Chapter 9: The Father Who Never Came Home
I couldn't hear anything for several seconds.
The boardroom was full of people, but all I could see was the police report beneath my hands.
My father's name.
His photograph.
The date.
The words that had been used to explain his disappearance for eleven years.
I looked at James.
"Where is he?""
James didn't answer immediately.
"That's what I've been trying to establish.""
"Is he alive?""
"I believe so.""
I stood.
"You believe so?""
James nodded.
"After he discovered the missing funds, he contacted me. He told me he had evidence against Richard and Margaret. Then he disappeared.""
I turned toward Richard.
"Did you know?""
Richard's eyes filled.
"Yes.""
The single word seemed to empty the room.
I stared at him.
"You knew my father was alive?""
He nodded slowly.
"Not where he was. But I knew he hadn't died in an accident.""
My hands began trembling.
"Why did you let me bury him?""
Richard looked down.
"I was afraid.""
"Of what?""
"Of losing everything.""
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You let me grieve my father for eleven years because you were afraid of losing your business?""
Margaret suddenly stood.
"Richard, don't say another word.""
He turned toward her.
"No.""
"Sit down.""
"I'm finished listening to you.""
Margaret stared at him.
Richard's voice broke.
"I've spent eleven years pretending I didn't know what happened. I watched Nia grow up believing her father was dead. I watched Eleanor spend the last years of her life trying to protect her granddaughter.""
He looked at me.
"And I did nothing.""
I stepped closer.
"Why?""
Richard wiped his eyes.
"Because Margaret told me your father had threatened to expose us. She said if we cooperated, he would leave the country and never return.""
"Did you believe her?""
"I wanted to.""
Margaret slammed her hand against the table.
"You're making things worse!""
Richard turned toward her.
"You made things worse the day you decided that a young woman's inheritance was worth more than her happiness.""
For once, Margaret had no answer.
James opened his briefcase.
"I have more.""
He removed a small envelope.
"Your grandmother gave me this shortly before she died.""
I recognized the handwriting.
It was my father's.
I took the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
*For Nia, when she's ready.*
My knees weakened.
Rebecca stood beside me.
"Do you want to sit?""
I nodded.
She pulled out a chair.
I opened the letter.
Nia,
If you are reading this, I hope it means someone finally found the courage to tell you the truth.
I stopped.
My eyes blurred.
I continued.
I am sorry.
I am sorry I wasn't there when you graduated. I am sorry I wasn't there when you got married. I am sorry I missed birthdays, holidays, and every ordinary day that became extraordinary because I wasn't there to share it.
I pressed the paper against the table.
My father had been a quiet man.
He used to make pancakes every Sunday.
He always burned the first one and gave it to himself, claiming he liked them that way.
When I was little, he taught me how to ride a bicycle in the driveway.
When I fell, he never rushed to pick me up unless I asked.
He would simply stand nearby and say, "Take your time, sweetheart. You've got this.""
I had spent eleven years believing I would never hear his voice again.
Now I was holding a letter he had written while I was alive, while he was alive, while he knew I was growing up without him.
I continued reading.
I discovered that Richard and Margaret had been using fraudulent property documents to obtain loans against properties they did not own. When I confronted them, they threatened to involve you.
I had already invested money in their company. I knew how badly things could go if the investigation became public.
Your grandmother arranged for me to disappear temporarily while the evidence was secured.
But the arrangement became more complicated when Margaret discovered that I had copies of the original documents.
I looked at James.
"Why didn't he come back?""
James lowered his eyes.
"Because someone convinced him you would be in danger if he did.""
I turned back to the letter.
I was told that staying away was the only way to protect you.
I believed it.
I know now that I may have been wrong.
The next paragraph was shorter.
I have one request. If Daniel is still part of your life, ask him what happened to the original property records. He knows more than he has admitted.
I looked up.
Daniel had been silent throughout the entire meeting.
Now his face was white.
"What property records?""
He swallowed.
I held up the letter.
