Chapter 4 — The Recordings Under the Floor
Chapter 4 — The Recordings Under the Floor
At 7:05 the next morning, I was standing in my mother's apartment with a police warrant in one hand and a memory card in the other.
I had spent the entire night replaying one sentence.
Ask your father what really happened before he died.
But my father had been dead for twelve years.
There was no one left to ask.
Or so I had believed.
The apartment was silent.
Too silent.
My mother had disappeared before the police arrived.
That didn't surprise me.
What surprised me was how quickly she had emptied the place.
No clothes.
No jewelry.
No personal photographs.
No medication.
Even the framed photograph of my father had vanished from the wall.
She hadn't left in a panic.
She had prepared.
That meant she knew we were coming.
Detective Aaron Cole walked into the living room.
"Mr. Vance."
I turned.
"What?"
"We've searched the obvious locations."
"And?"
"Nothing."
I looked around.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing that directly connects your mother to the surveillance system."
I frowned.
"She had eight cameras in my house."
"We know."
"She was watching my wife."
"We know."
"She had access to her medical records."
"We're working on that."
I looked at him.
"Then search harder."
He didn't react.
He had probably dealt with angry men before.
But this wasn't anger anymore.
It was desperation.
I needed something.
Anything.
Because the deeper I looked, the more it seemed my family had built an entire second life behind my back.
And I was the last person to know.
The Photograph That Wasn't There
I walked toward the empty wall.
My father's photograph had been hanging there for years.
I remembered it clearly.
He was standing beside my mother on their twentieth anniversary.
My brother Julian was twelve.
I was sixteen.
My father had one hand on my mother's shoulder.
Everyone was smiling.
A perfect family.
That was the photograph my mother had wanted us to remember.
But I remembered something else.
My father had hated cameras.
He once told me:
"A photograph shows you what someone wants you to see. Never mistake it for the truth."
I had forgotten that.
Until now.
I touched the empty wall.
Then noticed a small rectangular indentation behind the frame's old position.
I called Detective Cole.
"Come here."
He examined it.
"Could be nothing."
"Check it."
He ran his fingers along the wall.
Then stopped.
"There."
"What?"
"There's a cavity."
The officers opened the panel.
Behind it was a small metal box.
Locked.
My heart began beating faster.
Cole looked at me.
"Any idea what this is?"
"No."
He called a technician.
The box was opened.
Inside was a stack of envelopes.
A USB drive.
And a handwritten notebook.
The first envelope had one name written across it.
SEBASTIAN
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
My father's handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
If you are reading this, I was right to be afraid.
I stopped breathing.
My Father's Letter
I read the next line.
Your mother will tell you that my death was an accident.
My fingers began shaking.
Do not believe her.
I looked at Detective Cole.
He stepped closer.
"What does it say?"
I couldn't answer.
I continued.
I discovered something about the company. Something involving people I trusted. I confronted them. I made the mistake of believing they would be frightened by the truth.
My eyes moved down the page.
They were not.
There was a pause in the handwriting.
Then:
If I die, protect Sebastian and Julian. Do not let them trust anyone who benefited from my absence.
I stopped.
My father's final sentence was underlined.
Especially Eleanor.
I stared at my mother's name.
For twelve years, I had believed she had mourned him.
I had watched her cry.
I had listened to her tell stories about their marriage.
I had believed every word.
Now my father's handwriting was telling me not to trust her.
I sat down.
Detective Cole took the letter.
He read it silently.
Then looked at me.
"Mr. Vance."
"What?"
"We need to reopen your father's death investigation."
I nodded.
"Yes."
But there was something else.
The notebook.
I opened it.
The first pages were business notes.
Dates.
Names.
Numbers.
Then one name appeared repeatedly.
Victor Morrow.
My stomach tightened.
The same man who had been helping my mother.
The same man whose name had appeared in the surveillance files.
The same man who was supposed to advise my company.
My father's handwriting continued:
Morrow is not working alone.
I turned the page.
Nothing.
The next page had been torn out.
Then another.
