Chapter 8 - The Betrayal Behind the Black Marble DoorsHelen Price was murdered before she could testify.

The news arrived at six fourteen the following morning.

Detective Alvarez called me herself.

Her voice was controlled, but I could hear the anger beneath it.

"Helen was found in her apartment. We're investigating her death as a homicide."

I sat on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

A woman had finally come forward.

A woman who might have helped us find my mother.

And someone had silenced her.

"Did she leave anything?" I asked.

"We have the photograph and some records she surrendered yesterday."

"Who knew she was cooperating?"

Alvarez paused.

"That's one of the questions we're investigating."

I thought of Samir.

Of Omar.

Of Charles Whitmore.

Of the people who had spent decades protecting the same secrets.

Then I thought of something else.

Helen had come forward voluntarily.

She must have known the danger.

Why risk her life after thirty years?

Unless she had something more important to protect.

I asked Alvarez whether Helen had family.

"A daughter," she said. "Lives in Pennsylvania."

"Does she know?"

"She's been notified."

I looked toward Grandma's photograph.

"Maybe Helen wasn't trying to protect herself."

Alvarez was silent.

Then she said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Later that morning, Kareem summoned his family to the headquarters of Rahal International.

I wasn't invited.

I went anyway.

The building stood near the waterfront, its lobby decorated with black marble and polished brass.

Security guards recognized me immediately.

One called upstairs.

Five minutes later, Layla appeared.

"Nia."

"I need to speak to Kareem."

"He's in a meeting."

"I know."

She studied my face.

Then nodded.

"Come with me."

The boardroom occupied the top floor.

Twenty people sat around a long table.

Omar stood near the window.

Kareem sat at the head.

Samir's empty chair remained beside him.

When I entered, every conversation stopped.

Omar looked furious.

"What is she doing here?"

I ignored him.

"Kareem, Helen Price is dead."

His expression changed.

"I know."

"Then why are you sitting in a meeting?"

"Because I'm trying to prevent more people from dying."

Omar laughed.

"By dismantling the company?"

Kareem turned toward him.

"Sit down."

Omar didn't move.

"This is ridiculous. You've allowed a waitress to dictate family policy."

I looked at him.

"My name is Nia."

"I know your name."

"Then use it."

Several executives looked away.

Omar stepped closer.

"You have no idea what you're involved in."

"Then explain it."

He smiled coldly.

"Your grandmother made the mistake of involving herself in matters she didn't understand."

The room went silent.

Kareem stood.

"Choose your next words carefully."

Omar looked at him.

"Why? Because she reminds you of a woman who embarrassed you thirty years ago?"

Kareem's voice became dangerously quiet.

"Enough."

But I wasn't watching Kareem.

I was watching Omar's hand.

He wore a silver ring.

A black stone surrounded by an engraved pattern.

The same ring I had seen in Samir's photograph.

I pointed.

"Where did you get that?"

Omar glanced at his hand.

"What?"

"The ring."

He covered it instinctively.

"My grandfather's."

I felt cold.

"Which grandfather?"

Omar stared at me.

"That's none of your business."

I looked at Kareem.

"Samir wore the same ring."

Kareem's expression changed.

Omar laughed.

"Half the men in our family have rings like this."

But nobody else was laughing.

I turned toward Layla.

She was staring at Omar's hand.

Her face had gone pale.

"Kareem," she whispered.

He looked at her.

"That ring belonged to Victor Sloane."

The room erupted.

Omar stepped backward.

"That's absurd."

Layla continued.

"I saw it in 1996. Victor wore it during a meeting with Margaret."

Kareem moved around the table.

"Omar. Give me the ring."

"No."

"Now."

Omar pulled his hand away.

"You're insane."

He turned toward the door.

Two security officers blocked his path.

Kareem raised his hand.

"Let him leave."

Everyone stared.

Omar hesitated.

Then hurried out.

I looked at Kareem.

"Why did you let him go?"

"Because the police are already waiting downstairs."

A minute later, Detective Alvarez entered the boardroom with two officers.

She approached Kareem.

"We have a warrant to search records connected to Omar Rahal's private investment company."

Kareem nodded.

"Cooperate fully."

Alvarez turned toward me.

"Nia, we need to talk."

My stomach tightened.

"What happened?"

"We identified the clinic in the photograph."

I grabbed the edge of the table.

"And?"

"The woman was registered under the name Evelyn Carter."

I swallowed.

"Was it my mother?"

"We're still confirming her identity."

"Where is she?"

Alvarez looked at me carefully.

"She left the clinic three months ago. But we found the address she provided."

I could barely breathe.

"Where?"

"Newark."

I stared at her.

My mother might have been living less than an hour away.

For years.

While I believed she was dead.

I turned toward Kareem.

"I have to go."

He nodded.

"Then go."

I looked at Alvarez.

"Will you take me?"

She hesitated.

Then said, "Once we confirm it's safe."

For the first time, I didn't argue.

I had waited nineteen years.

I could wait a little longer.

But as Alvarez led me toward the elevator, my phone vibrated.

Another message.

This time, there was no threat.

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Only six words.

Your mother knows who killed Daniel.