Chapter 4 - The Night My Father Chose Denise Over Me
We found the handwriting expert three days later.
Her conclusion was devastating.
The letter was forged.
The signature was copied from another document.
The ink was manufactured recently.
The paper wasn't available in the United States at the date written.
My father's challenge collapsed.
But he didn't apologize.
Instead, he demanded to see me.
I agreed to meet him at a café.
He arrived alone.
He looked older.
For the first time, I noticed how much his hands shook.
“Emma.”
“Dad.”
He sat down.
“I didn't forge that letter.”
“I didn't say you did.”
“But you believe I know who did.”
“Do you?”
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
“Who?”
He whispered, “Denise.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected your wife forged my mother's signature and tried to steal millions from me.”
“She said it was necessary.”
I stared at him.
“Necessary?”
“She believed you were going to destroy the family.”
“She is the one destroying it.”
“I know.”
I had never heard those words from him.
I felt something shift inside me.
“Then why did you let her?”
He looked at the table.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of her?”
“Of losing everyone.”
“You already lost me.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
There was a long silence.
Then he pulled an old photograph from his wallet.
It showed my mother.
She was standing in the backyard of the house where I grew up.
Young.
Smiling.
Holding me.
I touched the photo.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your mother gave it to me.”
“When?”
“A week before she died.”
He swallowed.
“She told me that if anything ever happened to her, I was to make sure you knew the truth.”
I looked at him.
“What truth?”
“She knew the company wasn't safe.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered someone was stealing money.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
He looked ashamed.
“I know more than I told you.”
“Then tell me now.”
He whispered, “It was my brother.”
I froze.
“My uncle?”
Richard nodded.
“Your mother discovered that my brother had been moving money through shell companies.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Dad.”
“I didn't understand business the way she did.”
“You signed the paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“Then you knew.”
He looked at me.
“I knew enough to be afraid.”
I pushed the photograph toward him.
“Why didn't you protect her?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Because by the time I understood, it was too late.”
I left.
That evening, Noah found me sitting on the floor of the workshop.
He didn't ask me to get up.
He sat beside me.
“My father knew.”
“I know.”
“He let everyone lie to me.”
“I know.”
“I don't know how to forgive him.”
“You don't have to.”
I looked at him.
“What if I never do?”
“Then you don't.”
His answer comforted me.
Then he handed me an envelope.
“What's this?”
“Something I found.”
Inside was an old photograph of my mother standing beside a young man.
I knew the man.
My uncle Daniel.
My father's younger brother.
He was smiling beside her at a business conference.
Behind them was a banner.
Grant Foundation.
I stared.
“Why was my mother with your family?”
Noah's expression changed.
“My father knew your mother.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“They worked together.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“How?”
“I don't know yet.”
He took another document from his pocket.
“My father invested in Caldwell Properties twenty years ago.”
I stared at it.
“Your father invested in my mother's company?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough to matter.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother wasn't operating alone.”
My head spun.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know until yesterday.”
“What did you find?”
He hesitated.
“A private archive.”
“Where?”
“In my father's old office.”
That night we opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Contracts.
Letters.
And one handwritten note.
Richard does not know what Daniel has done.
If anything happens to me, Emma must never be left alone with him.
My hands began shaking.
“Daniel.”
Noah nodded.
“My uncle?”
“Yes.”
“But he's been dead for five years.”
“He didn't die naturally.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“My family believed he suffered a heart attack.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
He placed another paper on the desk.
An insurance report.
Daniel had been under investigation for fraud before his death.
The investigation had been closed after his death.
Then I saw a signature.
Denise.
My stepmother had been married to Daniel before she married my father.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Noah grabbed my arm.
“Emma.”
“She was married to my uncle?”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew?”
“Yes.”
Everything rearranged itself.
Denise hadn't simply entered our family by chance.
She had been connected to the company.
To Daniel.
To my mother's secrets.
To the money.
To the forged letter.
My stomach twisted.
“What was she doing with my uncle?”
Noah opened the last file.
Inside was a bank statement.
A transfer.
One million dollars.
From Daniel's account.
To Denise.
Three days before his death.
I stared.
“She killed him?”
Noah's voice was calm.
“We don't know.”
“But she got the money.”
“Yes.”
“Then she married my father.”
“Yes.”
“And years later she tried to steal my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
The pieces were too dark.
Too perfect.
That was when Noah's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Who?”
He listened.
Then said, “Send the footage to me.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Someone entered the archive room.”
My heart froze.
“Did they steal anything?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked at me.
“They left something.”
“What?”
He turned his phone toward me.
A photograph.
My father.
Denise.
And a third person.
May you like
My uncle Daniel.
Except the photograph had been taken six months after his supposed death.
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