"My father says you know.""
Daniel looked at his mother.
Margaret shook her head slightly.
"Don't.""
I stared at him.
"Daniel, what happened to the records?""
He rubbed his face.
"Your father gave them to my father.""
"Why?""
"He wanted them kept safe.""
"And?""
Daniel hesitated.
"Mom found them.""
Margaret's eyes widened.
"Daniel!""
He continued.
"She asked me to move them.""
"Where?""
He looked at me.
"I don't know.""
I stepped closer.
"Don't lie.""
"I moved them to a storage facility in New Jersey.""
"Which one?""
"I don't remember the name.""
I looked at Rebecca.
She was already writing.
"Find it.""
Daniel stood.
"Nia, please. I was only doing what my mother asked.""
I looked at him.
"You transferred millions of dollars. You helped your mother challenge my inheritance. You let me believe your family was innocent while you knew my father had disappeared.""
His eyes filled.
"I didn't know everything.""
"How much did you know?""
He looked down.
Then whispered:
"Enough.""
The word hurt more than any explanation could have.
Martin stood.
"This meeting is adjourned pending an independent legal review. All relevant documents will be preserved, and no further transactions will be authorized.""
Margaret immediately grabbed her handbag.
"You cannot do this to us.""
Martin looked at her.
"We're not doing anything to you, Mrs. Whitmore. We're investigating financial activity that may involve criminal conduct.""
She turned toward me.
"You think you've won?""
I looked at her.
"No, Margaret. I think I've finally stopped losing.""
She stormed out.
Richard followed slowly.
Daniel remained.
He approached my chair.
"Nia.""
I didn't look up.
"Please.""
I folded my father's letter carefully.
"Not here.""
"I need to explain.""
"Then start by telling the truth.""
He lowered his voice.
"I never wanted any of this.""
I looked at him.
"Then why did you keep doing it?""
He had no answer.
I gathered my documents and walked toward the exit.
James followed me into the corridor.
"Nia, wait.""
I turned.
He looked older now.
More tired.
"I should have come back sooner.""
I swallowed.
"Yes. You should have.""
He nodded.
"I know.""
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Do you know where my father is?""
"No.""
"Do you know if he's alive?""
James hesitated.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photograph.
It showed an older man standing outside a modest house.
His hair was almost completely gray.
His face was thinner.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
My father's eyes.
I took the photograph.
On the back was a handwritten address.
And a date.
October 28.
Only six days earlier.
I looked up.
"Where did you get this?""
"An investigator sent it to me last week.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"I wanted to verify it first.""
I stared at the photograph.
My father was alive.
Or at least he had been alive six days ago.
I looked at the address.
It was in a small coastal town in Maine.
"Rebecca," I called.
She stepped out of the conference room.
"Yes?""
I showed her the photograph.
She examined it.
Then looked at me.
"Do you want to go?""
I nodded.
"Now.""
James touched my shoulder.
"I'll come with you.""
I shook my head.
"I need to do this myself.""
Rebecca immediately began arranging transportation.
But before I could leave, my phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through.
"Nia?""
My heart stopped.
"Yes?""
There was a shaky breath.
Then a familiar voice said:
"Sweetheart, it's Dad.""
I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
I couldn't speak.
He tried again.
"Nia, can you hear me?""
Tears ran down my face.
"Dad?""
He laughed softly.
It was the same laugh I remembered from childhood.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart.""
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
"Where are you?""
"At home.""
"Are you safe?""
"I think so.""
I looked at the photograph.
The address.
The date.
Then I asked the question that had lived inside me for eleven years.
"Why didn't you come home?""
The line went silent.
When he finally spoke, his voice was trembling.
"Because the person who told me you were dead was your husband.""
I stopped breathing.
"What?""
My father whispered:
"Daniel told me you had died in a car accident three years ago.""
I looked through the glass wall toward the boardroom.
Daniel was still standing beside the table.
May you like
Watching me.
And suddenly, every lie in my marriage became something much darker.
