Chapter 4: Someone Was Already Hunting For The Truth
Chapter 4: Someone Was Already Hunting For The Truth
I couldn’t move.
Arthur was already standing, his phone clenched tightly in one hand while the other reached for the gray folder.
“Give it to me.”
I pulled it against my chest.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Claire—”
“You said my mother spent ten years lying to me. You said someone helped make my father disappear. And now someone broke into your office looking for this.”
I stood up.
“So no, Arthur. I’m not giving it back.”
For a moment, he simply stared at me.
Then something changed in his expression.
Not anger.
Approval.
“Good.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“Keep it.”
My heart hammered.
“What?”
“The original documents stay with you. If someone is willing to break into my office, I don’t want them anywhere near the evidence.”
He took the photograph of my supposed dead grandmother and slipped it back into the folder.
“Put everything inside your bag.”
I did.
My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the papers.
Arthur locked the storage room behind us.
We walked quickly through the hallway.
Every sound suddenly seemed threatening.
A door closing.
Footsteps upstairs.
A car passing outside.
I kept looking over my shoulder.
When we reached the side entrance, Arthur stopped.
“Wait here.”
He looked through the glass.
The street appeared normal.
People walked past.
Cars moved through the intersection.
Nothing seemed wrong.
But then I noticed something.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Engine running.
Dark windows.
Arthur noticed it too.
“Don’t look directly at it.”
I immediately turned away.
“Is that them?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“No.”
Arthur grabbed his keys.
“We’re leaving through the back.”
We moved through another corridor and exited into a narrow alley.
The moment we reached the sidewalk, Arthur’s phone vibrated.
He checked it.
This time, he didn’t speak.
“What?”
He showed me the screen.
A message.
You should have left the past buried.
My stomach dropped.
“Who sent that?”
“Unknown number.”
Another message appeared.
She belongs to us.
My hands went cold.
“She?”
Arthur looked at me.
“Could mean you.”
“Or my mother.”
“Yes.”
We got into his car.
He drove without saying where we were going.
For ten minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I broke the silence.
“I want to go home.”
Arthur glanced at me.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I looked down at the folder.
“But I need to see my mother.”
“Claire, Thomas specifically told you not to confront her until you found this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you should go alone.”
I turned toward the window.
“I’ve lived in that house for ten years believing everyone in it loved me.”
My voice cracked.
“Now I don’t know what anything means.”
Arthur said nothing.
After another few minutes, he pulled over.
“We’re here.”
I looked outside.
It wasn’t my house.
It was a small café on a quiet street.
“Why are we here?”
“Because you need to make one phone call before you go home.”
“To whom?”
Arthur took a folded piece of paper from his wallet.
He handed it to me.
There was a name and a number.
Elena Whitaker.
I stared at it.
“Who is she?”
“She was your father’s private investigator.”
My heart skipped.
“You mean she knew him?”
“Better than most people did.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
I looked at the number.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her before?”
“Because I didn’t know whether she was safe.”
I looked at him.
“And now?”
Arthur’s expression was grim.
“Now I think she may be the only person who knows what really happened in October 2016.”
I called.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then a woman’s voice answered.
“Who is this?”
I swallowed.
“My name is Claire Carter.”
Silence.
The woman didn’t speak.
I continued.
“I’m Thomas Whitaker’s daughter.”
The silence became heavier.
Finally, she whispered,
“That’s impossible.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“Because Thomas told me you were dead.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What?”
“I don’t know who you are, but—”
“My mother is Marianne Carter.”
The woman stopped.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“Then you really are his daughter.”
I gripped the phone.
“How did you know?”
“Because Marianne was the only person who could have convinced Thomas to believe you were dead.”
My head spun.
“What are you talking about?”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Good.”
There was fear in her voice now.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because if Marianne knows you’re alive, she’ll come for you.”
My mouth went dry.
“She already knows I’m alive.”
Elena went silent.
“She knows I’m eighteen. She knows I graduated today. She knows where I live.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“Then you don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Thomas didn’t disappear to protect himself.”
I leaned closer to the phone.
“Then why did he disappear?”
“He disappeared to protect you.”
I closed my eyes.
“From whom?”
There was a long pause.
Then Elena said,
“From the Whitaker family.”
I opened my eyes.
“My family?”
“Your father’s family was involved in something much bigger than money.”
“What?”
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“Then tell me where to meet you.”
Another pause.
“Saint Agnes Cemetery. Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.”
“Why a cemetery?”
“Because that’s where Thomas left something for you.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did he leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re his investigator.”
“I stopped working for him ten years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because he disappeared.”
I heard something in the background.
A door closing.
Elena’s breathing changed.
“Claire, I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t trust Arthur.”
I looked across the table.
Arthur was watching me.
“What?”
“Don’t trust the man sitting beside you.”
The call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly.
Arthur’s expression hadn’t changed.
“What did she say?”
I stared at him.
“She said not to trust you.”
For the first time, Arthur looked genuinely shocked.
Then he sighed.
“I was afraid she’d say that.”
My stomach twisted.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Elena believes I betrayed your father.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then why would she say that?”
Arthur looked away.
“Because she doesn’t know the whole story.”
I stood.
“What story?”
He didn’t answer.
“Arthur.”
He finally looked at me.
“Your father didn’t trust me either.”
I felt something inside me collapse.
“Then why are you helping me?”
“Because I promised him I would.”
“Promised him what?”
Arthur reached into his coat.
He pulled out an old envelope.
It had been sealed for years.
My name was written across the front.
Claire Carter.
I stared at it.
“Your father gave this to me the night before he disappeared.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me before?”
“Because he told me to wait until you found the second file.”
I took it.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Only three lines.
Claire,
If Arthur gives you this letter, it means Marianne failed to keep you away from the truth.
Now find the house on Blackwood Lane.
I looked up.
“What’s Blackwood Lane?”
Arthur’s face had gone pale.
“It’s where your father lived before you were born.”
I looked back at the letter.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
The woman you call your mother has been there before.
I couldn’t speak.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
There was only one photograph.
It showed my house.
Taken from across the street.
And beneath it were five words:
We know you’re investigating.