arrived.””
My breathing slowed.
“Thomas was there?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“He wanted to show us something.””
“What?””
My father shook his head.
“I don’t know.””
“You don’t know?””
“He never got the chance.””
“Why?””
My father looked at the window.
“Because someone attacked him.””
Nobody spoke.
The room felt smaller.
“What do you mean?””
My father’s voice was barely audible.
“He was pushed down the stairs.””
Claire grabbed my arm.
I looked at my father.
“By who?””
He looked at me.
And I knew before he answered.
He was afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know.””
A phone rang.
Everyone jumped.
Not mine.
My father’s.
He looked at the screen.
Then his face changed.
“What?””
I watched him.
“Who is it?””
He didn’t answer.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, he picked up.
“Hello?””
Silence.
Then his face drained of color.
“No.””
He stood immediately.
“No, that’s not possible.””
Everyone watched.
My father looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw genuine panic.
He slowly lowered the phone.
“Who was it?”” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Dad.””
His voice cracked.
“It was Thomas.””
Nobody breathed.
My father looked at the phone in his hand.
“He said he’s been waiting twenty years for me to tell the truth.””
I felt a chill move through me.
“Where is he?””
My father looked toward the door.
May you like
Then whispered:
“He’s outside.””
