Chapter 8 - The Night My Father Died
Elena sat across from me and finally told me the truth.
The night my father died, he had not been alone.
Victor had visited.
They argued.
Elena heard my father threaten to call federal investigators.
Victor left.
An hour later, my father collapsed.
Elena had never seen Victor harm him, and the official cause remained a heart attack.
But she had spent twenty-two years wondering whether the argument had triggered something—or whether there was more she had failed to see.
I refused to turn suspicion into certainty without evidence.
Aaron agreed.
“We follow facts.”
The facts, however, were becoming ugly enough.
My father's journal documented fraud linked to Blackridge.
Victor's modern records showed similar methods.
The same network had evolved for decades.
My father had nearly exposed it.
Now I had accidentally stepped into the same war.
But Marcus was still missing.
So we gave Victor what he wanted.
At noon the next day, I held a press conference from the hospital.
“Victor Hale continues to serve as an adviser while I recover.”
Reporters shouted questions.
Victor watched remotely.
He believed he had won.
What he didn't know was that every word had been coordinated with investigators.
Hours later, a location signal from one of Victor's burner phones activated.
Police traced it to an abandoned office complex.
They found Marcus in a locked room.
Alive.
Bruised and dehydrated, but alive.
Victor was gone.
Again.
Marcus's first words to me were:
“There's another person.”
“What person?”
“Someone above Victor.”
I stared at him.
Marcus explained that Victor often referred to someone as “the Chairman.”
Not a company chairman.
A hidden partner.
Someone who had helped protect the scheme for decades.
Someone connected to my family.
Then Marcus gave us a name.
Peter Lawson.
My attorney.
The man who supposedly helped stop the forged trust transfer.
The man who had appeared confused.
The man I had begun believing was innocent.
Aaron searched Peter's financial history.
At first, nothing.
Then investigators discovered payments routed through a consulting firm owned by Peter's brother.
Millions over fifteen years.
Peter had not merely known about Victor.
He had helped construct the legal architecture.
And when Friday's transfer failed, Peter had positioned himself as my rescuer.
I remembered his shocked face.
His apology.
His claim that he should have noticed the forgery.
It had all been theater.
We moved immediately.
But Peter's office was empty.
His home was empty.
His phone was off.
On his desk, investigators found one envelope.
My name was written on it.
Inside was a single page.
DANIEL,
YOUR FATHER THOUGHT VICTOR WAS THE THREAT.
SO DO YOU.
THAT IS WHY BOTH OF YOU LOST.
—P
Below the message was an old photograph.
My father.
Victor.
Peter.
And a fourth person.
May you like
A woman.
My mother.
