Chapter 5: The Voice From the Grave
Elena didn’t move.
The phone remained pressed against her ear long after the call ended.
The room was silent.
Not the comfortable silence of a quiet evening.
The kind of silence that came after something impossible happened.
Damian was the first person to speak.
“Who was it?””
Elena lowered the phone slowly.
Her face had lost all color.
“My father.””
Nobody responded.
Because nobody knew how.
Victor looked at Damian.
Damian looked at Elena.
And Margaret—
Margaret looked like someone had just reopened a wound that had never healed.
“Elena,” she whispered.
The sound of her name broke the spell.
Elena looked at the older woman.
“You heard him.””
Margaret swallowed.
“I heard the voice.””
“That was my father.””
“Elena…”
“No.””
Her voice cracked.
“No, don’t do that.””
“Do what?””
“Look at me like I’m confused.””
Nobody answered.
Because they were.
They were all looking at her like she had lost control of reality.
And maybe she had.
“My father died three years ago.””
Damian’s eyes remained fixed on her.
“Yes.””
“So either someone is pretending to be him…”
She looked at the phone.
“Or he isn’t dead.””
The words felt impossible as they left her mouth.
Victor stepped forward.
“That number needs to be traced.””
Damian nodded.
“Do it.””
Victor immediately left.
Elena noticed something.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody dismissed her.
Nobody said she imagined it.
That scared her more than anything.
Because if Damian Cole believed there was a chance her father was alive…
Then maybe she had never known the truth about anything.
“Margaret.””
The older woman looked up.
Elena’s voice softened.
“What happened to my father?””
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I wish I knew.””
“You knew him.””
“Yes.””
“You trusted him.””
“Yes.””
“You knew he disappeared.””
Margaret nodded.
“After my husband died, Richard vanished.””
Elena frowned.
“Wait.””
She looked between Margaret and Damian.
“You said my father betrayed the family.””
Damian’s expression hardened.
“That’s what the evidence suggested.””
“But he disappeared after your father died?””
“Yes.””
“Then why didn’t you find him?””
Damian looked away.
For the first time, Elena saw something she hadn’t expected.
Regret.
“I was younger.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“No.””
His voice was quieter.
“It isn’t.””
Elena waited.
Damian looked at the old photograph still sitting on the desk.
“My father died believing Richard stole money from the family.””
“Did he?””
“We found missing accounts.””
“Did you find the money?””
“No.””
“So your father disappeared, the money disappeared, and everyone decided my father was guilty?””
Damian said nothing.
Because the answer was obvious.
Elena stepped closer.
“That doesn’t sound like proof.””
“It wasn’t enough.””
“Then why believe it?””
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Because I wanted someone to blame.””
The honesty surprised her.
He looked away.
“My father was dead. My mother was destroyed. The company was collapsing.””
His voice lowered.
“Richard was the only person who made sense.””
Elena studied him.
“And now?””
“Now I think someone wanted me to believe that.””
The room became quiet again.
For the first time, they weren’t standing on opposite sides.
They were both standing in the middle of the same mystery.
A mystery that had started before either of them understood it.
A few hours later, Elena sat in the guest room assigned to her.
She still hadn’t decided whether she was staying.
Or whether she was trapped.
The room was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
A large bed.
A fireplace.
A view of the gardens.
But Elena couldn’t relax.
Because someone had entered this room without being seen.
Someone had left a message.
Someone knew her father.
She looked at the envelope sitting on the table.
The symbol stared back at her.
A memory surfaced.
She was eight years old.
Sitting on the kitchen floor.
Her father was drawing in an old notebook.
“What is that?”” little Elena had asked.
Her father quickly closed the notebook.
“Nothing.””
“You draw it all the time.””
“It’s just a habit.””
“Does it mean something?””
He smiled.
“No.””
But his smile had been fake.
She remembered that now.
At the time, she thought adults smiled when they were tired.
Now she wondered if they smiled when they were afraid.
A knock came at the door.
Elena turned.
“Come in.””
Damian entered.
She immediately stood.
“If this is another conversation where you tell me half the truth, save it.””
He ignored the comment.
“I need to ask you something.””
