Chapter 7: The Business Partner Who Knew My Mother Would Die
The photograph of Richard Vale sat between us on the car's dashboard.
Michael had gone silent.
I had never seen an adult look so completely defeated by a single image. His fingers rested against the steering wheel, but he wasn't looking at the road. He was staring at the man standing beside the black car outside St. Mary's Hospital ten years earlier.
“Who is he really?”” I asked.
Michael swallowed.
“Richard was my business partner. We built a property investment company together before your mother died.””
“And he was at the hospital the night she died.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
I watched his face.
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it's the truth, Nia.””
“Then tell me something you do know.””
He turned toward me.
“Richard had access to some of my company's financial records. He knew about your mother's inheritance because we had discussed using part of the money for a property development project.””
My stomach tightened.
“Mom's money?””
“Only with her approval. Your mother had agreed to consider the investment, but she never signed the final agreement.””
“Did Richard know that?””
Michael nodded.
“He was frustrated. The project was running behind schedule, and he believed your mother's investment would solve our financial problems.””
I stared at the photograph.
“So he wanted her money.””
“He wanted the investment. I can't say what else he wanted.””
I looked at the man in the picture again.
“Why would he be at the hospital?””
Michael started the engine.
“That's what we're going to find out.””
We drove to Margaret's office, where she was waiting with a digital forensics specialist and a stack of documents.
When she saw the photograph, she immediately asked where it had come from.
“An anonymous number,” I explained.
“Have you received anything else?””
I showed her the messages.
Margaret examined the photograph without touching the screen.
“Do you recognize the location?””
Michael nodded.
“That's the service entrance at St. Mary's. It leads toward the staff parking area.””
“And the time?””
“The timestamp is visible in the corner. Nine twenty-six p.m.””
Margaret looked at him.
“You said you saw Richard leaving the hospital that evening.””
“Yes.””
“Did you see him enter?””
“No.””
“Did you ask him why he was there?””
“I tried. He told me he was visiting a sick relative.””
“Did you know he had a relative at St. Mary's?””
“Not one I knew of.””
Margaret wrote something in her notebook.
“Did you report the encounter?””
“No. I was trying to reach my wife.””
She nodded.
“Then we'll need to establish whether the photograph is authentic and whether the timestamp can be independently verified. We also need to identify who had access to the original image.””
I leaned forward.
“Can't we just ask Richard?””
Margaret looked at me.
“We can ask questions through the appropriate channels. But we should not confront a potential witness based solely on an anonymous message.””
Michael shook his head.
“Richard sold his shares and left the country shortly after Martha died. I haven't spoken to him in years.””
“Do you know where he lives now?”” Margaret asked.
“No.””
“Do you know whether he still owns Northbridge Holdings?””
Michael hesitated.
“I don't know.””
Margaret closed the folder.
“Then we'll start with the corporate records.””
She turned to me.
“Nia, I want you to understand something. The messages may be genuine, but the sender could also be manipulating you. Someone might be telling the truth about one detail while lying about another.””
I nodded.
“So I shouldn't trust the person sending them.””
“Correct. We should trust verifiable evidence.””
I looked down at my phone.
The anonymous sender knew things that had never appeared in public records.
The blue box.
My mother's final hours.
Richard leaving the hospital.
Whoever it was had either been there or had access to someone who had been.
And they were watching us closely enough to know that my father had returned.
That afternoon, Margaret obtained a preliminary corporate search for Northbridge Holdings.
The company was still registered.
Its current director was Richard Vale.
I stared at the screen.
“He never left the business?””
Michael shook his head.
“He told me he was retiring from property development. He said he wanted to start over somewhere else.””
Margaret scrolled through the filing history.
“There are several changes in ownership and registered addresses. We'll need more detailed records to establish what happened to the company's assets.””
She opened another document.
“This is interesting.””
The record showed that, shortly after my mother's death, Northbridge Holdings had received a substantial payment from an account associated with the family estate.
Michael leaned closer.
“That cannot be right.””
Margaret looked at him.
“Why?””
“Because I never authorized that payment.””
“Did you have signing authority over the account?””
“Yes. Along with Martha.””
Margaret pointed to the transaction details.
“The transfer was authorized using a document bearing your signature.””
Michael went pale.
“That's not my signature.””
I looked at the document.
The signature was similar to his handwriting, but the final letters were too sharp, too carefully formed.
“Someone copied it?””
“Possibly,” Margaret replied.
“A qualified examiner would need to compare it with known examples.””
