Chapter 8 — The Cousin Who Finally Spoke
Chapter 8 — The Cousin Who Finally Spoke
Noah had been silent for three days.
Three days since he recorded Rachel kicking me.
Three days since my father tried to take his phone.
Three days since my mother had ordered him to hand over the evidence.
And three days since Noah had become the only person outside the adults in my family who had seen the entire confrontation.
I thought I understood why he was silent.
He was seventeen.
He was frightened.
He had watched his family turn against me in seconds.
But when I saw him sitting alone in the police station waiting room that morning, I realized there was something else.
He wasn't just afraid.
He was ashamed.
And when he finally looked at me, I knew he had been carrying another secret.
One that could change everything.
Detective Harris led me into a private room.
Noah sat at the table.
His father stood behind him.
“I'll leave you two alone,” Detective Harris said.
Noah didn't look up.
I sat across from him.
“You saved me.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“You saved my daughter.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Then why are you still afraid?”
He looked at me.
“Because I didn't tell you everything.”
My heart tightened.
“What didn't you tell me?”
He looked toward the door.
His father stepped outside.
Noah waited until the door closed.
Then he reached into his backpack.
He pulled out a small black flash drive.
“I found this.”
I stared at it.
“Where?”
“Your parents' house.”
“When?”
“The day before the attack.”
I frowned.
“Why didn't you give it to the police?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Of what?”
He looked at me.
“Because someone saw me take it.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Noah's voice became barely audible.
“Your mother.”
I stared at the flash drive.
“What's on it?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't open it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I heard your father talking about it.”
“My father?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Your uncle.”
I froze.
“Thomas?”
Noah nodded.
“But Thomas is dead.”
“I know.”
I stared at him.
“Then who did you hear?”
“I don't know.”
Noah rubbed his hands together.
“He looked like your uncle.”
A chill moved through me.
“Where?”
“In the garage.”
“When?”
“The night before the attack.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was talking to your mother.”
My heart sank.
“What did they say?”
“I couldn't hear everything.”
“But?”
Noah looked at me.
“I heard one sentence.”
“What sentence?”
“He said, 'Emily can't know he's alive.'”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Harris returned.
I handed her the flash drive.
She immediately sealed it.
“How did you get this?”
Noah explained.
Detective Harris listened without interrupting.
Then she asked:
“Are you certain the man looked like Thomas Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his face?”
“For a few seconds.”
“Could you identify him?”
Noah hesitated.
“I think so.”
Detective Harris showed him a photograph.
Thomas Vale.
Noah stared at it.
“That was him.”
I felt the room tilt.
“But Thomas died twelve years ago.”
Noah nodded.
“I know.”
Detective Harris looked at me.
“We'll verify the photograph.”
“Maybe someone looks like him.”
“That's possible.”
But Noah shook his head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
“I heard him say something only your uncle would know.”
“What?”
Noah swallowed.
“He called your mother by the nickname your uncle used.”
My mother had always hated that nickname.
Only Thomas had called her Maggie-Bird.
No one else knew it.
Noah continued.
“And your mother started crying.”
The flash drive took six hours to decrypt.
When Detective Harris finally called me back, her voice was different.
“Emily, you need to come in.”
“What did you find?”
“It's not something I want to discuss over the phone.”
Daniel drove me to the station.
Margaret came too.
When we entered the evidence room, Detective Harris was standing beside a monitor.
She pressed play.
A video appeared.
The image was grainy.
A basement.
A desk.
Two people.
My mother.
And a man whose face was hidden.
My mother's voice was clear.
“You promised me Emily would never find out.”
The man answered:
“She won't.”
“You said that before.”
“I know.”
“And now the trust has been activated.”
“Not yet.”
“The baby is almost twenty-eight weeks.”
“Then we have very little time.”
My mother began crying.
“I can't do this anymore.”
“You already did.”
“What if she dies?”
The man paused.
“Then the trust transfers.”
