Chapter 10: The Truth Tasha Buried
I used to believe the worst thing a person could do was steal money.
I was wrong.
Money could be earned again.
Trust could not.
But some truths were even heavier than betrayal.
Some truths changed the way you looked at every memory you had ever made.
That morning, Malcolm sat at the kitchen table staring at his phone.
He hadn’t moved in nearly ten minutes.
The coffee in front of him had gone cold.
“Call her,” I said.
He didn’t look up.
“I don’t know if I can.””
Those words scared me.
Because Malcolm was not a man who avoided hard conversations.
He was the kind of person who fixed problems.
But this wasn’t a problem.
This was a wound.
“Tasha knows something about your wife’s death,” I reminded him.
His jaw tightened.
“I know.””
“Then you need answers.””
He finally looked at me.
“What if I don’t want them?””
I understood.
Because sometimes the truth doesn’t bring peace.
Sometimes it destroys the last piece of comfort you have left.
But there was a child upstairs who deserved the truth.
Isaiah deserved to know that his mother’s story mattered.
Malcolm picked up his phone.
He called.
The line rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a voice answered.
“Malcolm.””
Her voice sounded different.
No anger.
No excuses.
Just exhaustion.
“Where are you?””
“I told you I needed time.””
“You don’t have time.””
Silence.
“I know.””
My son closed his eyes.
“You knew about my wife.””
A long pause.
Then:
“Yes.””
The word hit harder than anything else.
Malcolm stood.
“What do you mean yes?””
“I knew there were questions.””
“Questions?””
His voice rose.
“My wife died.””
“I know.””
“No, you don’t.””
The pain in his voice filled the room.
“You weren’t there.””
Tasha became quiet.
“I know I’m the last person who gets to talk about this.””
“You’re right.””
“But I need to explain.””
Malcolm looked at me.
I nodded.
Let her speak.
“Where are you?”” he asked.
“An old motel outside town.””
“Send me the address.””
Another pause.
“Will you listen?””
“No promises.””
“That’s fair.””
Twenty minutes later, Malcolm and I arrived.
The motel looked abandoned.
A faded sign flickered above the entrance.
Room 17.
Malcolm knocked.
The door opened slowly.
Tasha stood there.
She looked nothing like the confident woman from days before.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was tired.
She looked like someone who had been running from something for a long time.
Not someone who had just been caught.
“Come in.””
Malcolm didn’t move.
“Start talking.””
Tasha nodded.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“I met Derek before I met you.””
Malcolm’s expression changed.
“What?””
“He introduced me to the family.””
I felt a chill.
“Why?””
She looked down.
“Because he wanted someone close.””
“Close to what?””
She didn’t answer immediately.
Then:
“Close to Isaiah.””
Malcolm stepped back.
“Why?””
“Because Derek believed Isaiah’s mother left something behind.””
“What?””
“I don’t know.””
“That’s a lie.””
Tasha looked up.
“I swear.””
“You expect me to believe you?””
“No.””
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.””
“Then why tell me?””
“Because I finally realized I was protecting the wrong person.””
Malcolm crossed his arms.
“Derek.””
She nodded.
“He knew about the money your wife left.””
“How?””
“He was there when she made arrangements.””
My heart stopped.
“Derek knew her?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Tasha looked away.
“That’s the part I never understood.””
“Tell me everything.””
She took a deep breath.
“Your wife trusted Derek.””
Malcolm froze.
“Trusted him with what?””
“Information.””
“What information?””
Tasha reached into her bag.
She pulled out a small notebook.
Old.
Worn.
She placed it on the table.
“I found this in Derek’s apartment.””
Malcolm opened it.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Dates.
Names.
Numbers.
And one sentence written in bold.
“Isaiah cannot know until the money is secured.””
Malcolm’s face changed.
“What is this?””
“I don’t know.””
“You’re lying again.””
“No.””
She looked at him.
“I think Derek was trying to find something your wife left.””
I looked at the notebook.
“Something besides the money?””
Tasha nodded.
“Yes.””
Malcolm turned pages.
Then stopped.
“What?””
His voice became quiet.
“What is it?””
He turned the notebook toward me.
There was a name.
Not Derek.
Not Tasha.
Someone else.
Someone unexpected.
“Malcolm?””
He stared at the page.
“That name…”
“What?””
He swallowed.
“That’s my father’s name.””
The room went silent.
I felt like the ground moved beneath me.
“What?””
Malcolm looked at the page again.
“Why would Derek write my father’s name?””
Nobody answered.
Tasha whispered:
“Because your father knew more than he told you.””
I looked at Malcolm.
My son looked at me.
And in that moment, I knew.
This story had never started with Tasha.
She was only another person caught in something much older.
Something that began before the empty backpack.
Before the missing money.
Before Isaiah lost his school supplies.
The next page in the notebook had one sentence.
May you like
And it changed everything.
“Walter was the last person Isaiah’s mother called before she died.””