Chapter 6: The Voice From The Past
I stared at my mother’s phone.
The screen went dark.
But the voice stayed.
I knew that voice.
I had spent fifteen years trying to forget it.
My hands went numb.
“No,” I whispered.
My mother sat frozen across from me.
“Nia…”
I looked at her.
“Who was that?””
She didn’t answer.
That was the answer.
I stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.
“Who was that?””
My mother covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I didn’t think he would ever call.””
“Who?””
She looked at me.
And for the first time in my life, my mother looked afraid of something other than losing me.
“Your father.””
The room tilted.
“My father is dead.””
She closed her eyes.
“I know.””
“Then explain why a dead man just called you.””
My mother didn’t speak.
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m leaving.””
“Nia, wait.””
“No.””
She stood.
“Please.””
I turned toward her.
“You have asked me to wait my entire life.””
Her face fell.
“You asked me to wait when I was a teenager and wanted answers about Dad’s death.””
I grabbed my purse.
“You asked me to wait when Marcus started acting strange.””
My voice shook.
“You asked me to wait while everyone around me knew things I didn’t.””
“Nia…”
“I’m done waiting.””
I walked out.
But I didn’t go far.
I drove to the only place I could think of.
My father’s grave.
The cemetery was quiet.
The kind of quiet that felt unnatural.
I stood in front of the stone with his name carved into it.
James Carter.
Beloved husband.
Loving father.
A man I remembered as warm hands, deep laughter, and Sunday morning pancakes.
A man who supposedly died in a car accident.
I touched the cold stone.
“Who are you?””
The question sounded ridiculous.
But I asked it anyway.
Because suddenly, I didn’t know anything.
Not about my father.
Not about my mother.
Not about Marcus.
Not even about myself.
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
*You deserve the truth. Meet me at the old Carter warehouse. Alone.*
I stared at the message.
The Carter warehouse.
My father’s old business property.
It had been abandoned after his death.
Everyone said the company collapsed because he left behind too many debts.
My mother sold everything.
Or so I thought.
Another message appeared.
*Your father didn’t die because of an accident.*
My heart stopped.
I should have ignored it.
I should have called the police.
I should have done a hundred sensible things.
Instead, I drove there.
The warehouse sat on the edge of town.
Rust covered the old metal doors.
The sign above the entrance was barely visible.
Carter Logistics.
A piece of my childhood.
A place I hadn’t visited since I was fifteen.
I stepped inside.
Dust covered everything.
The air smelled like old wood and rain.
“Hello?””
My voice echoed.
Then a light turned on.
I turned.
A man stood near the back office.
Older.
Gray hair.
Tired eyes.
But familiar.
My stomach dropped.
I knew him.
Not personally.
But from somewhere.
“Who are you?””
The man swallowed.
“My name is David.””
I stepped back.
“David who?””
He looked down.
“David Carter.””
I stopped breathing.
“No.””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain refused to accept reality.
“You’re not my father.””
His face broke.
“No.””
He looked at the ground.
“I’m his brother.””
My heart pounded.
“My uncle?””
“Yes.””
“I don’t have an uncle.””
“You do.””
He walked closer.
“Your mother made sure you didn’t.””
I felt anger rise.
“My mother?””
David nodded.
“Your father found out something before he died.””
“What?””
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder.
“He discovered Marcus wasn’t who he claimed to be.””
My blood ran cold.
“Marcus?””
David nodded.
“Your father knew him before you did.””
I took the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Emails.
The same name appeared over and over.
Marcus Reed.
My hands shook.
“What is this?””
“Your father investigated him.””
“Why?””
David looked at me.
“Because Marcus was connected to the company that destroyed your father.””
I stared at him.
“No.””
“Yes.””
He stepped closer.
“Your father didn’t die because he lost control of his car.””
The warehouse became silent.
“He died because someone wanted him quiet.””
I looked at the papers again.
There was one photograph.
Marcus.
Standing beside another man.
A man I didn’t recognize.
But beneath the picture was a date.
Three months before my father’s death.
David whispered:
“That man is Marcus’s father.””
I looked up.
“His father is dead too.””
David’s expression changed.
“That’s what everyone thinks.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What are you saying?””
Before he could answer, the warehouse door slammed shut.
We both turned.
Someone had entered.
A familiar voice came from the darkness.
“Nia.””
My heart sank.
May you like
Marcus stepped into the light.
And he wasn’t alone.
