I thought I had misunderstood him.
“My father?”
Daniel nodded.
“Matthew discovered that your father had connections to Victor.”
I shook my head.
“My father died years ago.”
“I know.”
“He never met Victor.”
Daniel looked at Henry.
“That's what Matthew believed too.”
I turned toward Henry.
“What does that mean?”
Henry looked exhausted.
“Matthew investigated your family after he found Victor's financial records.”
“Why?”
“Because your name appeared in one of the files.”
My throat tightened.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
Daniel explained that Matthew had initially believed the name belonged to someone else.
Then he discovered the connection.
A transfer had been made through an account associated with my father's old business.
I remembered almost nothing about that business.
My father had owned a small construction company before retiring.
It had closed years before I met Matthew.
“You're saying my father was involved?”
“No,” Daniel said. “Not necessarily.”
That qualification mattered.
“Then why was his account there?”
“Because Victor used old accounts to move money.”
I looked at Henry.
“And Matthew found this?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“He wanted to know whether your father had been involved before accusing him.”
I sat down.
My entire understanding of my family seemed to be shifting.
I had spent years thinking Matthew's investigation had been about his own family.
Now I learned my family name was buried in the same records.
Daniel placed another document on the table.
“This is the account history.”
I looked at the dates.
One transaction had happened shortly before my father died.
Another occurred years later.
The second transfer was made through an account that had supposedly been closed.
I stared at it.
“That isn't possible.”
Daniel said, “That's what Matthew thought.”
Henry leaned closer.
“Maybe the account wasn't closed.”
“It was,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“My father showed me the closure papers.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Do you still have them?”
“I don't know.”
Henry said, “We should find them.”
The officer interrupted.
“You need to understand that financial records alone don't establish criminal responsibility.”
I nodded.
But I could not stop thinking about my father.
If someone had used his identity after his death, who had access to his information?
Victor?
Daniel?
Matthew?
Or someone else?
We returned home that evening.
Eleanor was waiting.
The moment she saw my face, she knew something had changed.
“What happened?”
I placed the account statement on the table.
“Did you know?”
She looked at it.
Then sat down.
“About your father?”
“Yes.”
Her silence answered me.
“You knew.”
“I knew Matthew had questions.”
“Questions about my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Matthew asked me not to.”
I closed my eyes.
“Everyone keeps using his name.”
Eleanor began crying.
“He wanted to protect you.”
“I understand that.”
“No, you don't.”
She looked at me.
“He was terrified that you would discover something about your family and blame yourself.”
“Why would I blame myself?”
“Because that's what you did after his death.”
I went quiet.
She was right.
I had blamed myself for everything.
For the last conversation.
For not insisting he stay home.
For surviving.
Perhaps Matthew had known me better than I knew myself.
But that did not make the secrets easier to accept.
I asked Eleanor what she knew about my father.
She said Matthew had once visited her with documents.
He had asked whether she knew of any connection between our families.
She didn't.
But later, she remembered something.
Years before Matthew met me, my father had visited their family business.
That was the first connection.
I felt a chill.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he meet Matthew's father?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know each other?”
“I think so.”
The room fell silent.
Suddenly, my childhood memories began appearing differently.
My father had always been secretive about business.
He never discussed clients.
He never spoke about certain men.
Whenever I asked why he had stopped working, he said he was tired.
Nothing more.
I had never questioned it.
Now I wondered whether I should have.
Henry touched the table.
“We need to find your father's papers.”
I nodded.
The next morning, we went through boxes stored in the attic.
Receipts.
Tax documents.
Old photographs.
Letters.
Then I found a folder labeled with a date from twenty years earlier.
Inside was a contract.
My father's company had done work for a business owned by Victor's family.
I stared at the signature.
My father's.
But something was wrong.
The contract was dated after the company had supposedly stopped operating.
I showed Henry.
He frowned.
“This could be forged.”
“Then why was it in my father's files?”
“Someone may have planted it.”
Daniel arrived an hour later.
When he saw the document, he went pale.
“I've seen this.”
“Where?”
“In Matthew's files.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because he was trying to prove that the old company accounts had been reopened.”
I sat down.
Daniel continued.
“Matthew believed someone had been using your father's identity.”
“Victor?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why was Matthew killed?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Because he was close to proving who.”
The answer frightened me.
We returned to the police with the documents.
They opened an investigation into the financial records.
That should have made me feel safer.
Instead, I felt exposed.
That evening, Henry received a phone call.
He answered.
His face changed.
He handed me the phone.
A man's voice said, “You should have left this alone.”
I recognized him.
Victor.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why did you kill my husband?”
There was silence.
Then he laughed softly.
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“You already know.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Henry.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
A moment later, another message arrived.
It contained a photograph.
My father.
Victor.
And Matthew.
All three were standing outside the same building.
The photograph was dated fifteen years earlier.
I stared at it.
Matthew had never told me he had met Victor before our marriage.
And my father had never told me he knew him.
The image had one more detail.
Someone had written on the back:
Ask Henry what happened after this picture was taken.
I slowly turned toward my husband.
He looked at the photograph.
Then closed his eyes.
“You knew.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART11: The Photograph Exposed a Meeting Henry Had Never Mentioned, and His Explanation Forced Me to Reconsider Who Had Been Protecting Whom
The Promise I Made to a Grieving Woman Followed Me Into a New Marriage, But I Never Expected the Past to Wait Behind Our Door
Part 10 of 16
