PART 4 — THE NIGHT OUR FATHER DIED
The photograph was still glowing on Chloe’s phone.
Neither of us spoke.
For several seconds, the only sound inside the house was the soft ticking of the clock above the kitchen door.
Then Chloe whispered,
“Faye…”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward me again.
The photograph showed our father, David Morgan, standing beside three men.
Victor Hale.
Edric Kaine.
And another man.
A man neither of us had ever seen before.
Except according to the note written on the back of the photograph, we had.
He was supposedly our mother’s first husband.
The man Brenda had always said died before we were born.
The man whose name she had refused to speak.
And underneath the photograph, someone had written four words.
HE NEVER DIED.
I swallowed.
“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did it come from?”
Chloe shook her head.
“It was sent from a blocked number.”
“Can you trace it?”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at me.
“But that’s not the worst part.”
I already knew.
“What is?”
Chloe zoomed in on the photograph.
There was something behind the four men.
A building.
An old warehouse.
And on the side of the building was a faded number.
17.
I stared at it.
Something about that number bothered me.
I couldn’t explain why.
Then I remembered something.
Dad’s letter.
The one Alan had given us.
I rushed upstairs.
Chloe followed.
I pulled open the drawer beside my bed and grabbed the envelope.
The paper was still folded exactly the way Dad had written it.
I opened it.
We had read the letter dozens of times.
But now, knowing what we knew, I read it differently.
I went through every sentence.
Every word.
Every warning.
Then I stopped.
“Chloe.”
“What?”
I pointed to a sentence.
She leaned closer.
Dad had written:
If you ever discover the truth about the night I died, remember the number seventeen.
Chloe’s face went pale.
“Seventeen.”
I nodded.
“The warehouse.”
Neither of us moved.
Then Chloe whispered,
“Dad knew we’d find it.”
I looked at the letter.
“No.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“He didn’t know.”
I pointed to the handwriting.
“He was warning us.”
A long silence followed.
Then Chloe asked the question neither of us wanted to ask.
“Why would Dad leave a clue about the night he died?”
I looked at her.
“Because he knew someone would try to hide what happened.”
Chloe slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.
“And Alan knows.”
I didn’t answer.
Because deep down, I knew she was right.
The message from the photograph had told us exactly what to ask.
ASK ALAN WHAT HAPPENED ON THE NIGHT YOUR FATHER DIED.
So we did.
We called him.
Once.
No answer.
Twice.
No answer.
Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
Chloe stared at the screen.
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
“He always answers.”
I felt a cold sensation move through me.
“Call again.”
She did.
This time, someone answered.
But nobody spoke.
“Uncle Alan?”
Silence.
“Alan?”
Still nothing.
Then we heard breathing.
Slow.
Heavy.
Close to the phone.
Chloe looked at me.
I mouthed,
“Put it on speaker.”
She did.
“Alan,” I said. “We need to talk.”
A voice finally came through.
But it wasn’t Alan.
It was a man’s voice.
Low.
Calm.
Almost amused.
“You should have stopped after your mother was arrested.”
My heart dropped.
Chloe grabbed my hand.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed quietly.
“You really don’t recognize me?”
I stared at the phone.
“No.”
“You’ve seen me before.”
“Who are you?”
Another pause.
Then he said,
“Ask your uncle.”
The call ended.
Chloe immediately tried calling back.
The number was disconnected.
I looked at her.
“Where is Alan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he be in danger?”
She didn’t answer.
Then her phone buzzed.
A new message.
This time, there was no photograph.
Only one sentence.
HE’S ALREADY AT WAREHOUSE 17.
We looked at each other.
And within five minutes, we were in the car.
The warehouse was almost an hour outside the city.
It stood at the edge of an industrial district that had been abandoned years earlier.
Broken windows.
Rusting metal.
Overgrown weeds.
No lights.
No people.
Nothing.
Except one thing.
A black SUV parked beside the entrance.
Chloe stopped the car.
“That’s Alan’s.”
My stomach tightened.
We got out.
“Stay close,” I said.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving you.”
We walked toward the warehouse.
The front door was slightly open.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
The second was the blood.
There was a small smear on the door handle.
Chloe froze.
“Faye…”
“I see it.”
“Should we call the police?”
I pulled out my phone.
Before I could dial, the warehouse lights came on.
All at once.
Bright white lights filled the enormous room.
And we saw him.
Alan.
He was sitting in a chair in the middle of the warehouse.
His hands were tied behind his back.
His face was bruised.
There was blood on his shirt.
“UNCLE!”
Chloe ran forward.
I grabbed her arm.
“Wait!”
Something was wrong.
Alan looked up.
His eyes widened.
“Faye…”
His voice was weak.
“Get out.”
Chloe stared at him.
“What?”
“Get out of here!”
Then a voice came from the darkness behind us.
“I knew you’d come.”
We turned.
A man stepped out.
He was tall.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
And a scar above his eyebrow.
Victor Hale.
Chloe whispered,
“You.”
Victor looked at us.
