Chapter 9 - MY FATHER'S LAST NIGHT
For five years, I had believed my father died because he drove too fast on a wet road.
The police report said his car left the highway just after midnight and struck a concrete barrier.
There were no other vehicles involved.
There were no witnesses.
Nathan had been the first person to reach me.
He had held me while I screamed.
He had arranged the funeral home.
He had answered calls when I could not speak.
He had told everyone I was too devastated to handle details.
At the time, I thought that was love.
Now I stared at the message on Robert’s phone and felt every memory become contaminated.
“Who sent this?”
Ruiz took the phone.
“The number is masked.”
“Can you trace it?”
“We can try.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He met my eyes.
“Not quickly.”
Robert leaned back in the interview room.
“Emily, we do not know what this means.”
I turned on him.
“It means my father’s name was in an audit someone broke into your office to steal.”
“That is what it means.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
Lauren looked pale.
“I never saw David Carter’s name in the files I copied.”
“Did Nathan ever mention him?”
She thought for a moment.
“Once.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“About two years ago.”
“Nathan had been drinking after a company dinner.”
“He got angry because Paul said Nathan owed everything to family connections.”
Lauren looked at me reluctantly.
“Nathan said, ‘Ask Emily’s father how much I owe.’”
I felt the blood leave my face.
“What did you think he meant?”
“I thought your father had invested in him before he died.”
“He did not.”
At least, I did not think he had.
My father had never trusted Nathan with money.
He had liked him socially but kept a deliberate distance from our finances.
Three months before the accident, Dad had taken me to lunch and asked whether Nathan ever pressured me to combine my inheritance with marital accounts.
I had been offended.
I told him Nathan was not interested in my money.
Dad had looked at me for a long moment.
Then he changed the subject.
I had forgotten that conversation too.
Now it returned with perfect clarity.
“I need my father’s old files.”
Olivia nodded.
“Where are they?”
“The cabin.”
Robert’s head came up.
“The lake property?”
“Yes.”
My father kept tax records, contracts, and old notebooks in a locked metal cabinet there.
After his death, I had gone through some personal belongings but never emptied the office.
Nathan hated the cabin and rarely came with me.
Suddenly, that seemed important.
Olivia checked the time.
“We are not driving there alone.”
“It is two hours away.”
“Then we take security.”
Ruiz advised us not to touch anything related to potential evidence without documenting it.
He arranged for a county deputy to meet us at the property.
Robert wanted to come.
I told him no.
He looked hurt.
I did not care.
This was my father’s space.
I had already allowed too many Hayes family members into places that belonged to me.
Olivia and I left just before sunset.
The drive north was gray and quiet.
I watched bare trees blur past the window.
My father had loved Thanksgiving.
Not because of tradition.
Because he liked feeding people.
He used to start cooking at six in the morning and refuse help.
Nathan had once joked that Dad treated turkey like a military operation.
I remembered laughing.
I wondered how many memories I would lose before this was over.
We reached the lake after dark.
A sheriff’s deputy named Barnes waited beside the gravel drive.
The cabin looked exactly as I remembered.
One porch light.
Cedar siding faded by weather.
A crooked wind chime beside the door.
I cried when I saw it.
Not because I was afraid.
Because for the first time since Thanksgiving dinner, I was standing somewhere that had belonged to a person who loved me without calculating what he could take.
I unlocked the door.
The air smelled like pine, old books, and dust.
Dad’s office was at the back.
The metal cabinet stood beside his desk.
It was locked.
I knew where he kept the key.
Under the false bottom of a wooden box filled with fishing lures.
The key was gone.
I stared at the empty space.
“Did anyone else know?” Olivia asked.
“Nathan.”
I had shown him once during our first year of marriage.
I felt stupid immediately.
Deputy Barnes photographed the cabinet before forcing the lock.
The top drawer contained tax files.
The second held property documents.
The third was almost empty.
Only one manila folder remained.
On the tab, my father had written N.H.
Nathan Hayes.
My hands started shaking.
Olivia put on gloves and opened it.
Inside were copies of bank statements, emails, and a handwritten note.
The note was dated six days before my father died.
It read:
Nathan knows about Red Cedar.
Paul says the money can be returned if I stay quiet.
I will not.
Emily must be protected before I confront them.
There was one final line.
If anything happens to me, check the dash camera.
I looked at Olivia.
“What dash camera?”
My father’s car had been totaled.
The police inventory never mentioned a dash camera.
Deputy Barnes asked whether the vehicle had one.
“Yes.”
Dad had installed it after a road-rage incident.
It recorded front and rear views and saved footage to a memory card.
I remembered him complaining that the device reset the date whenever the battery disconnected.
“Was the camera recovered?”
“I don’t know.”
Olivia photographed the note.
Then she lifted the bank statements.
Red Cedar Holdings appeared repeatedly.
The transfers did not come from Hayes Development.
They came from my father’s engineering company.
At first, the money moved out.
Then, months later, partial amounts moved back in.
It looked like my father had been funding Red Cedar.
But a handwritten annotation changed the picture.
Unauthorized transfer.
Bank dispute filed.
Credentials compromised.
Nathan had not begun by stealing from me.
He had begun by stealing from my father.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
All three of us froze.
Barnes drew his weapon and moved toward the door.
“Sheriff’s office.”
No answer.
Another sound came from the front room.
Then the front door slammed.
Barnes ran.
Olivia told me to stay inside.
I did not argue.
Seconds later, an engine roared outside.
Headlights swept across the office window.
A vehicle accelerated down the gravel road.
Barnes shouted into his radio.
Olivia checked the front room.
The door frame was scratched near the lock.
Someone had entered while we were in the office.
Nothing obvious was missing.
Then I looked at the desk.
My father’s folder was still open.
But the handwritten note was gone.
The person had taken only that page.
Not the financial records.
Not the folder.
Only the note mentioning the dash camera.
May you like
Which meant whoever had been inside already knew exactly what they were looking for.
