Chương 7
Not what you think.
His father's handwriting.
Daniel sat down.
The chair scraped loudly across the floor.
The sound annoyed him because it made the moment feel ordinary. Like he had simply come home after work and moved a chair.
The refrigerator hummed.
A neighbor laughed through the wall.
A car alarm chirped somewhere outside.
The world continued with complete disrespect for the fact that Daniel's life had just shifted.
His phone buzzed.
Maya.
He watched it ring until it stopped.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
He answered.
"You found it."
No greeting.
No explanation.
Just the sentence.
Silence came first.
Maya always needed a few seconds when she was choosing between honesty and protection.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Home."
"Daniel."
"What?"
"Are you alone?"
He looked around the apartment.
The question landed differently than he expected.
Not like concern.
Like confirmation.
"Why?"
"Just answer me."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Did anyone come inside?"
Daniel looked at the open envelope.
"You knew this was coming."
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
He closed his eyes.
Maya had many flaws. She could be stubborn. She could be controlling. She could convince herself she was helping when she was actually making decisions for other people.
But she was terrible at pretending.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Daniel—"
"You knew there was something."
Silence.
He walked toward the window.
Outside, a woman was trying to carry two grocery bags while holding a child's hand. The child kept stopping to point at things on the sidewalk. The mother kept saying they were late.
A normal afternoon.
Daniel hated normal afternoons now.
"I told you not to open anything from the storage unit alone," Maya said.
He turned back.
"That's what you're worried about?"
"I'm worried about you."
"No. You're worried about what I found."
Her breathing changed.
Just slightly.
Enough.
"How long?" he asked.
Maya didn't answer.
"How long did you know something was wrong?"
"Daniel."
"How long?"
"Since last year."
The answer was quiet.
Almost careful.
He sat back down.
"Last year."
"I was trying to figure it out."
"Without me."
"Yes."
The honesty surprised him.
It also hurt more.
"Why?"
"Because every time Dad comes up, you leave the room without leaving the room."
Daniel looked down.
He hated that she understood him.
"I wasn't trying to hurt you."
"You weren't trying to tell me the truth either."
"I didn't have the truth."
"You had enough to know I didn't."
Maya did not respond.
The papers on the table shifted slightly under his hand.
"Tell me what you found."
"I can't do this over the phone."
"Why?"
"Because you're already angry."
"I'm supposed to be angry."
"I know."
The answer was so simple that it took the argument out of him for a second.
Maya was not defending herself.
That almost made it worse.
"What happened last year?"
"I found another copy of the report."
"Another copy?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In the storage unit."
Daniel looked at the envelope.
"The one we emptied after Mom died?"
"Yes."
"And you never told me?"
"I found it after you stopped going through the boxes."
He looked away.
That was true.
After his mother's funeral, Daniel had spent three weekends sorting through their parents' things. Then one afternoon, he packed everything away and never returned.
He had called it being practical.
Maya had called it avoiding pain.
Neither of them had been completely wrong.
"What was different?" he asked.
"The report had a different timeline."
"Different how?"
"I don't know."
"That's not good enough."
"I know."
"Then explain."
Maya was quiet.
When she finally spoke, her voice dropped.
"There was a missing page."
Daniel looked at the papers.
"From this?"
"I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
"Because the copy I found didn't have it either."
That stopped him.
The room felt colder.
"Someone removed it?"
"I don't know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I don't have answers, Daniel."
The frustration in her voice was real now.
"I have pieces. That's all I have."
He looked at the envelope again.
The torn edge caught his attention.
He reached for it.
"Maya."
"What?"
"The envelope."
"What about it?"
"There was something inside."
He opened the fold carefully.
A small piece of paper was hidden between the layers.
His heartbeat changed before he even read it.
"Daniel?"
He didn't answer.
The note was handwritten.
Not his father's handwriting.
Someone else's.
Stop looking at the report.
Look at who changed it.
Below the sentence was a time.
8:30 p.m.
And an address.
Daniel knew the address immediately.
His old family lawyer's office.
Closed for three years.
"Maya."
"What?"
He swallowed.
"Did you ever go to the old office?"
Silence.
Too long.
"Maya."
"I went there."
He stood.
"You went there?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Six months ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because someone followed me."
The words were quiet.
Daniel stopped moving.
"What?"
"I didn't know if they were following me. I didn't know if I was imagining it."
"And now?"
"Now I know someone has been inside your apartment."
He looked toward the front door.
The same door someone had opened.
The same door someone had closed behind them.
"What happened at the office?"
"I found a file."
"What file?"
"I don't know exactly."
"That makes no sense."
"I know."
"Then tell me what you do know."
Maya exhaled.
"I found Dad's name on a document he was never supposed to have."
Daniel waited.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet."
The answer made him angry.
Then he realized something.
Maya sounded afraid.
Not worried.
Not guilty.
Afraid.
"When are you coming over?" he asked.
"Daniel—"
"When?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Ten."
"You always do this."
"Do what?"
"Move faster when you're scared."
He looked at the note.
"And you always wait until the danger is already inside the room."
A long silence followed.
Neither of them apologized.
Neither of them needed to.
"Ten minutes," Maya said.
The call ended.
May you like
Daniel stayed where he was.
Then he took pictures of every page.
