PART 5
The muddy footprint was small.
Too small to belong to Marcus.
Too clean to be an accident.
And it was pointed toward the hallway leading to Dad’s bedroom.
I looked at Samuel.
“Dad’s bedroom.”
He nodded.
Nobody moved.
Then Marcus stood.
“I’ll go.”
I stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because if someone was here looking for something, I don’t want you touching anything.”
The investigators immediately followed us down the hallway.
Dad’s bedroom door was slightly open.
I remembered closing it that morning.
I was certain.
Inside, everything appeared exactly as I had left it.
The bed.
The reading glasses.
The old wooden nightstand.
The framed photograph of our family.
Then Daniel noticed something.
“Wait.”
He pointed toward the bookshelf.
One of the books was lying on the floor.
I walked over.
It was Dad’s old financial planning book.
I picked it up carefully.
Something fell from between the pages.
A small brass key.
Marcus stared at it.
“What’s that?”
I turned it over in my hand.
I had never seen it before.
Samuel’s expression changed.
“Your father told me about that key.”
I looked at him.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did he give it to you?”
“He didn’t give it to me. He told me that if something happened to him before he could explain everything, I should tell you to look for a brass key.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Where?”
Samuel looked toward the bedroom.
“Here.”
We searched the room carefully.
Behind the paintings.
Inside the drawers.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
Then Marcus noticed the old wardrobe.
“Dad never let anyone move that.”
We opened it.
Nothing unusual.
Clothes.
Shoes.
A few boxes.
Then I noticed a small wooden panel at the bottom.
I knelt down.
There was a keyhole.
I held the brass key against it.
It fit.
I turned it.
Click.
The bottom panel opened.
Inside was a narrow compartment.
And inside that compartment was a single envelope.
My name was written on it.
I opened it with shaking hands.
There was no money inside.
Only a photograph.
I stared at it.
It showed Dad standing outside a small house.
Beside him was a woman I had never seen before.
On the back, Dad had written:
Elena, if you find this, ask Marcus about the woman in the photograph.
I looked at my brother.
He had gone completely pale.
“You know her.”
He didn’t answer.
“Marcus?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
He stared at the photograph.
“My father’s old business partner.”
I frowned.
“Why would Dad tell me to ask you about her?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Because I lied about her.”
The room became silent.
He finally explained.
Years ago, Dad and the woman had started a small investment company together.
Her name was Rebecca Hart.
When the company became successful, Marcus had begun working there.
But after a disagreement, Rebecca left.
At least, that was the story everyone had been told.
“What actually happened?” I asked.
Marcus looked at me.
“She didn’t leave.”
My stomach tightened.
“She was forced out.”
“By Dad?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Me.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Marcus explained that he had discovered Rebecca planned to report financial irregularities involving one of Dad’s business accounts.
Marcus had panicked.
He convinced her that Dad already knew and wanted her gone.
She left the company.
Years later, Marcus discovered that Rebecca had never stolen anything.
The irregularities had actually been caused by another executive.
But by then, Rebecca had disappeared from Dad’s business life.
“Dad found out,” Marcus said.
“And?”
“He was furious.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he wanted me to fix it myself.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Did you?”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
Samuel quietly asked:
“Where is Rebecca now?”
Marcus looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel checked the photograph.
“There’s an address written on the bottom.”
I turned it over.
There was indeed a faded address.
Samuel recognized it.
“That property belongs to your father.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“About three hours north.”
Dad had owned a small farmhouse there.
I had completely forgotten about it.
He had always called it his “quiet place.”
Suddenly, everything began making sense.
The missing $75,000.
The mysterious transfer.
The person entering the house.
The photograph.
Dad had been protecting something.
Or someone.
We drove there that evening.
The farmhouse was surrounded by tall trees and fields.
The front door was locked.
The brass key opened it.
Inside, the house smelled like dust and old wood.
There was almost no furniture.
Then we heard a sound.
Someone was upstairs.
Marcus grabbed my arm.
“Stay behind me.”
For once, I didn’t argue.
We slowly climbed the stairs.
A bedroom door was open.
Inside stood an older woman.
She turned toward us.
I recognized her immediately from the photograph.
Rebecca.
She looked at Marcus.
Then at me.
Finally, she smiled sadly.
“Your father knew you would come.”
I stepped forward.
“Why?”
