Chapter 7: The Secret My Father Kept From Me
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the soft breathing of my daughter.
Daniel Brooks.
My husband's name.
The man I had loved.
The man who had died six months before Grace was born.
And somehow, Richard Whitmore knew something about him that my own father had never told me.
I looked at the message again.
*She must not meet Thomas before the shareholders' meeting.*
*If she discovers what happened to Daniel Brooks, everything could fall apart.*
My fingers began to tremble.
“Daddy, what does this mean?””
My father didn't answer.
He was standing near the window, staring down at the city.
“Daddy?””
He turned slowly.
“Naomi, there are things about Daniel's death that I never fully understood.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What things?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“When Daniel died, the police told us his car had left the road during heavy rain. The vehicle struck a barrier. The investigation concluded it was an accident.””
I nodded.
I remembered the hospital corridor.
The smell of disinfectant.
My father holding my shoulders while a doctor explained that Daniel hadn't survived.
I remembered being seven months pregnant and unable to understand how the world could continue after something like that.
“What does Richard have to do with it?””
My father looked at Jonathan.
“Can you give us a moment?””
Jonathan nodded.
“Of course, Chairman.””
He closed the door behind him.
My father sat opposite me.
“Daniel worked as a financial consultant before he died.””
“I know.””
“He had been helping a small investment firm review several hospitality development projects.””
I frowned.
“Why didn't he tell me?””
“He didn't want to worry you. You were pregnant, and he believed the matter would be resolved quickly.””
“What matter?””
My father hesitated.
“Some financial records didn't match the figures presented to investors.””
I stared at him.
“Are you saying Daniel found fraud?””
“Possibly.””
“Whose fraud?””
“Richard Whitmore's business network was involved in several of those projects.””
I shook my head.
“No. Daniel would have told me.””
“He might have intended to.””
My father looked down.
“Three weeks before the accident, Daniel called me. He said he had found evidence that money from one development project had been moved through several companies without proper authorization.””
“Did he give you the evidence?””
“No. He said he wanted to verify everything first.””
I remembered something.
Daniel sitting at our kitchen table one evening.
His laptop open.
A cup of tea untouched beside him.
When I asked what he was working on, he had closed the computer and smiled.
“Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.””
I had believed him.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this before?””
My father looked genuinely ashamed.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“That someone might come after you. Daniel had told me he was receiving strange calls. He asked me not to involve you.””
I felt tears gathering.
“So you let me believe his death was just an accident?””
“I believed the official investigation. I still don't know whether the two things are connected.””
“But you suspected something.””
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.””
I stood abruptly.
Grace stirred in her carrier.
I immediately lowered my voice.
“You knew my husband might have been investigating something dangerous, and you never told me?””
“I was trying to protect you.””
“By keeping me in the dark?””
My father stood too.
“Naomi, I had just lost someone I considered a son. I was trying to make sure I didn't lose you as well.””
I looked at him.
He had tears in his eyes.
For a moment, my anger weakened.
Then I looked at the message again.
Richard Whitmore knew Daniel's name.
He knew I was coming.
And he had specifically instructed people to keep me away from my father.
“Did Daniel leave anything behind?””
My father nodded slowly.
“His office files were returned to you after the investigation.””
I frowned.
“I never received any office files.””
“What?””
“When Daniel died, the police returned his personal belongings. His watch, wallet, keys, and phone. I never saw any business documents.””
My father stared at me.
“Who collected the remaining property?””
I thought back.
A man from Daniel's former firm had visited our house two weeks after the funeral.
He introduced himself as Peter Lawson.
He said Daniel's company needed to collect some work equipment.
I had been exhausted.
I had been struggling with morning sickness and grief.
I signed a collection form without reading every line.
“I think his employer collected everything.””
My father immediately reached for his phone.
“Jonathan. Come back.””
A few seconds later, Jonathan entered.
“Sir?””
“Find Daniel Brooks's former employer. I want the name of the person who collected his files after his death.””
Jonathan nodded.
“Understood.””
My father continued.
“And contact our external investigators. I want a fresh review of the financial records Daniel was examining.””
Jonathan looked at the message.
“Is this connected to Richard Whitmore?””
“Yes.””
Jonathan's expression hardened.
“I'll handle it.””
He left.
I sat down again.
Grace began to cry.
I lifted her from the carrier and held her close.
“It's okay, baby.””
My father sat beside me.
“I'm sorry.””
I didn't answer.
He placed a hand over mine.
“I should have trusted you with the truth.””
I looked at him.
“I don't need you to protect me from every difficult thing. I need you to trust me enough to tell me when something is wrong.””
He nodded.
“You're right.””
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
*Naomi, this is Peter Lawson. I worked with Daniel. I need to speak with you urgently. Do not trust Richard Whitmore.*
I stared at the screen.
Another message followed.
*Your husband didn't die because of the rain.*
My breathing stopped.
I showed my father.
He read the message.
Then immediately called Jonathan.
“Get security to this floor. Nobody enters or leaves without being identified.””
He turned toward me.
“Don't respond yet.””
But another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
A picture of Daniel sitting at a desk.
He looked tired.
His hair was untidy.
A folder lay open in front of him.
On the folder was a handwritten label.
ASHBOURNE — ORIGINAL ACCOUNTS.
I stared at it.
I knew that folder.
I had seen it once in our house.
Three weeks before he died.
“Daddy,” I whispered.
My father leaned closer.
“What?””
“That's Daniel's handwriting.””
I zoomed in.
Beneath the folder label was a small note.
A date.
And a name.
Thomas Brooks.
My father went completely still.
Then my phone rang.
Peter Lawson.
I answered before my father could stop me.
“Hello?””
A man's frightened voice came through.
“Naomi? Listen carefully. I don't have much time.””
“Who are you?””
“I'm the man who collected your husband's files.””
My father reached for the phone and placed it on speaker.
“Peter Lawson, this is Thomas Brooks.””
The man gasped.
“Mr. Brooks?””
“Yes. Tell us what happened.””
Peter's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Daniel left something behind. Something Richard Whitmore has been searching for since the accident.””
“What?””
“A recording.””
My father exchanged a glance with me.
Peter continued.
“And it contains the conversation Daniel had with the person who arranged the financial transfers.””
“Who was it?”” I asked.
There was a long silence.
Then Peter said:
“Someone inside Brooks International.””
Before my father could ask another question, the line went dead.
A message appeared seconds later.
*They know I contacted you.*
Then another.
*I'm at the Ashbourne Grand. Basement parking. Please come alone.*
My father immediately stood.
“No.””
I looked at him.
“Daddy, he's scared.””
“He's asking you to walk into an unknown situation.””
“He may have information about Daniel.””
My father shook his head.
“I'm not risking your safety.””
I held Grace closer.
“Then let's bring him somewhere safe.””
My father looked toward the door.
Jonathan was already entering with two security officers.
“Chairman, we have a problem.””
“What?””
Jonathan glanced at me.
Then lowered his voice.
“Peter Lawson's vehicle has just been found in the basement parking area.””
My heart began pounding.
“Is he there?””
Jonathan hesitated.
“His car is there.””
“And Peter?””
May you like
He looked at my father.
“Missing.””