Then he smiled.
“I was beginning to wonder whether you two had inherited your father’s intelligence.”
I stepped backward.
“You kidnapped Alan.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
He glanced at Alan.
“Your uncle came here willingly.”
Alan shouted,
“Don’t listen to him!”
Victor smiled.
“He’s very good at that.”
“At what?”
“Pretending he’s innocent.”
Alan struggled against the ropes.
“Faye, listen to me!”
Victor raised one finger.
“Let him speak.”
Alan looked at me.
His expression changed.
I had never seen fear like that on his face.
Not even when we were children.
Not even when Edric had threatened us.
This was different.
This was the fear of someone who knew exactly what was coming.
“Faye,” he whispered.
“I lied to you.”
Chloe’s face changed.
“About what?”
Alan looked down.
“About your father.”
The warehouse suddenly felt smaller.
I couldn’t breathe.
Victor stepped back.
He seemed content to watch.
Alan continued.
“David didn’t die the way I told you.”
I felt my hands begin to shake.
“What happened?”
Alan closed his eyes.
“It was supposed to be a meeting.”
“With who?”
“Victor.”
Victor laughed.
“That is not entirely true.”
Alan glared at him.
“Let me finish.”
Victor shrugged.
“Go ahead.”
Alan looked at us again.
“Your father discovered the financial fraud before anyone else knew.”
“We know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You know about the money.”
He looked at Chloe.
“You don’t know what he discovered.”
“What did he discover?”
Alan’s voice dropped.
“The company wasn’t simply losing money.”
“It was being used to move something else.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Identities.”
Chloe stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Alan swallowed.
“People who were supposed to be dead weren’t dead.”
I thought about the photograph.
The unknown man.
The note.
HE NEVER DIED.
“Who?” I asked.
Alan looked toward Victor.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
Then Alan said the words that changed everything.
“Your mother’s first husband.”
Silence.
Chloe’s eyes widened.
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s what your mother believed.”
“She said he died.”
“She was told he died.”
“By who?”
Alan didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“By who?”
Alan looked directly into my eyes.
“By David.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
Chloe shook her head.
“No.”
Alan nodded.
“Your father helped make it look like he was dead.”
“Why?”
“Because that man was dangerous.”
Victor interrupted.
“Very dangerous.”
Alan continued.
“He had been involved in the same network David discovered.”
I felt dizzy.
“Then why did Dad help him disappear?”
“He didn’t.”
Alan’s eyes filled with tears.
“He tried to expose him.”
“Then why did you say Dad helped him?”
“Because…”
Alan hesitated.
“Because I was there.”
I stared at him.
“You were there that night.”
“Yes.”
“You saw Dad?”
“Yes.”
“You saw him die?”
Alan closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Chloe covered her mouth.
I felt something crack inside me.
All these years.
All the questions.
All the stories.
All the explanations.
And Alan had been there.
“You told us Dad died in an accident.”
“I know.”
“You told us he lost control of the car.”
“I know.”
“You told us there was nothing anyone could have done.”
Alan’s voice broke.
“I lied.”
Chloe screamed.
“WHY?”
Her voice echoed through the warehouse.
“WHY WOULD YOU LIE TO US?”
Alan couldn’t answer.
Victor stepped forward.
“Because he was afraid.”
Chloe turned toward him.
“Afraid of you?”
Victor smiled.
“No.”
He looked at Alan.
“Afraid of the fourth man.”
I stared at the photograph in my mind.
David.
Victor.
Edric.
And the unknown man.
“The fourth man,” I whispered.
Victor nodded.
“You finally understand.”
“Who is he?”
Victor didn’t answer.
Instead, he walked toward a table.
On it was an old metal box.
He opened it.
Inside were dozens of documents.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
Passports.
And newspaper clippings.
He pulled out one photograph.
Then he placed it on the table.
I walked closer.
Chloe stood beside me.
The photograph showed our mother.
Much younger.
Standing beside a man.
The man from the warehouse photograph.
But there was something else.
A child stood between them.
A little girl.
Maybe three years old.
I looked at Chloe.
Then at the photograph.
“Who is that child?”
Alan whispered,
“Your sister.”
The world stopped.
Chloe’s face went completely blank.
“What?”
Alan looked at us.
“You had another sister.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Our mother had three children.”
Chloe backed away.
“Where is she?”
Nobody answered.
I turned toward Victor.
“Where is she?”
Victor’s expression became serious.
“That’s the question your father spent the last year of his life trying to answer.”
I felt my heart pounding.
“Where is she?”
Victor looked at Alan.
Then back at me.
“She was taken.”
“By who?”
Victor opened another file.
Inside was a birth certificate.
The name on it was partially blacked out.
But the child’s first name was visible.
MAYA.
Chloe whispered,
“Maya…”
I couldn’t stop staring at the paper.
“Our sister is alive?”
Victor didn’t answer.
Alan did.
“She was alive the last time David saw her.”
“Where?”
Alan looked down.
“We don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re all lying!”
My voice echoed across the warehouse.