Then another.
Someone had removed part of the notebook.
I looked at Detective Cole.
"Who had access to this?"
He shook his head.
"We don't know."
I stared at the missing pages.
My father had discovered something.
He had written it down.
And someone had made sure the most important pages disappeared.
The Floor
One of the officers called from the hallway.
"Detective."
Cole walked away.
I followed.
The officer was standing in the study.
"There are unusual marks."
I looked down.
The hardwood floor had several small scratches near the desk.
"From what?"
"We don't know."
I crouched.
The scratches formed a rectangular shape.
Like a panel.
I ran my fingers over the wood.
There was a faint seam.
"Open it."
The officer looked at Cole.
Cole nodded.
The floorboard lifted.
Underneath was a narrow compartment.
Inside were cassette tapes.
Dozens of them.
Old ones.
Dust-covered.
Each labeled with a date.
I stared.
My father's recordings.
The first one was dated:
March 14 — 12 years ago
I looked at Cole.
"Play it."
A technician connected an old cassette player.
Static filled the room.
Then my father's voice.
"If anyone finds this, I need you to understand something."
I froze.
His voice sounded exactly as I remembered.
Deep.
Calm.
Tired.
"I have been watching the financial transfers for six months."
A pause.
"Money is leaving the company through a consulting firm."
Another pause.
"The consultant is Victor Morrow."
My heart began pounding.
The recording continued.
"I confronted him today."
Then my father's voice changed.
"He threatened me."
I looked at Cole.
The detective motioned for everyone to remain silent.
My father's voice continued.
"He told me I had no idea who was behind him."
Static.
Then:
"He said if I continued investigating, my family would pay the price."
The recording ended.
No one spoke.
I stared at the cassette.
Victor Morrow had threatened my father twelve years ago.
And now he was working with my mother.
The same man.
The same family.
The same company.
Twelve years apart.
There was no coincidence anymore.
The Second Tape
The second recording was dated two weeks later.
My father's voice sounded more urgent.
"Eleanor knows."
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
"She says I am paranoid."
A pause.
"But she has been meeting Morrow without telling me."
My throat tightened.
My mother had been meeting the man who threatened my father.
Before my father's death.
The recording continued.
"I confronted her tonight."
Static.
"She cried."
Another pause.
"She told me she was protecting the family."
The tape crackled.
Then my father's voice became almost a whisper.
"I don't know what she means."
I looked at Cole.
He looked back at me.
Neither of us moved.
The recording continued.
"If something happens to me, don't believe her when she says she did it for you."
Then silence.
The tape ended.
I sat there for several seconds.
My father had known.
He had suspected my mother.
And still, he had stayed.
Why?
The answer appeared on the next tape.
The Third Tape
My father's voice.
"Eleanor knows about the account."
I leaned forward.
"The account contains money from the original acquisition."
My father's voice became quieter.
"If that money disappears, the company will collapse."
I frowned.
What account?
What acquisition?
Then he said:
"The money isn't ours."
My blood ran cold.
"It belongs to the investors who helped us build the company."
A pause.
"Someone has been stealing it for years."
Then:
"Morrow isn't stealing for himself."
I stared at the tape player.
The next sentence came slowly.
"He's stealing for someone inside my family."
The tape ended.
I looked at Cole.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"My father didn't say."
"No."
I stood.
"Play the next one."
The Name
The fourth recording was different.
My father's breathing was heavy.
He sounded frightened.
"I know who it is."
A long silence.
Then:
"It's Julian."
My world stopped.
I stared at the recorder.
My little brother.
Julian.
The boy I had carried on my shoulders.
The teenager I had protected.
The man I had brought into my company.
My father's voice continued.
"He's young. He's being manipulated."
I shook my head.
"No."
Cole looked at me.
I didn't hear him.
"Eleanor knows."
My father's voice broke slightly.
"She says she can control him."
A pause.
"I don't believe her."
Then the final sentence.
"If I die, it won't be because Julian wanted me dead. It will be because someone convinced him my death was necessary."
