Chapter 9 - The Night Everyone Thought They KnewI stared at the unknown number on my phone.
The message remained on the screen.
She wasn’t the only person who followed him.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Not me.
Not Ethan.
Not my mother.
It felt like the entire room was waiting for someone else to explain what those words meant.
My mother was the first to speak.
“Who sent that?”
Her voice was too quick.
Too afraid.
I looked up.
“You tell me.”
Her face changed.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
But she didn’t sound convincing.
Not because she was lying.
Because she was terrified.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Ask your mother where she was when Daniel called her the second time.
My hands tightened around the phone.
The second time.
I looked at my mother.
“You told me Dad called you once.”
She froze.
Ethan noticed.
“What is she talking about?”
My mother looked away.
“Natalie…”
“How many times did he call you that night?”
Silence.
That silence was enough.
I felt something break inside me.
Not because I was surprised.
Because I was tired.
Tired of finding out my life had been surrounded by secrets.
Tired of learning the truth in pieces.
“Twelve minutes,” my mother whispered.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“There were twelve minutes between the calls.”
My heart pounded.
“You lied.”
“I was scared.”
“You lied.”
My voice became louder.
“You let me believe you were just a grieving wife.”
“I was grieving.”
“And you were hiding things.”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
The honesty shocked me.
After years of excuses, the truth almost sounded strange.
“What happened during those twelve minutes?”
My mother sat down slowly.
“I went after him.”
“You already said that.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
She looked at the floor.
“Your father called me after he left Emily’s house.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“He wanted to talk.”
“About the divorce?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Her fingers trembled.
“And I begged him not to leave.”
I watched her carefully.
“What did he say?”
She swallowed.
“He said he loved me.”
That surprised me.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why leave?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because loving someone doesn’t always mean staying with them.”
The sentence hit harder than I expected.
Because for the first time, my mother sounded like she understood.
Even if only for a moment.
“What happened next?”
She looked at me.
“I followed him.”
“To where?”
“He said he needed to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you followed him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her answer came quietly.
“Because I thought he was going to give everything away.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“I thought he was going to tell someone about the money.”
“The inheritance?”
She nodded.
“You have to understand, Natalie. I was desperate.”
There it was.
The word she had used to justify everything.
Desperate.
“I had people demanding repayment.”
“People who threatened you?”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
I felt a chill.
“And you thought Dad was going to expose you.”
“Yes.”
“So you followed him.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“I saw another car.”
My breathing slowed.
“What car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was inside?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“Then how do you know someone else followed him?”
She looked at me.
“Because your father saw them.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What?”
“Before he left, he looked in the rearview mirror.”
She swallowed.
“He told me someone had been following him.”
The room went silent.
“Did he know who?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time, I didn’t want to look.
But I did.
Your father’s last recording is the proof.
I looked at the message.
Then back at my mother.
“What recording?”
Her face went pale.
“You have it?”
I froze.
The way she asked told me everything.
She knew.
“You know about a recording.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
She stood quickly.
“Natalie, listen to me.”
“No.”
I stepped back.
“You don’t get to do that anymore.”
Her expression changed.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
I laughed.
A quiet, painful laugh.
“Protect me?”
I held up my phone.
“You spent eight years hiding my father’s letter.”
She looked away.
“You tried to take his money.”
“That’s not—”
“You let me believe I was selfish.”
Her eyes filled.
“Natalie.”
“You made me feel guilty for wanting the one thing he left me.”
She had no answer.
Because there wasn’t one.
Ethan stepped beside me.
“Where is the recording?”
My mother looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
I watched her carefully.
Again.
That pause.
That hesitation.
“You do know.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
My voice was calm.
And that seemed to scare her more than anger.
“You know where it is.”
She looked at me.
Then finally whispered:
“Your father hid it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
She didn’t answer.
Because she knew.
And now I knew she knew.
The next morning, Richard met us at his office.
He had prepared the documents he promised.
Stacks of files covered his desk.
“Natalie,” he said carefully, “before we continue, I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“The information I found changes the situation.”
“How?”
He opened a folder.
“Your father was not only protecting your inheritance.”
I already knew that.
“But he was also documenting financial misconduct.”
I looked at the papers.
“By my mother?”
Richard nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed there was a possibility your mother would attempt to access your inheritance after his death.”
My hands tightened.
“He was right.”
“Yes.”
Richard turned another page.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
He looked at Ethan.
Then at me.
“Your father created a safety deposit arrangement.”
“A safety deposit?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Evidence.”
The room went silent.
“What evidence?”
Richard reached into the folder and removed a photograph.
Not the one Emily gave me.
A different one.
This showed my father standing beside a car.
The same night.
The night before he died.
My heart started racing.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was included in the documents your father left with me.”
I looked closer.
There was something on the windshield.
A small sticker.
A parking permit.
Richard pointed.
“Your father was at a location that night.”
“Where?”
“A storage facility.”
My eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because he had rented a private unit.”
My voice became a whisper.
“For what?”
Richard looked at me.
“To store documents.”
The room felt cold.
“Did anyone know?”
Richard shook his head.
“Your father made sure very few people knew.”
“Who had access?”
Richard hesitated.
“One person.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
He looked down.
Then said:
“Your mother.”
I stared.
“She had access?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t she take everything?”
Richard’s expression changed.
“Because she didn’t know what was inside.”
I looked at Ethan.
A horrible thought formed.
“She was searching.”
Richard nodded.
“I believe so.”
“All these years?”
“Yes.”
My phone buzzed.
Another unknown message.
This time, there was a picture attached.
I opened it.
A blurry image.
A security camera still.
My father’s car.
The storage facility.
And a person standing behind it.
I zoomed in.
My heart stopped.
Because I recognized the person immediately.
Not my mother.
Not Emily.
Someone else.
Someone who had been at my engagement party.
Someone who had hugged me and congratulated me.
Someone who had smiled while knowing exactly what my family was hiding.
I looked at Richard.
“Who is this?”
He stared at the image.
And the color drained from his face.
“Natalie…”
“What?”
His voice was barely audible.
“That person shouldn’t be there.”
“Why?”
Because he knew who it was.
And when he finally said the name, I felt the last piece of my family’s carefully hidden truth collapse.
“Because your father trusted that person more than anyone.”
I looked back at the photo.
The figure in the image.
The person who had followed my father.
The person who knew the truth.
May you like
And the person who had been lying to me from the beginning.
It was Chloe.