Chapter 6: What My Father Buried for Twenty-Eight Years
My father didn't answer me until we were halfway home.
We sat in the back of the car, the city sliding past the windows in a blur of brick buildings, traffic lights, and familiar storefronts.
Dad kept the cream-colored envelope pressed against his chest.
Every few minutes, he looked down at it as though the documents inside had suddenly become heavier.
Finally, he spoke.
“In 1998, I worked for a company that maintained the Harrington Hotel.””
I turned toward him.
“You worked there?””
“For almost seven years. I started as a mechanic in the maintenance department, then became a supervisor.””
I had never heard that story.
My father had told me plenty about his years repairing trucks and industrial equipment, but he rarely spoke about the jobs he held before I was born.
“What happened?””
He looked out the window.
“The hotel was struggling. The owners had borrowed too much money, and several of the investors wanted to sell. There were rumors of fraud, unpaid contractors, and missing records.””
“Was Daniel involved?””
“Not then. His father was.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Daniel Cross's father?””
Dad nodded.
“Richard Cross was one of the investors. He was a powerful man, well connected to the local banks and property developers.””
“What did he do?””
My father took a slow breath.
“He tried to force the hotel into bankruptcy before the other investors could challenge his control.””
I stared at him.
“How?””
“By creating the appearance that the hotel was losing money faster than it actually was. Certain invoices disappeared. Payments were recorded incorrectly. Contractors were told the company couldn't pay them, while other accounts showed money leaving the business.””
He paused.
“I was the person who maintained the equipment records and signed off on several maintenance invoices. When the numbers didn't match, I asked questions.””
“And?””
“And someone offered me money to stop asking.””
I looked at him.
“How much?””
“Twenty thousand dollars.””
I couldn't believe it.
“Dad, that was a fortune in 1998.””
“It was enough to pay off my house.””
“What did you do?””
“I refused.””
He said it simply.
No pride. No performance.
Just a fact.
“What happened next?””
“The following week, I was accused of falsifying maintenance records. The company suspended me. I spent months trying to prove I hadn't done anything wrong.””
“Did you?””
“Eventually. A bookkeeper found copies of the original invoices in a storage room. They showed that several payments had been redirected without my authorization.””
My father rubbed his hands together.
“By the time the truth came out, Richard Cross had already sold his interest in the hotel and moved on to another development project.””
“Was he prosecuted?””
“No. The evidence was incomplete, and the investors settled the dispute privately. I got my job back, but I never trusted the people running the hotel again.””
I leaned back against the seat.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
He smiled sadly.
“Because you were a child, and I wanted you to believe that doing the right thing was worth it.””
“Was it?””
He looked at me.
“I lost almost a year of income. Your mother took extra shifts at the hospital. We sold our second car. There were nights when I lay awake wondering how I was going to pay the mortgage.””
His voice softened.
“But your mother never once asked me why I hadn't taken the money.””
He stared at the passing buildings.
“She said she would rather struggle beside an honest man than live comfortably beside a liar.””
I swallowed hard.
“I remember Mom saying something like that.””
“She said it often.””
The car turned onto our street.
My father's small brick house stood at the end of a row of trees, its front porch lined with flowerpots he still insisted on watering himself. I had offered to buy him a larger home more times than I could count.
He always refused.
“This house has too many memories,” he would say.
Now I understood why he had never wanted to leave.
It was where he and my mother had built their life. Where he had taught me to ride a bicycle. Where he'd stayed up all night helping me repair a broken science project because I was too embarrassed to ask my teacher for an extension.
It was where he had become both parents after my mother died.
And I had nearly married a woman who treated him as though he were an obstacle to a perfect photograph.
I helped him inside.
After settling him in his favorite chair, I made coffee and brought the old wooden box down from the shelf in his study.
Dad stared at it.
“Where did you find that?””
“Top shelf. Behind the photo albums.””
He shook his head.
“I thought I'd put that away properly.””
“You did. I was looking for the family insurance papers.””
He watched as I opened the box.
Inside were old photographs, faded invoices, a pocket watch, and several yellowed documents tied together with string.
I picked up a photograph of my parents standing outside a building with a grand stone entrance.
The sign above the door read THE HARRINGTON.
My mother wore a floral dress and had one hand tucked into my father's arm. He looked younger than I had ever imagined him, with dark hair, broad shoulders, and a smile that reached his eyes.
“Were you working there when this was taken?”” I asked.
“Yes. Your mother came to bring me lunch.””
I smiled faintly.
“She always said you forgot to eat when you were working.””
“She was right.””
I set the photograph aside and found a folded document bearing the name Richard Cross.
The paper was brittle at the edges.
“What is this?””
My father leaned forward.
“An old employment agreement.””
I read the first few lines.
Then I noticed a handwritten note at the bottom.
All maintenance records to be transferred to R. Cross upon termination.
I looked at Dad.
“Is this connected to the missing invoices?””
He nodded.
“It's one of the documents I kept.””
“Why?””
“Because I never trusted the settlement agreement. I wanted to make sure I had a record of what happened.””
I examined the remaining papers.
There were copies of invoices, handwritten notes, and a letter from a lawyer who had represented the hotel's former owners.
One page contained a list of bank transfers.