Michael stared at the page.
“I never saw this agreement.””
“Then we'll need to find out who submitted it and what supporting documents were used.””
I felt anger rising inside me.
“Was that my inheritance?””
“Some of the money may have originated from the family estate,” Margaret said.
“But we cannot determine the exact amount belonging to the trust until we obtain the complete account history.””
I gripped the edge of my chair.
“How much money did they take?””
“We don't know yet.””
“Everyone keeps telling me that.””
Margaret met my eyes.
“I understand why you're frustrated. But if I give you a number without the records, I would be guessing. You deserve better than another adult making promises they cannot prove.””
I fell silent.
She was right again.
I hated that, too.
At four that afternoon, Michael received a call from an old colleague who had recently worked with Richard Vale.
They spoke for nearly twenty minutes.
I watched Michael's expression change as he listened.
First confusion.
Then disbelief.
Finally, something resembling horror.
When he ended the call, he looked at Margaret.
“Richard is back in the country.””
Margaret straightened.
“Where?””
“He's attending a private property investment conference tomorrow evening.””
“Do you know the venue?””
Michael gave her the address.
Margaret immediately shook her head.
“We are not going there to confront him. I'll contact a solicitor and determine whether there is a proper basis to request an interview.””
I looked at Michael.
“What if he disappears again?””
“Then we'll document the attempt to locate him and pursue the available legal routes.””
“But what if he knows who sent those messages?””
Margaret paused.
“That is possible.””
I stood.
“Then I want to meet him.””
Michael looked at me.
“Nia—”
“No. I've spent my whole life being told that I'm too young to understand, too emotional to ask questions, and too unimportant to know the truth.””
My voice shook.
“I'm done waiting outside rooms while adults decide what I'm allowed to hear.””
Margaret studied me.
“You can ask to be present if a formal interview is arranged. But I won't put you in a situation where someone might intimidate or manipulate you.””
“I won't let him scare me.””
“Being brave doesn't mean you have to expose yourself to unnecessary danger.””
I looked away.
I knew she was right, but I couldn't stop thinking about my mother's final hours.
About the man leaving through the service entrance.
About the money that had disappeared.
About the possibility that Richard Vale knew exactly why my father had been kept away from my mother.
That evening, we returned to the hotel.
Michael went downstairs to speak with the manager about our security arrangements, while I sat on the bed and examined the photograph again.
The man in the picture wore a dark coat and carried a leather briefcase.
His face was turned toward the camera.
He looked impatient.
As if he had somewhere important to be.
I enlarged the image.
There was a small object attached to his briefcase.
A silver pin.
It looked like a stylized letter N inside a circle.
I had seen that symbol before.
Not on Richard.
On the paperwork inside my mother's blue box.
I hurried to the folder Margaret had left with us and searched through the photographs of the documents.
There it was.
The same silver emblem printed at the top of the transfer authorization.
Northbridge Holdings.
My heart began to pound.
I called Margaret.
She answered immediately.
“Nia?””
“The symbol on Richard's briefcase matches the one on the financial documents.””
“That's consistent with his association with the company, but it doesn't establish wrongdoing.””
“I know. I'm not saying it does.””
I took a breath.
“But I think the person who sent the photograph wanted me to notice it.””
Margaret was quiet for a moment.
“That is a reasonable possibility. Send me the original image, not just a screenshot, if your phone allows it. I'll ask the specialist to preserve the file and examine its metadata.””
I did as she asked.
Then I sat beside the window, looking down at the traffic.
My father had lost ten years because he believed someone else's lies.
My mother had died believing someone might steal my future.
And I had grown up believing that the people who hurt me were simply stronger than I was.
I didn't know whether Richard Vale was guilty of anything.
But I knew I would no longer let other people decide which questions I was allowed to ask.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
For one second, I considered ignoring it.
Then I opened the message.
It contained no photograph this time.
Only a name and an address.
*Richard Vale. Northbridge House. Tomorrow, 7:00 p.m.*
Beneath it was a second message.
*Ask him why he was paid twice for the same night.*
I stared at the screen.
Paid twice.
For what?
Before I could call Margaret, another message appeared.
*And Nia? Don't let your father tell you he was innocent just because he was absent. He signed the first agreement himself.*
I looked toward the hotel door.
Michael was returning.
For the first time since he had found me, I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to come inside.
May you like
Because tomorrow, I might discover that the man who had spent ten years searching for me had been telling the truth about some things—and hiding the truth about others.
And I was no longer willing to accept half a story.