“To whom?”
Silence.
My mother whispered:
“Thomas.”
I felt my blood freeze.
The video ended.
No one spoke.
I looked at Detective Harris.
“My uncle.”
She nodded.
“But that's impossible.”
“Legally, yes.”
“Then who was that man?”
“We're working on it.”
I stared at the screen.
“Where was this recorded?”
“Your parents' house.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
I felt sick.
That meant the man was alive recently.
Or someone was using his identity.
Noah was brought into the room.
He watched the video.
Then pointed at the screen.
“That's him.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you sure?”
“He had a scar.”
“Where?”
“On his left hand.”
Detective Harris paused the video.
Zoomed in.
There it was.
A thin white scar.
My father had once told me about it.
Thomas had gotten it as a child.
A broken window.
A deep cut.
A scar that never disappeared.
I whispered:
“It's him.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Then your uncle is alive.”
I nodded.
“And he's been working with my mother.”
Noah spoke softly.
“Not exactly.”
We looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
He pointed at the video.
“Listen to what he says.”
Detective Harris replayed the final part.
“Then we have very little time.”
Noah frowned.
“He sounded afraid.”
I listened again.
He was right.
Thomas wasn't threatening my mother.
He was warning her.
And that changed everything.
That night, my mother finally told me the truth.
Not everything.
But enough.
We sat in a private hospital room.
No police.
No lawyers.
Just us.
She looked exhausted.
“I knew Thomas was alive.”
I stared at her.
“How long?”
“Almost twelve years.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas was in danger.”
“From whom?”
She shook her head.
“I never knew.”
I almost laughed.
“Everyone knows something except me.”
“Emily…”
“No.”
I held up my hand.
“I need the truth.”
She nodded.
“Thomas discovered Adrian was stealing from your father.”
“I know.”
“He tried to expose him.”
“What happened?”
“Adrian threatened him.”
“So he faked his death?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To disappear.”
“Why come back?”
My mother looked at my stomach.
“Because of your daughter.”
I felt cold.
“What does my daughter have to do with Thomas?”
“Everything.”
My mother explained.
Years ago, my father had discovered that Carter Holdings was being manipulated through a hidden network of companies.
Thomas helped investigate.
They discovered that several executives were secretly transferring voting rights.
Adrian was involved.
But he wasn't the mastermind.
“There was someone above him,” my mother said.
“Who?”
“I never learned the name.”
“What did Thomas know?”
“He knew the person was using the family.”
“To do what?”
“Control the company.”
I frowned.
“Why couldn't Dad stop them?”
“Because the person had influence everywhere.”
“Where?”
“My father's lawyers.”
“Banks?”
“Yes.”
“Government?”
“Possibly.”
I felt a chill.
“And the trust?”
“Your father created it to break the chain.”
“How?”
“By putting the controlling shares into an independent trust.”
“With my daughter as beneficiary.”
“Yes.”
“And that's why they want her gone.”
My mother nodded.
“But there's something you still don't understand.”
“What?”
“The trust wasn't originally created for your daughter.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“It was created for you.”
“But Margaret said—”
“Your father changed it after he discovered you were pregnant.”
I froze.
“Why?”
My mother looked away.
“Because he realized you were being watched.”
“By whom?”
She whispered:
“The person who betrayed him.”
The next morning, Noah asked to speak to me alone.
I met him in the hospital garden.
He sat on a bench.
“I need to tell you one more thing.”
I sat beside him.
“What?”
“The night before the attack…”
He stopped.
“Go on.”
“I saw Rachel talking to someone.”
“Adrian?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the hospital entrance.
“Daniel.”
My heart stopped.
“My husband?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Late at night.”
“Where?”
“Behind the house.”
“What were they doing?”
“Arguing.”
“About what?”
“I couldn't hear everything.”
“But you heard something.”
Noah nodded.
“I heard Daniel say, 'I won't let you hurt her.'”
My heart pounded.