Several amounts had been circled in red ink.
I recognized the name of the bank.
It was the same institution that handled some of my father's current business accounts.
“Dad, these transfers—”
“Were never properly explained.””
I looked at him.
“Does Daniel know you have these records?””
“I don't know.””
The phone on the table buzzed again.
Another message from the unknown number.
*The Harrington wasn't the only thing Richard Cross took from your father. Ask him about the original ownership shares.*
I showed Dad.
He went pale.
“Who is sending these?””
“I don't know.””
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then reached for his coffee.
“I think it's time I told you everything.””
He took a sip, set the cup down, and began to explain.
“When the hotel entered financial trouble, some of the smaller investors were desperate to get out. They had put their savings into the property and were afraid of losing everything.””
“Did you invest?””
“Not initially. I was an employee.””
He paused.
“After I was reinstated, one of the original investors approached me. He was an elderly man named Walter Hayes. He had owned a small share of the hotel for years, but he needed money for his wife's medical treatment.””
“What did you do?””
“I bought his shares.””
I stared at him.
“With what money?””
“Everything your mother and I had saved. We sold our second car and borrowed against the house.””
“You bought part of the Harrington?””
“A very small part. Less than one percent.””
I sat down slowly.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because the investment was worth almost nothing at the time. The hotel was struggling, and the shares weren't easy to sell. I didn't want you to grow up thinking that money was the answer to everything.””
He looked toward the old photograph.
“After your mother died, I held on to the shares because they were one of the few things we had left from that period of our lives.””
“What happened to them?””
“I bought more whenever another small investor wanted out. Over the years, I invested in other properties, sold some, and reinvested the profits. Eventually, I had enough money to purchase the hotel outright when it went into receivership.””
I stared at him.
“You bought the Harrington because you used to work there?””
“Partly. I also knew the building could be saved.””
He smiled faintly.
“I wanted to restore it properly. I wanted the people who worked there to be paid fairly. I wanted the hotel to be something the city could be proud of again.””
My throat tightened.
“And you were going to give Nia part of it.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because I thought she wanted to build something meaningful with you. I thought she would use the opportunity to create jobs, support local businesses, and give young people a chance to learn the event trade.””
He looked down.
“I thought I was giving her a future, not a bargaining chip.””
I sat beside him.
“Dad, I'm sorry.””
He frowned.
“For what?””
“For not seeing what was happening.””
He shook his head.
“You loved her. You trusted her. That's not a crime.””
“But I should have noticed.””
“Perhaps. But don't punish yourself for believing someone you loved was telling you the truth.””
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
“Do you think Nia was working with Daniel to take the hotel?””
My father was silent for a long time.
“I don't know.””
“But you suspect it.””
“I suspect Daniel may be using her. Whether she knew what he intended is another question.””
I thought about the way she had reacted when she saw the deed.
The sudden change in her expression. The questions about the trust. The panic when Dad said the transfer would be delayed.
And yet, I also remembered her tears when she described how Daniel had controlled her life.
Maybe she was a victim.
Maybe she was a willing participant.
Maybe she had started with an innocent ambition and allowed herself to be manipulated.
I didn't know which possibility frightened me most.
My father reached into the wooden box and removed a thin folder I hadn't noticed before.
“This is the last thing.””
He placed it on the table.
Inside was a copy of the original shareholder register from 1998.
Several names had been crossed out. Others had been added in handwriting.
One name appeared repeatedly in the margins.
Richard Cross.
And beside it was a note in my father's handwriting.
Shares transferred without authorization — dispute unresolved.
I looked up.
“Dad, what does this mean?””
He studied the page.
“I believe Richard Cross acquired shares from several investors without completing the proper transfer procedures. The matter was never fully resolved.””
“Did you challenge him?””
“Yes. But after the settlement, the lawyers advised me not to pursue it without additional evidence.””
“Do you still have that evidence?””
He nodded toward the folder.
“Some of it.””
I felt a chill run through me.
“If Daniel knows about this, he could be trying to protect his father's reputation.””
“Possibly.””
“Or he could be trying to recover something his father lost.””
My father looked at me.
“That's what concerns me.””
The phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a call.
The number was hidden.
I answered.
“Hello?””
For several seconds, I heard only faint breathing.
Then a man's voice came through.
“Marcus Laurent?””
“Who is this?””
“Someone who knows what happened to your father in 1998.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“What do you want?””
“To warn you.””
“About what?””
“The documents Arthur kept. The ones he just showed you.””
I looked at my father.
He had gone completely still.
“Who are you?”” I demanded.
The man ignored the question.
“Your father thinks he bought the Harrington Hotel. He thinks he's finally corrected what Richard Cross did all those years ago.””
My stomach tightened.
“What are you talking about?””
The voice dropped.
“Check the original shareholder register. Look at the name written beside the disputed transfer.””
I glanced down at the folder.
The man continued.
“Your father isn't the only person who believes those shares belong to him.””
The call disconnected.
I stood frozen beside the table.
My father slowly reached for the folder and turned to the final page.
At the bottom, beneath the handwritten note about the disputed shares, was a signature.
I recognized the surname immediately.
Cross.
But the first name wasn't Richard.
May you like
It was Daniel.
And the date beside it was from three months ago.
