Chapter 7: The Truth About My Father's Accident
"Your mother knows who was driving.""
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
My father's handwriting was unmistakable. The way he formed the letter R, the slight curve beneath his signature, even the small ink mark beside the final word.
It was his.
I looked at my mother.
She had gone completely pale.
"Mom?""
She didn't answer.
"Did you know something about Dad's accident?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
Vanessa stood beside the desk, her hands trembling.
Patricia was already moving toward the front door.
"Wait," I said.
She stopped.
"You're not leaving.""
Patricia turned.
"You have no authority to keep me here.""
"Then stay because you have some explaining to do.""
She laughed bitterly.
"Daniel, you have no idea what you're getting involved in.""
I held up the letter.
"Then enlighten me.""
My mother suddenly reached for my arm.
"Please, sweetheart. Let me explain.""
I turned toward her.
"Did you know who was driving?""
She closed her eyes.
Then she nodded.
I felt something inside me collapse.
"Who?""
Mom began crying.
"It was James.""
I stared at her.
"James Whitmore?""
She nodded again.
"Your father's business partner.""
"Why was he driving Dad's car?""
She sank into the nearest chair.
"Your father had discovered that James was stealing money from their company. They argued that evening. Your father called me before he left the office.""
"What did he say?""
"He told me he was going to confront James. He said he had proof of everything.""
I looked at the police report.
According to the official record, my father had lost control of his vehicle on a wet road and crashed into a concrete barrier.
No other vehicle had been identified.
"Mom, why would James be driving?""
She wiped her cheeks.
"Because your father was injured before the crash.""
I felt my stomach turn.
"What?""
Mom looked at the photograph.
"James came to the house that night. He told me there had been an argument. He said your father had fallen and hit his head. He was frightened.""
"Frightened?""
"He said he was going to take your father to the hospital.""
"Then why was there an accident?""
Mom shook her head.
"He told me your father regained consciousness in the car and demanded that James stop. They argued again. James lost control.""
I stared at her.
"Did Dad die at the scene?""
She nodded.
"James told me the police would investigate the business. He said the company would collapse, employees would lose their jobs, and you would be dragged into everything.""
"So you believed him?""
"He showed me documents. He said your father had been involved in financial misconduct.""
I stepped away.
"Mom, why didn't you tell the police?""
She covered her face.
"Because he threatened you.""
The room fell silent.
"He told me that if I spoke, he'd make sure you were arrested for something your father had done. He said he had documents with your name on them.""
I looked at the letter again.
"Did Dad know?""
Mom nodded.
"He called me the morning before he died. He said he'd made a mistake trusting James.""
I swallowed.
"And you kept this secret for three years?""
"I thought I was protecting you.""
I wanted to be angry.
I was angry.
But looking at my mother's trembling hands, I understood that fear had kept her silent long after the danger should have passed.
Vanessa suddenly spoke.
"James contacted me last year.""
I turned.
"What exactly did he say?""
She looked at Patricia.
Her mother shook her head.
"Don't.""
Vanessa ignored her.
"He said he had proof that your father had hidden company money in the account. He told me the money wasn't legally yours.""
"Did you believe him?""
"At first, no. But he showed me copies of financial records.""
"Then you paid him?""
She nodded.
"Seventy-eight thousand dollars.""
I looked at the notebook.
"And Patricia was involved?""
Vanessa hesitated.
"Mom introduced me to him.""
I turned toward Patricia.
"You knew James?""
Patricia lifted her chin.
"Yes.""
"How?""
She said nothing.
Vanessa finally answered.
"They've been seeing each other.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
"James and my mother. They've been together for almost two years.""
Patricia's face turned red.
"That's private.""
I almost laughed.
My father's former business partner had been secretly involved with my mother-in-law while my wife was secretly paying him money from my mother's inheritance.
And somehow, my mother had been pushed upstairs to eat leftovers.
"What did James want from you?"" I asked.
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
"He said if I could get control of the property and the remaining money, he would stop contacting us.""
"Why would he need my house?""
"He said it was collateral.""
"For what?""
She didn't answer.
Patricia finally stepped forward.
"James made some bad investments. He needed money to settle his debts.""
I stared at her.
"So you tried to use my house to pay them?""
"Nobody was trying to steal anything!""
"Then why forge my signature?""
Patricia opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, my phone rang.
Michael.
I put it on speaker.
"Daniel, I've spoken with someone at the police department. The original accident file contains an additional witness statement that wasn't included in the report you have.""
My heart began pounding.
"What witness?""
"A delivery driver who claimed he saw another vehicle following your father's car before the crash.""
Mom gasped.
Michael continued.
"The statement was marked unsubstantiated. But there's something else. The witness later contacted the insurance company and reported that someone offered him money to change his account.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Was that person James Whitmore?""
Michael paused.
"That's what we're trying to establish.""
Then he added:
"Daniel, don't contact James directly. The financial documents and the accident investigation may be connected.""
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the letter.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"There's another reason I didn't tell you.""
I crouched beside her.
"What?""
She reached into her cardigan and pulled out a small silver key.
"Your father gave me this before he died.""
"What does it open?""
"The safety deposit box at the old bank.""
"What's inside?""
She looked toward the front door.
"Everything he was afraid to leave at home.""
I took the key.
On its small metal tag was a number.
*314.*
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And beneath it, engraved in tiny letters, were the initials:
*J.W.*