“And the other person said?”
Noah looked down.
“He said, 'Then you will lose your wife too.'”
I felt cold.
“Who said that?”
Noah swallowed.
“I couldn't see his face.”
“Was it Thomas?”
“I don't know.”
“Adrian?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know it wasn't just a stranger?”
“Because of his voice.”
“What about it?”
“I've heard it before.”
“Where?”
Noah looked at me.
“On the phone.”
“Whose phone?”
“Your mother's.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did he say?”
Noah whispered:
“He called you by your childhood nickname.”
My blood ran cold.
Only one person had ever used that nickname.
My father.
That evening, Detective Harris confirmed the impossible.
The voice from the recording matched an old voicemail from my father.
Not perfectly.
But close enough to warrant further investigation.
I stared at the waveform on the monitor.
“Could someone fake it?”
“Yes.”
“Could someone imitate his voice?”
“Yes.”
“But you think it's real.”
“I think someone wants us to believe it's real.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Detective Harris leaned forward.
“The person behind this may have access to old recordings of your father.”
“Why?”
“To manipulate you.”
“To make me believe he's alive?”
“Exactly.”
My heart sank.
“So Thomas might not be alive.”
“Correct.”
“But Noah saw him.”
“He saw someone who looked like him.”
“And my mother talked to him.”
“Yes.”
“Then what am I supposed to believe?”
Detective Harris looked at me.
“Believe the evidence.”
The evidence came the next day.
A fingerprint.
Found on the document my mother had hidden.
The fingerprint belonged to Thomas Vale.
There was no mistake.
No imitation.
No old recording.
His fingerprint was there.
Fresh enough to indicate contact within weeks.
My uncle was alive.
And he had touched the document.
Which meant he had been inside my father's secret room.
Recently.
I stared at the report.
“Why would he hide it?”
Detective Harris shook her head.
“We don't know.”
Then she handed me another photograph.
Thomas standing outside Blackwood Estate.
Taken three days earlier.
I looked at the timestamp.
He was alive.
He had been watching the house.
Watching my family.
Watching me.
Then I noticed the person standing beside him.
My heart stopped.
It was Rachel.
My sister.
I looked at Detective Harris.
“They've been working together.”
“No.”
She pointed at the photograph.
“Look closer.”
I did.
Rachel wasn't standing beside Thomas.
She was pointing a gun at him.
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Detective Harris zoomed in.
Rachel's hand was raised.
Thomas was backing away.
Then another figure appeared behind them.
A man in a dark coat.
His face was turned away.
But Noah's voice came from behind me.
“That's him.”
I turned.
“Who?”
Noah pointed at the photograph.
“The man I saw with your mother.”
My heart pounded.
“Who is he?”
Noah looked at me.
“I don't know.”
Then he stared at the man's coat.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I've seen that coat before.”
“Where?”
Noah's face went pale.
“At your father's funeral.”
I stared at the photograph.
The man behind Thomas.
The man who had been talking to my mother.
The man who had threatened Daniel.
The man who had apparently been following my family for years.
He had been standing in the background of my father's funeral.
Watching us mourn.
Watching me.
And suddenly I understood why my father had written:
The person who betrayed me is the person you have trusted most.
Maybe the betrayal wasn't happening now.
Maybe it had happened years ago.
Maybe the person responsible had been beside us the entire time.
At my wedding.
At my father's funeral.
At my mother's side.
And possibly even in the hospital.
I touched my stomach.
My daughter moved.
I whispered:
“I'm going to find him.”
Noah looked at me.
“You should.”
“Why?”
He pointed at the photograph.
“Because he knows you're looking.”
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
Your cousin finally spoke.
A second message arrived.
Now ask him what he saw the night your father died.
I looked at Noah.
His face had gone white.
“What did you see?” I asked.
He didn't answer.
I waited.
Finally, he whispered:
“I saw your father.”
May you like
My heart stopped.
“He was alive.”