I grabbed the photograph.
“Where is Maya?”
Victor stepped toward me.
“Your father found her.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He found her.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before he died.”
Chloe stepped closer.
“Then why didn’t he tell us?”
Victor looked at her.
“Because he couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the people holding her were watching you.”
My breathing stopped.
“They were watching us?”
“Yes.”
Victor’s voice became quieter.
“Your father knew that if he went after Maya openly, you and Faye would be killed.”
Chloe started crying.
“Then why did he die?”
Victor looked at Alan.
“Because someone betrayed him.”
I looked at Alan.
“No.”
Alan shook his head.
“I didn’t betray him.”
Victor said nothing.
I stared at Alan.
“Then who did?”
Alan’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know.”
Victor suddenly laughed.
“You still don’t understand.”
He picked up another photograph.
This one showed our father standing outside a hospital.
Beside him was a young woman.
Our mother.
But she was holding something.
A baby.
A newborn.
Victor placed the photograph down.
“This photograph was taken one day after Maya was born.”
I looked at the date.
Then I stopped breathing.
The date was twenty years ago.
The same year our mother told everyone Maya had died.
Chloe whispered,
“Mom knew.”
Victor nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why did she lie?”
“Because she was threatened.”
“By who?”
Victor didn’t answer.
I slammed my hand against the table.
“WHO?”
Victor looked directly at me.
“Your father.”
I froze.
“What?”
“David threatened her.”
“That makes no sense.”
“He told her that if she went to the police, Maya would disappear forever.”
Chloe shook her head.
“Why would Dad threaten Mom?”
“Because your father wasn’t protecting your mother.”
Victor leaned closer.
“He was protecting Maya.”
I stared at him.
“From whom?”
Victor looked toward the warehouse entrance.
His expression suddenly changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
“From him.”
We all turned.
A shadow stood in the doorway.
A man.
Watching us.
Alan’s face went white.
“No…”
Victor whispered one word.
“Impossible.”
The man stepped inside.
He slowly removed his hat.
I looked at his face.
And even though I had never met him before…
I knew exactly who he was.
Because his face was in the photograph.
The fourth man.
Our mother’s first husband.
The man who was supposed to have died twenty-one years ago.
He looked at me.
Then at Chloe.
And smiled.
“My daughters.”
Chloe grabbed my hand.
I couldn’t move.
The man walked toward us.
“You’ve grown.”
I whispered,
“Who are you?”
He stopped.
“My name is Daniel.”
He smiled again.
“Daniel Morgan.”
Our father’s name.
Our mother’s first husband’s name.
And suddenly I understood why Dad had spent so many years hiding the truth.
Because there were two men connected to our family with the same name.
And one of them had died.
But we had no idea which one.
Daniel looked at Victor.
“You kept them alive.”
Victor stepped backward.
“I tried.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“And you failed.”
Then he pulled something from his coat.
A small black phone.
He pressed a button.
The warehouse doors slammed shut.
Chloe screamed.
The lights went out.
And in the darkness, we heard a gunshot.
Then another.
Then Alan shouted,
“RUN!”
I grabbed Chloe’s hand.
We ran blindly through the darkness.
Behind us, someone screamed.
Glass shattered.
Something hit the floor.
Then we heard Daniel’s voice.
Calm.
Almost gentle.
“You should have listened to your father.”
We found a side door.
I pulled it open.
Cold night air hit my face.
We ran.
We didn’t stop until we reached the car.
Chloe slammed the doors shut.
I started the engine.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Chloe looked at me.
“Faye.”
“What?”
She was crying.
“There was something on the table.”
“What?”
“The last photograph.”
“What about it?”
“I saw it before the lights went out.”
“What did you see?”
She swallowed.
“It wasn’t a photograph of Maya.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Then what was it?”
Chloe looked at me.
“It was a photograph of us.”
I stared at her.
“Us?”
She nodded.
“Faye…”
“What?”
“The photograph was taken yesterday.”
My blood turned cold.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because…”
She slowly pulled out her phone.
“I was wearing the same shirt.”
I stared at the screen.
The photograph showed us standing outside our house.
Taken from across the street.
Someone had been watching us.
For days.
Maybe weeks.
Maybe longer.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message.
One sentence.
YOU FOUND THE WRONG SECRET.
Another message arrived.
MAYA IS NOT YOUR SISTER.
I stared at it.
Then a third message appeared.
SHE IS YOUR MOTHER.
I couldn’t breathe.
Chloe screamed.
“No!”
The phone buzzed one final time.
A photograph appeared.
A woman.
Older now.
Standing in a dark room.
Her face was partially hidden.
But there was no mistaking her eyes.
They were our mother’s eyes.
And beneath the photograph were five words:
ASK BRENDA WHO SHE REALLY IS.
I looked at Chloe.
She looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Because suddenly the question wasn’t just what happened the night our father died.
It was something much bigger.
Something far more terrifying.
Who was our mother?
And why had everyone spent twenty years making sure we never found out?
TO BE CONTINUED…
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