PART 8
I picked up the phone.
“No.”
My voice was shaking now.
“You called me. You don’t get to decide when this conversation ends.”
Marcus laughed softly.
“You’re more like your mother than I expected.”
I froze.
“What does my mother have to do with this?”
Another silence.
Then Marcus said:
“She knew.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Knew what?”
“Everything.”
My mother.
The beach property.
Andrew’s debt.
My brother.
Marcus.
Everything suddenly felt connected.
I hung up.
Andrew stared at me.
“You need to hear the rest.”
“What did my mother know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I swear I don’t know.”
I walked past him.
I went upstairs.
My mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding an old photograph.
She looked up when she saw my face.
“What happened?”
I held out my phone.
“Do you know Marcus Reed?”
The photograph slipped from her fingers.
It landed face down on the floor.
My mother didn’t move.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t even breathe normally.
And that was all the answer I needed.
“Mom?”
She slowly looked up.
Her eyes were filled with fear.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Andrew told me nothing.”
I swallowed.
“Marcus told me.”
My mother’s face went white.
“Then he found you.”
“Found me?”
She stood.
“Carla, listen to me carefully.”
“What happened six years ago?”
She shook her head.
“You’re not ready.”
“I am.”
“No.”
She reached for my hand.
“You need to leave this house tonight.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the bedroom door.
Then she whispered:
“Because if Marcus knows you have the deed…”
She stopped.
“What?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“He isn’t after Andrew.”
I stared at her.
“Then who is he after?”
My mother looked directly into my eyes.
“You.”
Before I could respond, we heard a sound downstairs.
The front door opened.
Andrew shouted from the hallway.
“Carla!”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t go downstairs.”
“What happened?”
“Lock the door.”
“Mom—”
“Now!”
We heard Andrew again.
But this time, his voice wasn’t frightened.
It was angry.
“Carla, don’t open that door!”
Then another voice answered him from downstairs.
A voice I had never heard in person.
But I recognized it instantly.
Marcus Reed.
“Andrew,” he said calmly.
“You’ve been hiding behind your wife for twelve years.”
My mother pulled me backward.
And then Marcus said something that made my blood turn cold.
“It’s time Carla finally learns what happened to her brother.”
PART 5
“It’s time Carla finally learns what happened to her brother.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
My mother’s fingers tightened around my wrist.
Downstairs, I could hear Andrew breathing heavily.
Then Marcus spoke again.
“Carla, you deserve to know the truth.”
I looked at my mother.
She shook her head desperately.
“No.”
“Mom…”
“No, Carla.”
Her voice broke.
“Some truths destroy the people who carry them.”
I gently pulled my wrist from her hand.
“Then let me decide whether I can carry it.”
She closed her eyes.
I walked toward the bedroom door.
My mother grabbed my arm again.
“Please.”
I stopped.
She whispered:
“Your brother didn’t die because of Andrew.”
I turned around.
“What?”
Her face crumpled.
“He died because he found out what they were doing.”
“Who?”
“Marcus.”
I stared at her.
“And Andrew?”
She hesitated.
“Andrew was there because your brother asked him to come.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because your brother trusted him.”
That hurt more than I expected.
I had spent years believing my brother’s death was a tragic accident.
A wet road.
A late-night drive.
A terrible mistake.
The police report had said there was no evidence of foul play.
Everyone had accepted it.
Everyone except my mother.
Apparently.
“What did my brother discover?”
My mother looked toward the door.
“He discovered that Marcus and several other people were using properties belonging to vulnerable families as collateral for loans.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
She took a trembling breath.
“Your brother discovered that one of the properties was yours.”
I felt the room tilt.
“The beach house?”
She nodded.
“He found documents showing that Marcus had obtained a copy of your property records and used them to pressure Andrew.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Why would Andrew let him?”
“He didn’t at first.”
My mother looked down.
“Your brother confronted Andrew. He told him to confess everything to you.”
“And Andrew didn’t?”
“He was afraid.”
I closed my eyes.
The pieces were beginning to fit.
Andrew’s secret debt.
The missing documents.
The payments.
Marcus.
The beach property.
My brother’s death.
But there was still something missing.
“What happened that night?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your brother met Andrew at an abandoned warehouse.”
“Why?”
“To give him proof.”
“What proof?”
“A recording.”
My eyes widened.
“A recording of Marcus admitting everything.”
Downstairs, something crashed.
My mother flinched.
Marcus shouted:
“Carla!”
I looked at the door.
My mother whispered:
“Your brother gave the recording to Andrew.”
“And?”
“Andrew promised to take it to the police.”
“Did he?”
She didn’t answer.
I already knew.
“No.”
My mother began crying.
“He was scared.”
I felt anger rise inside me.
“He was scared?”
“Yes.”
“And my brother died?”
“Yes.”
“And Andrew kept silent for six years?”
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