“What?””
“Did your father ever mention my family?””
“No.””
“Never?””
“No.””
“Did he ever tell you to avoid certain people?””
Elena hesitated.
That hesitation caught his attention.
“What?””
She looked down.
“There was one thing.””
Damian waited.
“When I was sixteen, I asked him why we moved so often.””
“And?””
“He said some people were dangerous.””
“Who?””
“He didn’t say.””
“What else?””
Elena tried to remember.
“He told me never to trust anyone who knew too much about him.””
Damian’s expression changed.
“Anything else?””
“He said…”
She stopped.
“What?””
Elena looked at him.
“He said if anyone ever came looking for me, I should run.””
The words hung there.
Damian’s face became unreadable.
“And you didn’t.””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because nobody came.””
She looked at the door.
“Until now.””
A silence passed.
Then Damian asked:
“Why did you stay?””
Elena looked at him.
“What?””
“You could have left today.””
“Yes.””
“But you didn’t.””
She didn’t answer immediately.
Because she didn’t know.
Maybe because she wanted the truth.
Maybe because she wanted to know if her father had been a liar.
Maybe because leaving felt like running from a ghost.
Finally, she said:
“Because someone is using my father’s name.””
Damian nodded.
“That’s what I thought.””
“You thought?””
“I think whoever contacted you wants us to fight.””
“Why?””
“Because divided people are easier to control.””
Elena looked at him.
“And do you trust me?””
The question surprised him.
“No.””
At least he was honest.
She almost smiled.
“You’re terrible at making people feel safe.””
“I’m not trying to.””
“Then what are you trying to do?””
Damian looked at her.
“Keep you alive.””
The answer was too serious to ignore.
Before Elena could respond, Victor’s voice came through Damian’s earpiece.
“Mr. Cole.””
Damian touched it.
“Yes?””
“We traced the call.””
Elena immediately looked at him.
“Where?””
Victor’s voice became quieter.
“An old property outside the city.””
Damian frowned.
“Whose property?””
A pause.
Then:
“Richard Whitfield’s.””
Elena’s breath stopped.
Damian looked at her.
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
“Send the location.””
“Already done.””
Damian turned toward the door.
Elena followed.
“Where are you going?””
“To find out if your father is alive.””
“I’m coming.””
“No.””
She stared at him.
“You don’t get to decide that.””
“It could be a trap.””
“My entire life has apparently been a trap.””
“Elena.””
“No.””
Her voice sharpened.
“You found out my father might be alive. You found a place connected to him. And you expect me to sit here?””
Damian didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
A few minutes later, the black SUV left the estate.
The city disappeared behind them.
Rain began falling again.
Elena sat beside Damian in silence.
Neither spoke.
Until they reached the property.
It was an old farmhouse.
Small.
Abandoned.
Nothing like the world of the Coles.
The kind of place someone would overlook.
The kind of place someone would hide.
Damian raised a hand.
His men spread out.
“Stay behind me.””
Elena ignored him.
Of course.
They entered through the back door.
The house smelled like dust and old wood.
Everything was covered.
Everything except one room.
The office.
Elena stopped at the doorway.
Because someone had been there recently.
A cup of coffee sat on the desk.
Still warm.
Damian noticed it too.
“He was here.””
Elena looked around.
On the wall were photographs.
Documents.
Notes.
And one picture placed carefully in the center.
A picture of Elena.
Not old.
Not from childhood.
Taken recently.
Her heart dropped.
Someone had been watching her.
Damian picked up a document beside the photo.
His face changed.
“What?””
He didn’t answer.
“Damian.””
Slowly, he turned the paper toward her.
It was a medical report.
Her name was written at the top.
Elena Whitfield.
Below it was a date.
Six months before her father’s death.
And a sentence that made her blood turn cold.
*PATIENT MUST NEVER LEARN THE IDENTITY OF HER BIOLOGICAL FATHER.*
Elena stared at the words.
“My biological father?””
Damian looked at her.
Neither of them spoke.
Because suddenly the question wasn’t whether Richard Whitfield was alive.
May you like
The question was much worse.
Who had Elena been calling “father” her entire life?
