Chương 8
Then Richard said, “Because I know what your brother left behind.”
The call ended.
Daniel stood there holding the phone.
And for the first time that night, the question was no longer whether someone had lied to him.
The question was how long everyone had known the truth.
The question was how long everyone had known the truth.
Daniel did not sleep that night.
Not because he was afraid of what he might discover.
Because he was afraid of what he might already know and had chosen not to see.
The executive conference room remained empty after Richard’s call.
The investors had left through the private elevator one by one, each carrying a different expression of disappointment.
Some looked angry.
Some looked confused.
One had simply patted Daniel’s shoulder and said, “Call me when you figure out what’s happening.”
Daniel hated that sentence.
It sounded supportive.
But it was also a reminder that everyone was willing to wait for him to become certain before they stood beside him.
Certainty was something he no longer had.
Leah stood near the doorway holding a tablet against her chest.
“I can give you access to the archive.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You said nobody could access it.”
“I said nobody was allowed to.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
She looked down.
“It isn’t.”
Anna sat in one of the chairs near the window with Emma asleep beside her.
The child had refused to leave until her mother promised they were not going anywhere without her.
Daniel understood that.
Leaving had become a word with too many meanings.
People left jobs.
People left marriages.
People left families.
Sometimes they left without moving at all.
“Where is the archive?” Daniel asked.
Leah hesitated.
“Basement storage.”
“In a company this size?”
“It’s not physical storage.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“It’s a restricted server.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why would Thomas have a restricted server?”
Leah did not answer immediately.
That silence was becoming familiar.
Everyone around him seemed to carry pieces of a story they were afraid to place on the table.
“Leah.”
She took a breath.
“Because Thomas created it.”
Daniel felt the answer before he understood it.
“My brother built a secret system inside my company?”
“He called it a protection layer.”
“For what?”
Leah looked toward Anna.
“I think he was worried about people changing records.”
Daniel walked away from the table.
The room felt smaller.
His brother had spent years telling him to pay attention.
Daniel had always assumed Thomas was being cautious.
Overly cautious.
Thomas had been the person who checked locks twice.
The person who kept paper copies of everything.
The person who still wrote phone numbers down even after Daniel showed him three different backup apps.
Daniel used to tease him.
“You think everyone is planning something.”
Thomas would smile and say, “No, I think people are people.”
That memory bothered him now.
Because maybe Daniel had misunderstood him.
Maybe Thomas was not paranoid.
Maybe he was prepared.
“Can you open the archive?” Daniel asked.
Leah looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Then open it.”
She did not move.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“If what is in there is what I think it is, you can’t pretend you didn’t see it.”
The sentence sounded like a warning.
Not about danger.
About responsibility.
Daniel nodded.
“I haven’t been pretending tonight.”
Leah looked at him carefully.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He knew.
That was the problem.
He knew too many things now.
He knew when people softened their words.
He knew when they were afraid.
He knew when they were telling the truth but not all of it.
He just did not know how he had become surrounded by people who understood his life better than he did.
The basement level was colder than the rest of the building.
Daniel had been there only twice in twelve years.
Once during construction.
Once during a power failure.
He had never had a reason to come back.
The server room door required two forms of identification.
Leah used hers.
Daniel used his.
The system accepted both.
That bothered him.
A place nobody was supposed to access still recognized him immediately.
The door opened.
The sound of the cooling machines filled the room.
Anna stayed outside with Emma and a security officer.
Daniel noticed she did not argue.
That told him she was tired.
Not convinced.
Just tired.
Leah walked to a terminal.
“I need a password.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Thomas created it.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know it?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Daniel stared at the screen.
Then he looked around the room.
Nothing about it felt secret.
That was the unsettling part.
The most important things people hid were often not hidden behind dramatic walls.
Sometimes they were behind ordinary doors.
“Try his employee number.”
Leah typed.
Denied.
“His birthday.”
Denied.
“Your access code.”
Denied.
She stopped.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“We need to stop guessing.”
He looked at the screen.
“You knew him.”
“So did you.”
The words were not cruel.
That made them worse.
Daniel looked away.
He had spent four years trying not to know his brother anymore.
Because remembering Thomas meant remembering the last argument.
The last conversation.
The last time they saw each other.
Thomas had wanted Daniel to delay a major expansion deal.
Daniel had refused.
He told him he was letting personal fears interfere with business.
Thomas had looked at him quietly and said something Daniel never forgot.
“You keep thinking the worst thing that can happen is losing money.”
Daniel had asked, “What’s worse?”
Thomas had answered, “Finding out you traded everything important for it.”
Daniel had not spoken to him for three weeks after that.
Then Thomas died.
The guilt had never left.
It had only become quieter.
“Try something else,” Daniel said.
Leah looked at him.
“What?”
“Not a number.”
She waited.
“A phrase.”
“From what?”
Daniel stared at the keyboard.
“Something he would choose.”
Leah looked uncertain.
“Any idea?”
Daniel almost said no.
May you like
Then he remembered.
Thomas’s old laptop had a sticker on it.
