PART 6
Each step creaked beneath our weight.
Mia stayed behind me, holding onto my jacket.
The elderly man walked first.
The director followed.
I came last.
At the bottom, we reached a narrow hallway.
There were wooden walls on both sides.
At the end stood a heavy door.
On the door was a name.
DANIEL.
I stopped.
My husband had been here.
Not once.
Not by accident.
He had built something here.
Or hidden something here.
I reached for the handle.
It was unlocked.
Inside was a small room.
There was a table.
Two chairs.
A dusty lamp.
A metal filing cabinet.
And a wooden box.
On the wall was a photograph.
I walked closer.
It was Daniel.
He was younger.
Maybe seventeen.
Standing beside another boy.
Thomas.
I recognized him immediately.
But there was something else in the photograph.
Behind them stood a third person.
An adult.
I stared at the face.
I knew him.
My stomach dropped.
It was the director’s father.
The man who had founded this camp.
The director noticed where I was looking.
“My father,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“He knew.”
She nodded.
“He knew everything.”
“What happened?”
She sat down.
“My father was the camp director in 2009.”
The elderly man remained silent.
The director continued.
“Thomas was one of the campers. He was fourteen. Daniel was seventeen.”
“What happened to Thomas?”
“He discovered something.”
“What?”
She looked at the metal filing cabinet.
“My father had been stealing money from the camp.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Donations. Scholarship funds. Registration fees. He had been moving money through another account.”
“And Thomas found out?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Why would a fourteen-year-old know about that?”
“Because Thomas’s father worked for the camp.”
The director wiped her eyes.
“He discovered the missing money and threatened to expose my father.”
“What happened to Thomas?”
The director looked at me.
“My father locked him in this room.”
I felt sick.
“For how long?”
“Three days.”
Mia gasped.
The director continued.
“Daniel found out.”
I understood.
“He tried to rescue him.”
She nodded.
“Daniel came here at night. He broke the lock. He got Thomas out.”
“Then why did everyone say Thomas disappeared?”
“Because my father threatened Daniel.”
I looked at the elderly man.
He finally spoke.
“Daniel was seventeen. He was terrified. My son was his best friend.”
“Your son?”
He nodded.
“Thomas was my son.”
I stared at him.
The man looked toward the floor.
“My wife and I were told Thomas had run away.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“We searched for him for months.”
“And Daniel knew the truth?”
“He tried to tell us.”
“Why didn’t he?”
The man looked at the director.
“Because your father threatened his family,” she said.
I felt my chest tighten.
“My family?”
“He told Daniel that if he spoke, he would make sure something happened to his parents.”
I closed my eyes.
All these years.
Daniel had carried this secret alone.
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
The director looked down.
“Because he believed keeping silent was the only way to keep you safe.”
I shook my head.
“He could have trusted me.”
“I know.”
I walked toward the wooden box.
There was a small envelope taped to the top.
My name was written on it.
Rebecca.
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