The recording ended.
I stood frozen.
My brother had been involved.
But perhaps he wasn't the mastermind.
My mother was.
Or someone else.
Maybe Victor Morrow.
Maybe all three.
I didn't know anymore.
Then the fifth tape began automatically.
The Night Before the Accident
My father's voice was barely audible.
"It's tonight."
A door closed somewhere in the background.
"They know I've found the account."
His breathing was uneven.
"I'm going to meet someone."
A pause.
"If I don't come back, the evidence is in the place Eleanor never looks."
The tape ended.
I stared at the floor.
The place Eleanor never looks.
We had found the recordings under the floor.
But my father had hidden them somewhere else.
I turned toward the study.
"Where did he spend most of his time?"
My mother had always said he hated the study.
She claimed he preferred the library.
But I remembered something.
He had once told me:
"When people want to hide something, they look in places that feel important."
The library.
The office.
The safe.
The obvious places.
Not the ordinary ones.
I looked around.
Then my eyes stopped on the old grandfather clock.
It had belonged to my grandfather.
I walked toward it.
Opened the wooden door.
Nothing.
I moved the pendulum.
A small click sounded.
The back panel opened.
Inside was a second compartment.
And inside that compartment was a small metal key.
My father's initials were engraved on it.
R.V.
I took it.
Then noticed a tiny piece of paper.
One word.
Floor.
I looked down.
The floor.
We had already searched the study.
But perhaps we had searched the wrong floor.
The Basement Beneath the Basement
The house had an old wine cellar beneath the basement.
I had never used it.
My father had built it before I was born.
I remembered being forbidden to enter.
I found the keyhole behind a wooden wine rack.
The key fit.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed out.
We entered.
The room was almost completely empty.
Except for one wooden table.
On it was a small tape recorder.
And a sealed envelope.
I opened the envelope.
This time, the handwriting wasn't my father's.
It was my mother's.
One sentence.
I did what I had to do.
I stared at it.
My heart pounded.
Then the recorder began playing.
My mother's voice.
Twelve years earlier.
"Richard, please listen to me."
My father's voice answered.
"You knew."
"I had no choice."
"You always have a choice."
"Not when our sons are involved."
Silence.
Then my father's voice:
"What did you promise them?"
My mother's answer was almost a whisper.
"I promised them you would stop."
My father laughed bitterly.
"And if I don't?"
My mother didn't answer.
Then my father said:
"Then you will let them kill me?"
I covered my mouth.
Detective Cole stared at the recorder.
My mother's voice broke.
"I don't want you to die."
My father's reply was cold.
"But you are going to let it happen."
The recording ended.
I felt like the room had tilted.
My mother had known.
She had known my father was in danger.
And she had done nothing.
Maybe worse.
She had made a deal.
The Final Recording
There was one last file.
No date.
Only a label.
AFTER
I pressed play.
My mother's voice.
"It's done."
A man's voice answered.
Victor Morrow.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What about the boys?"
My mother replied:
"They know nothing."
Victor laughed.
"Good."
My mother asked:
"And the money?"
"Transferred."
"All of it?"
"Enough."
Then my mother said something that made my blood freeze.
"One day Sebastian will inherit everything."
Victor answered:
"Then make sure he never learns where it came from."
The recording ended.
I stood motionless.
My father's death.
The stolen money.
The company.
My mother's lies.
Victor Morrow.
Everything was connected.
But one thing still didn't make sense.
Why had they waited twelve years?
Why had they suddenly moved against Clara?
Then I remembered the file.
PROJECT VANCE
And the transfer agreement.
My son.
The pregnancy.
The succession.
I understood.
They weren't trying to steal my company from me.
They were trying to make sure it passed to Julian.
And Clara's pregnancy threatened that plan.
Because if I had a son...
The future of my company could change.
My mother's plan wasn't simply about money.
It was about inheritance.
The Call
My phone rang.
Julian.
I stared at his name.
Then answered.
"Where are you?"
He hesitated.
"Why?"
"Because we need to talk."
"About what?"
