Chapter 7: The Mistake That Haunted Him
My father had always been my hero.
That was the hardest part.
When someone you love disappoints you, the pain doesn’t come from discovering they are imperfect.
It comes from realizing you never saw their imperfections at all.
The next morning, my father told me everything.
We sat in the same kitchen where he used to make terrible pancakes when I was a child.
The place where I once believed nothing bad could happen.
“I knew about the missing money before your mother died,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What?””
“I suspected it.””
“Why didn’t you tell her?””
His silence answered before his words did.
“Because I was afraid.””
I looked away.
My father continued.
“At that time, the company was struggling. We had employees depending on us. Investors watching every decision.””
He rubbed his hands together.
“I thought I could fix it quietly.””
“And Mom?””
He closed his eyes.
“She wanted to expose everything.””
My voice became softer.
“She wanted the truth.””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you stop her?””
The question hurt him.
Because he knew it was fair.
“I didn’t stop her.””
“But you didn’t help her.””
He looked down.
“No.””
The room became silent.
My father wasn’t a villain.
He wasn’t like Victoria.
But I finally understood something.
Good people could make choices that caused pain too.
“What happened the night she died?””
He looked toward the window.
“She was going to meet someone.””
“Who?””
“Michael Reed.””
I remembered the name.
The man who worked with Victoria.
“The accident happened before she reached him.””
I frowned.
“Then how did Victoria know?””
My father looked at me.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to understand.””
Later that day, we searched through old files.
Not because we didn’t trust the evidence.
Because we needed to understand the entire story.
And then we found something.
A photograph.
My mother.
Michael.
Victoria.
Together.
Years before my mother died.
I stared at it.
“They knew each other?””
My father looked shocked.
“I didn’t know.””
Another secret.
Another hidden piece.
That evening, Chloe called me.
I almost didn’t answer.
But something in me made me pick up.
“Emma?””
Her voice sounded different.
Not arrogant.
Not confident.
Just tired.
“What do you want?””
A long pause.
“I need to tell you something.””
I waited.
“My mother knew about the accident.””
My entire body went still.
“What?””
“She didn’t cause it.””
“Then what?””
Chloe started crying.
“She knew the car had problems.””
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What are you saying?””
“She found out before Mom drove it.””
The world seemed to stop.
“Why are you telling me this now?””
“Because I’m tired.””
“Tired of what?””
“Pretending my mother is someone she isn’t.””
I closed my eyes.
“Where are you?””
She whispered an address.
A small apartment across town.
When I arrived, Chloe looked nothing like the girl who smiled while I was pushed to the ground.
She looked broken.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
She looked down.
“I thought if I was the favorite, I would always be safe.””
“And?””
She laughed bitterly.
“I learned my mother never loved anyone.””
I sat across from her.
“What really happened?””
Chloe wiped her tears.
“Mom knew your mother was investigating the company.””
“Did she tell Michael?””
“Yes.””
My heart raced.
“But there’s more.””
She reached into a drawer.
And pulled out an old phone.
“I found this hidden in her room.””
I stared at it.
“What’s on it?””
Chloe looked terrified.
“The last conversation between my mother and yours.””
I took the phone.
My hands shaking.
The screen turned on.
One audio file appeared.
Recorded the night my mother died.
I pressed play.
At first, there was only static.
Then my mother’s voice.
“Victoria, please. Think about what you’re doing.””
A second voice answered.
Cold.
Angry.
Victoria.
And then my mother said something that made my blood run cold.
“You’re not just destroying my marriage.””
A pause.
“You’re destroying your own daughter’s life too.””
The recording ended.
But one final sound remained.
A man’s voice.
A man I recognized.
My father.
May you like
Saying:
“Victoria, what have you done?””
