Chapter 4: The Accident Was Meant for Someone Else
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood rushing through my ears.
The accident was never supposed to happen to Isabelle.
I read the sentence again, hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.
They didn't.
The station attendant stood behind the counter, watching me with worried eyes. Outside, a train horn echoed across the platforms, followed by the metallic shriek of wheels against rails.
I clutched the envelope.
“Who gave you this?”” I asked.
The woman shook her head.
“It was attached to the back of the photograph when your mother's belongings were deposited here.””
“Did you read it?””
“No. Your mother left specific instructions that everything was to remain sealed until her daughter collected it.””
I swallowed.
“Did she come here herself?””
“Yes. Several times, actually. The last time was about a week before she died.””
A week.
My mother had visited this station seven days before the accident that killed her.
“Was she alone?””
The woman hesitated.
“Not the last time.””
My stomach tightened.
“Who was with her?””
“I don't remember his name. A tall man in a gray coat. He looked upset. Your mother kept telling him that she wouldn't change her mind.””
“What did he say?””
The attendant glanced toward the entrance before answering.
“He told her that if she went to the police, everyone would lose everything.””
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“Did my mother look frightened?””
The woman nodded slowly.
“She looked like someone who had already made up her mind to do something dangerous.””
I thanked her and stepped away from the counter.
My first instinct was to call my father again.
My second was to throw the phone against the wall.
He had known something about that baby. His voice had changed the moment I mentioned the letter. And when I asked him about Nicole, he hadn't denied anything.
He had told me to stay away from my aunt.
The one person my mother had specifically instructed me to find.
I opened my contacts and searched for Evelyn Bennett.
Her number was still there, buried beneath years of unanswered calls.
I pressed the button.
It rang four times.
“Hello?””
The familiar voice nearly broke me.
“Aunt Evelyn?””
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
“Maya?””
“Yes.””
“Oh, sweetheart.”” Her voice trembled.
“Where are you?””
“Downtown. At the old railway station.””
“Are you alone?””
“Yes.””
“Does Richard know you're there?””
“He knows I'm downtown, but he doesn't know what I found.””
She went quiet.
“What did you find?””
I looked at the envelope.
“A letter from Mom. And a photograph of Nicole holding a baby.””
Evelyn made a small, broken sound.
“Oh, Isabelle.””
“Mom said you have the original documents.””
“Where did you get that letter?””
“Locker 214.””
Another silence.
Then Evelyn whispered, “Your mother was right. She knew this day might come.””
My knees weakened.
“Aunt Evelyn, what happened to my mother?””
“Listen to me carefully. Do not go home. Do not confront Nicole. And don't let Richard know you're with me until I tell you it's safe.””
“Why does everyone keep telling me not to trust my own father?””
“Because your father isn't the man you remember when it comes to Nicole.””
I closed my eyes.
“I need the truth.””
“You deserve it.””
“Then tell me.””
“Not over the phone. Can you get to the public library on Mercer Street?””
I glanced at the station clock.
“Yes.””
“Meet me there in forty minutes. Go inside and wait near the reference desk. Don't accept a ride from anyone.””
She hung up before I could ask another question.
I stared at the screen.
Forty minutes.
For the first time in years, I had someone who seemed willing to answer my questions.
I left the station through the side exit and walked toward the main road. The morning air was cold, and my school uniform felt painfully conspicuous among the commuters in business clothes.
Halfway down the block, my phone vibrated.
A message from my father.
*Where are you? Call me immediately.*
I didn't reply.
Another message arrived.
*Maya, please. We need to talk.*
Then a third.
*Nicole says you stole something from her. If you have it, bring it home.*
I stared at the screen.
He still didn't ask whether I was safe.
He still didn't ask why I had left.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and kept walking.
At the library, I took a seat beside a tall window overlooking the street. I placed my mother's letter inside my backpack and kept one hand on the strap.
Evelyn arrived thirty-seven minutes later.
She looked older than I remembered. Her dark hair had turned almost entirely silver, and faint lines framed her eyes. She wore a plain black coat and carried a leather folder pressed tightly against her chest.
The moment she saw me, she stopped.
For a few seconds, we simply stared at each other.
Then she crossed the room and pulled me into her arms.
I hadn't realized how badly I needed someone to hold me until I felt her trembling.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered into my hair.
“I'm so sorry I wasn't there.””
I clung to her.
“Why didn't you visit?””
She pulled back and held my face between her hands.
“Because Richard made sure I couldn't.””
“What?””
“He told me you didn't want to see me. He said you blamed me for your mother's death.””
I stared at her.
“I never said that.””
“I know that now.””
She sat beside me and opened the leather folder.
Inside were photocopies of bank statements, medical records, and several legal documents. Some pages had been highlighted in yellow. Others contained handwritten notes in the margins.
Evelyn removed a photograph.
It showed my mother standing beside a man I recognized from old family pictures.
My grandfather.
