Chapter 2: The Stranger At Our Door Knew My Darkest Secret
Chapter 2: The Stranger At Our Door Knew My Darkest Secret
The door opened another inch.
Then the person outside stepped into the bedroom.
I knew him.
At least, I thought I did.
My wife immediately moved between us.
“Wait,” she said.
The man stopped.
He was probably in his early forties, wearing a dark jacket over a gray shirt. His face was calm, almost unnervingly calm, but his eyes were fixed on me.
Not my wife.
Me.
He was holding a thick brown envelope.
My wife turned toward him.
“You brought it?”
He nodded.
“I told you I would.”
I slowly stood from the edge of the bed.
“What is going on?”
Neither of them answered.
I looked at my wife.
“You said this was a gift.”
“It is.”
“This doesn’t feel like a gift.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
The stranger finally spoke.
“You deserve to know the truth.”
I frowned.
“Who are you?”
He looked at my wife.
She gave him a small nod.
“My name is Michael.”
That name meant nothing to me.
Then he added:
“I used to work for your father.”
My entire body went still.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t heard anyone mention my father in years.
He had died when I was twenty-four.
A heart attack, according to everything I had been told.
There had never been anything suspicious about it.
At least, that’s what my family said.
I looked at my wife.
“How do you know him?”
She took a slow breath.
“Michael contacted me six months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because he had something you needed to see.”
Michael placed the envelope on the dresser.
“You need to open it yourself.”
I didn’t move.
“What is inside?”
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
His eyes met mine.
“That your father’s death wasn’t what you were told.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I laughed nervously.
“No.”
My wife stepped closer.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Why tonight?”
She looked toward the envelope.
“Because we don’t have much time.”
Those words frightened me more than anything else.
I walked to the dresser.
My hand hovered over the envelope.
Then I opened it.
The first thing I pulled out was a photograph.
It showed my father standing outside a hotel.
Beside him was a woman I didn’t recognize.
And standing several feet behind them was Michael.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten date.
Six years ago.
My father’s death had been six years ago.
I looked at Michael.
“What happened that night?”
“I wasn’t there when he died.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because your father called me three hours before he died.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“What did he say?”
Michael hesitated.
“He told me someone had stolen something from him.”
“What?”
“A file.”
“What was in it?”
“Your name.”
My heart skipped.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
I looked at my wife.
She seemed to be holding back tears.
Michael continued.
“Your father told me that someone had been tracking you since before you met your wife.”
I frowned.
“You mean someone was tracking me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of something your father left you.”
I shook my head.
“My father didn’t leave me anything except the house.”
Michael gave me a strange look.
“That isn’t true.”
My wife suddenly reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“You knew about this?”
She nodded.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“Six months?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You’ve been lying to me for six months.”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
She didn’t answer.
Michael did.
“Of the same people your father was afraid of.”
I looked at him.
“Who are they?”
“We don’t know exactly.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“We know one thing.”
“What?”
“They’ve been looking for the file.”
“And they think I have it?”
“No.”
Michael’s voice became quieter.
“They think you know where it is.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t know anything.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why are you here?”
He pointed toward the envelope.
“Because your father left instructions.”
I opened the envelope again.
There was a folded piece of paper inside.
My name was written across the front.
In my father’s handwriting.
I hadn’t seen that handwriting since the funeral.
My hands started shaking.
I opened it.
There were only three sentences.
I read them once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
My wife watched my face.
“What does it say?”
I couldn’t speak.
Michael answered for me.
“It says, ‘If you are reading this, they have already found my son.’”
I looked up.
“My son?”
Michael nodded.
I continued reading.
“‘Do not trust anyone who claims to love you. Especially the person standing closest to you.’”
My eyes immediately went to my wife.
She looked devastated.
“No.”
I stepped backward.
“You knew about this.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father warned me about the person closest to me.”
“Yes.”
“And you still brought me here?”
“I had no choice.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She wiped away a tear.
“It means the person my father warned you about isn’t me.”
Michael suddenly looked toward the bedroom window.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
He walked to the curtains and pulled them aside.
Across the street, a black SUV was parked beneath a streetlight.
The engine was running.
I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
“How long has that been there?”
Michael checked his watch.
“About twenty minutes.”
My wife whispered:
“They found us.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked to the closet and pulled out a small suitcase.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to walk out of my house without an explanation?”
She looked directly at me.
“I expect you to trust me for the next ten minutes.”
I almost laughed.
“After everything you’ve hidden?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know how this looks.”
“Then explain it.”
She took a breath.
“I didn’t invite Michael here because I wanted to surprise you.”
“Then why?”
“Because tonight was the only night they wouldn’t be watching the house.”
Michael turned toward her.
“You were wrong.”
A loud sound came from downstairs.
Something had struck the front door.
Once.
Then again.
My wife froze.
Michael reached inside his jacket.
I stared at him.
“You brought a gun into my house?”
“For protection.”
Another impact shook the house.
My wife grabbed my arm.
“There’s another exit through the garage.”
We started moving.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
There was a single photograph.
It was a picture of my wife standing beside Michael.
Taken six months earlier.
Underneath it was a message:
You should have asked her why she contacted him first.
I looked at my wife.
She saw the screen.
Her face went pale.
“Who sent that?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael suddenly stopped.
“I do.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“The person who sent it is the reason your father died.”
A third impact hit the front door.
The lock cracked.
Michael whispered:
“They’re inside.”
My wife grabbed my hand.
And for the first time in six years of marriage, I realized something terrifying.
Maybe tonight’s surprise had never been meant to bring someone into our marriage.
Maybe it had been meant to expose someone who had been inside it all along.
