Chapter 5 - My Dead Mother's Letter Revealed That Franklin Had Known Me Since I Was a Child—And She Begged Him Never to Tell Me the TruthI opened my mother's letter that night.
Her handwriting was unmistakable.
I hadn't seen it in fourteen years.
Dear Franklin,
If you're reading this, then I was right to be afraid.
I sat down.
The letter explained that my mother, Margaret Carter, had worked for William Hale.
She had discovered that David was stealing from the family trust.
But she also discovered that someone was helping him.
Franklin.
I stopped.
My mother wrote:
Franklin believes he can control his brother. He is wrong.
Then came the part that changed everything.
Franklin hadn't stolen money.
He had deliberately moved it.
He had created secret accounts to protect the inheritance.
My mother had helped him.
But then she discovered another secret.
Someone had been stealing from those secret accounts.
Someone outside the family.
A lawyer.
Richard Vale.
Eleanor's husband.
He had manipulated documents and created false trusts.
My mother discovered him.
She threatened to expose him.
Then she received threats.
She left the Hale family.
But she made Franklin promise something.
Never tell her daughter.
Never involve me.
Never allow the Hale family to come near me.
I stared at the page.
My mother had protected me from this world before I even understood it existed.
Then the final paragraph made me cry.
Franklin, if anything happens to me, please watch over Emma from a distance. She must never know how close she came to becoming part of this family.
I lowered the letter.
Franklin had kept his promise.
For decades.
He had watched from a distance.
And then, when he finally needed someone, he chose me.
Not because I was a stranger.
Because I was the daughter of the woman who had once saved him.
I called Franklin's number.
No answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Sullivan.
“Emma, we found something.”
“What?”
“Franklin's car.”
“Where?”
“Three towns over.”
“Is he inside?”
“No.”
My heart dropped.
“What did you find?”
“A note.”
“What does it say?”
“Come alone to the old Hale property.”
I froze.
“Absolutely not.”
“I agree.”
“What else?”
“The note is addressed to you.”
I went silent.
Sullivan continued.
“There was another thing.”
“What?”
“Your mother's name.”
My stomach tightened.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“We don't know.”
Then I heard another voice in the background.
Sullivan's tone changed.
“Emma, stay where you are.”
“What happened?”
“Someone just entered the building.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
Then I heard a knock.
Not at my apartment door.
At my bedroom window.
I slowly turned.
A man stood outside.
Three floors above the ground.
Impossible.
He held a photograph.
I couldn't see his face.
Then he raised the photograph to the glass.
It was Franklin.
And beneath it was written:
HE TRUSTED THE WRONG HALE.
The man disappeared.
I ran to the window.
Nothing.
Only darkness.
And then I realized something.
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The apartment door was still locked.
Which meant whoever had come inside hadn't entered through it.
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