Chương 8
“No.”
Ramirez leaned against the table.
“Your grandmother may have been the entry point.”
“Why?”
“Because she was the easiest person to approach.”
The words bothered me.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they were true.
People who wanted access often searched for the least protected door.
And sometimes the least protected door was not a person’s security.
It was their loneliness.
Grandma had spent years helping everyone else.
She hated asking for help.
That made her vulnerable in a way she would never admit.
“What does this person want from me?”
Ramirez did not answer immediately.
That worried me.
“I do not know.”
“You have a theory.”
“I have several.”
“Tell me.”
He looked at the files.
“The first possibility is that someone wants access to your investigations.”
I nodded.
“Possible.”
“The second is revenge.”
I looked up.
“Against me?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“That is what we are trying to determine.”
I hated that answer.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it reminded me that my work had created enemies.
Not imaginary enemies.
Real people.
People who lost money.
People who went to prison.
People who blamed everyone except themselves.
For years, I had accepted that risk.
But I had never considered that my family could become part of it.
My phone rang.
It was my mother.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
I answered.
“Maya.”
Her voice was different.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Scared.
“What happened?”
“Your father found another folder.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“His office.”
“What kind of folder?”
A pause.
“Maya.”
The way she said my name made me stop.
“What?”
“It has your childhood photos.”
That made no sense.
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
“Where is Dad?”
“He went to get it.”
“Alone?”
Another pause.
That was enough.
I grabbed my jacket.
“Mom, listen to me.”
“What?”
“Do not open anything.”
“What?”
“Do not touch anything.”
“Maya, this is our house.”
“I know.”
My voice softened.
“But right now, that does not mean it is safe.”
I ended the call and looked at Ramirez.
“I need to go.”
He grabbed his keys.
“I am coming.”
“You should not.”
“I am not asking.”
There was no argument left in me.
Not because he was right.
Because I was tired of pretending I could carry everything alone.
The drive back was quiet.
Neither of us spoke much.
That was unusual for Luis.
He usually filled silence with observations.
Small comments.
Questions.
Anything to keep people from disappearing into their own thoughts.
This time, he let the silence exist.
When we arrived, my parents’ house looked exactly the same.
That was the cruel thing about danger.
It rarely changed the outside.
The same porch.
The same curtains.
The same flower pots near the steps.
Inside, my mother was standing in the hallway.
Her face was pale.
“Where is Dad?”
She looked toward the office.
“He said he found something behind the cabinet.”
I moved immediately.
The office door was open.
My father was standing inside holding a small box.
Not a folder.
A box.
He looked at me.
“I know what this is.”
Something about his voice made me slow down.
“What?”
He looked at the box.
Then at me.
“This is why your life was never normal.”
I stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
He opened the box.
Inside were old photographs.
Letters.
Documents.
And one envelope with my name written across the front.
Not Maya Parker.
Just Maya.
The handwriting was one I recognized immediately.
My grandmother’s.
But Grandma had not written it.
Not recently.
The date on the envelope was twenty years earlier.
The year I turned fifteen.
My father handed it to me.
“I was never supposed to find this.”
I looked at him.
“Who was?”
He swallowed.
“Your mother.”
My chest tightened.
Before I could open the envelope, Grandma appeared in the doorway.
She looked at the handwriting.
Then she covered her mouth.
Because she knew something.
Something she had been carrying for twenty years.
And this time, nobody could pretend it was about protecting me.
Because she knew something she had been carrying for twenty years.
And this time, nobody could pretend it was about protecting me.
I looked at Grandma.
“Open it.”
Her eyes stayed on the envelope.
For several seconds, she did not move.
Then she reached for the chair beside her and sat down.
“I hoped you would never have to see that.”
My father looked at her.
“You knew?”
Grandma closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer landed harder than I expected.
Not because she admitted it.
Because she did not deny it.
My mother appeared behind her in the doorway.
She looked like she had been holding herself together by force.
“Maya.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew too.”
She looked down.
That was enough.
The anger came quickly.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Just heavy.
“You both knew.”
My mother wiped at her face.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
She did not answer.
“After another ten years?”
“Maya.”
“No.”
My voice cracked slightly.
“I spent my entire life thinking you did not believe in me.”
Nobody spoke.
“And you were hiding something that affected my entire life.”
My father stepped closer.
“I did not know everything.”
“But you knew something.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked at the envelope in my hand.
“What is this?”
Grandma looked at my mother.
Then at me.
“It is from the day everything changed.”
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter.
The paper had aged.
The handwriting was familiar.
Not Grandma’s.
Not my mother’s.
A name appeared at the bottom.
My father’s older brother.
A man I had never met.
Uncle Thomas.
I remembered hearing his name only once when I was a child.
A name that disappeared whenever I asked questions.
The letter was not long.
It explained that Thomas had uncovered a financial crime involving a company connected to people with political influence.
He had collected evidence.
He had planned to report it.
Then he disappeared.
May you like
Not forever.
Not like a mystery novel.