"Our father."
Silence.
Then I heard him breathe.
"What did you find?"
I closed my eyes.
He had answered too quickly.
Not:
"What happened to Dad?"
Not:
"What are you talking about?"
Instead:
"What did you find?"
I asked quietly:
"Did you know?"
"No."
"Did you know about Morrow?"
"No."
"Did you know Mom had been watching Clara?"
Silence.
"Julian."
He finally spoke.
"I knew she was angry with Clara."
"That's not what I asked."
"I didn't know about the cameras."
"But you knew she was hurting her."
"No."
"You're lying."
"Sebastian—"
"You were involved in the transfer."
His breathing changed.
"I didn't sign anything."
"You didn't have to."
Silence.
I looked at the recordings.
"Who is Victor Morrow working for?"
"I don't know."
"Then find out."
"What?"
"Because if you don't tell me, I'll assume you're part of it."
"You're my brother."
"And Clara is my wife."
He said nothing.
I ended the call.
The Message From Clara
I returned to the hospital.
Clara was awake.
She looked at me carefully.
"You found something."
I sat beside her.
"Yes."
"About your father?"
I looked at her.
"How did you know?"
She hesitated.
"Your mother told me."
My heart stopped.
"When?"
"Months ago."
"What did she say?"
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
"She told me your father died because he was going to abandon the family."
I stared at her.
"She told me he was selfish."
"She said he left your mother with nothing."
"She said he was going to run away with another woman."
I closed my eyes.
A lie.
Another lie.
My mother had rewritten my father's death.
And she had told Clara that story to make me look like the son of a selfish man.
Why?
Because she needed Clara to believe my family had always been unstable.
Because fear was easier to control than truth.
I took Clara's hand.
"She lied."
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because she told me something else."
"What?"
Clara looked at me.
"She said if I ever told you the truth about your father, you would hate me."
I stared at her.
"Why would I hate you?"
"Because she said I was trying to destroy your family."
I felt tears burn behind my eyes.
"Clara."
She looked down.
"I believed her."
I leaned forward.
"Never again."
She nodded.
I kissed her hand.
Then I looked at her stomach.
Our son moved.
A small movement beneath Clara's skin.
For the first time in days, I smiled.
"We're going to protect him."
Clara looked at me.
"How?"
I looked toward the hospital window.
"By ending this."
The Floorboard
That evening, Marcus called.
"Sir."
"What did you find?"
"We recovered deleted files from the basement server."
"How many?"
"Twenty-seven."
"Anything important?"
"Yes."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
"A video."
"Of what?"
"Your mother."
"When?"
"Two nights ago."
I stood.
"What was she doing?"
"She met someone."
"Who?"
"Victor Morrow."
I closed my eyes.
"Where?"
"At the old warehouse."
The same location from the anonymous message.
"Is there more?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Yes."
"What?"
"Julian was there."
I went completely still.
"Are you sure?"
"We have video."
I looked at Clara.
She was sleeping.
Then I looked at the clock.
8:43 p.m.
The meeting was scheduled for 10.
My father's secret.
My mother's betrayal.
Victor Morrow.
Julian.
Everything was converging at one place.
I picked up my coat.
Marcus said:
"Sir, you're not going alone."
"I know."
"Then where are you going?"
I looked at the hospital room one last time.
"To find out which one of them is still lying."
I stepped into the hallway.
Behind me, Clara slept peacefully.
But beneath the floor of my mother's apartment, twelve years of secrets had finally been uncovered.
And somewhere across Chicago, the people who had spent years believing I would never discover the truth were waiting for me.
They thought they were preparing a trap.
They didn't know I had already found the recordings.
They didn't know I knew about the money.
They didn't know I knew about my father.
And most importantly, they didn't know I had stopped being the son who blindly trusted his family.
Tonight, I wasn't going there as a brother.
Or a son.
I was going there as the man whose wife and unborn child they had tried to destroy.
May you like
And before the night ended, someone was finally going to tell me the truth.
Even if I had to tear the entire family apart to hear it.