He had died when I was very young, but I remembered his deep laugh and the peppermint candies he kept in his pockets.
“Your grandfather owned a small insurance company before he retired,” Evelyn explained.
“He was wealthy, but he didn't trust banks or business partners. When Isabelle was born, he created a private trust for her. When you were born, he amended it.””
“How much money?””
“Enough that you would never have needed to depend on Richard.””
I blinked.
“What?””
“Your mother inherited the trust after your grandfather died. When she died, the remaining assets were supposed to pass to you when you turned eighteen.””
I stared at the documents.
“Why didn't Dad tell me?””
“Because he wasn't the trustee.””
“Who was?””
“Your mother named me as the independent guardian of the trust. Richard managed the household, but he never had legal authority over the money.””
My hands began to shake.
“Where is it now?””
Evelyn looked down at the papers.
“That's the problem. Shortly before Isabelle died, someone attempted to transfer a substantial amount from the trust into a company controlled by Nicole.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why would Nicole have access to Mom's money?””
“She wouldn't have. Not legally.””
“Then how did she try?””
Evelyn slid a document toward me.
The signature at the bottom looked almost identical to my mother's.
Almost.
“Someone forged Isabelle's authorization,” she said.
I stared at the page.
“Did Mom know?””
“Yes. She discovered the forgery and confronted the people involved. She was preparing to take the documents to the authorities when she died.””
My mouth went dry.
“The accident.””
Evelyn nodded.
“Your mother believed someone was following her. She told me that if anything happened to her, I needed to protect you.””
“Did she say who?””
“She said Nicole was involved. But she didn't have enough evidence to prove who was responsible for the accident.””
I looked at the envelope in my lap.
“Then what does this mean?””
I showed her the officer's letter.
Evelyn read the sentence, and all the color drained from her face.
“The accident was never supposed to happen to Isabelle,” she whispered.
“You've seen this before?””
“No. But I know what it suggests.””
She looked directly at me.
“Your mother wasn't the original target.””
“Who was?””
Evelyn didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she opened the folder and removed another photograph.
It showed a younger Richard standing beside a black sedan outside a restaurant. Nicole stood beside him, her hand resting on his arm.
Between them was a man wearing a gray coat.
The same kind of coat the station attendant had described.
On the back, someone had written a name.
*Daniel Cross.*
“Who is he?”” I asked.
Evelyn pressed her lips together.
“He was the driver involved in your mother's accident.””
My entire body went cold.
“But the police said the other driver crossed the center line.””
“They did.””
“Then why was he meeting my father and Nicole?””
Evelyn looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Because Daniel Cross wasn't a stranger to your family, Maya.””
She turned the photograph over again and pointed to a line beneath his name.
*Private investigator.*
My pulse thundered.
“Dad hired the man who caused Mom's accident?””
“We don't know that,” Evelyn said quickly.
“The photograph proves they met. It doesn't prove why.””
“But the officer's letter—”
“Means we need the original investigation file. Not guesses. Not assumptions. Evidence.””
She closed the folder.
“I spent years trying to obtain those records, but someone made the file disappear from the public archive. I was warned to stop asking questions.””
“By whom?””
“I never found out.””
I looked down at my mother's letter.
For eight years, I had believed my mother died because of a tragic mistake.
Now I had reason to believe that someone had intended to hurt a member of my family.
And the people closest to me might have known more than they had ever admitted.
My phone rang again.
Dad.
This time, Evelyn gestured for me to answer.
I pressed the button and put it on speaker.
“Maya?”” My father's voice sounded strained.
“Where are you?””
“I'm with Aunt Evelyn.””
Silence.
Then he said something that made Evelyn's hand tighten around mine.
“Get away from her immediately.””
“Why?””
“Because she's been lying to you about your mother for years.””
Evelyn leaned toward the phone.
“Richard, stop.””
“You have no right to speak to my daughter.””
“She is my niece.””
“And you have spent eight years poisoning her against me!””
“That's not true,” I interrupted.
Both of them fell silent.
I looked at the documents spread across the table.
“Dad, I found the photograph of you with Nicole and Daniel Cross.””
The silence on the other end was absolute.
Then my father whispered, “Where did you get that?””
“From Mom's locker.””
His breathing grew uneven.
“Maya, listen to me. Whatever Evelyn tells you, don't believe it until you've heard my side.””
“Then tell me now.””
“I can't.””
“Why not?””
“Because if I tell you what happened that night, you may never forgive me.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Evelyn slowly closed the folder.
Outside, a bus rumbled past the library window.
For the first time, I understood that the truth about my mother's death might destroy the only family I had left.
But as I looked at the forged signature, the photograph, and the warning letter, I realized something else.
My father wasn't afraid that I would discover Nicole had lied about a pregnancy test.
May you like
He was afraid I would discover what he had done eight years earlier.
And whatever that was, it was serious enough that he had spent years making sure I never asked the right questions.
