Morning came without sleep.
Maya watched sunlight creep across the bedroom ceiling while Lily remained curled beneath the blanket.
At seven, Rachel arrived.
She entered through the front door holding two coffees and stopped when she saw Maya's face.
“You didn't sleep.”
“Neither did you.”
Rachel handed her a cup.
“I drove around for an hour.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought someone was following me.”
Maya looked at her.
“Were they?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel sat down.
Maya placed the photograph on the table.
“Tell me everything you know about the woman.”
Rachel stared at the image.
“I don't know her.”
“You told me Dad had a photograph.”
“I said he had this photograph.”
“Where did he get it?”
“I don't know.”
Maya slid the phone across the table.
The messages were still visible.
Rachel read them.
Her expression changed.
“Who sent this?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel looked toward the stairs.
“Where's Lily?”
“Asleep.”
“Good.”
Maya sat opposite her.
“Dad said Grandpa wasn't hiding money.”
Rachel nodded.
“He told me that too.”
“He said he was hiding people.”
Rachel's eyes widened.
“What?”
“That's what he said.”
She leaned back.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if the ledger involved people.”
“What people?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel stared at the photograph.
Then she reached into her purse.
“I brought something.”
She removed a small envelope.
Maya recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her grandfather's.
“Where did you get that?”
“Dad gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Maya opened it carefully.
Inside was a photocopy of an old newspaper clipping.
The headline concerned a warehouse fire twenty-six years earlier.
Not the workshop.
A warehouse three miles away.
The article mentioned a missing accountant named Clara Voss.
Maya looked at Rachel.
“Who is Clara?”
Rachel pointed to the photograph.
Maya looked again.
The woman's face was blurred by the old film, but there was something familiar about the shape of her eyes.
Clara Voss.
The name meant nothing.
Then Maya remembered something.
Her grandfather had once owned a small accounting firm.
Clara had worked there.
According to the article, she disappeared two days before the workshop fire.
The police had suspected she fled after discovering financial irregularities.
Maya read the clipping again.
At the bottom was a handwritten sentence.
SHE DID NOT RUN.
Maya's skin prickled.
“Your father wrote this?”
Rachel nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Maya turned the paper over.
A number had been written on the back.
17.
She looked at the key.
“That's not a coincidence.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“Where is the old property?”
“Under the apartment complex.”
“So how do we get into the room?”
Rachel looked uncomfortable.
“There's another entrance.”
“Where?”
“The church parking lot.”
Maya frowned.
“What church?”
“St. Matthew's.”
Maya remembered it.
Her grandfather had attended services there every Sunday.
The church had a narrow basement beneath the old annex.
“You've been there?”
Rachel nodded.
“Dad took me once.”
“When?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“What did he show you?”
Rachel hesitated.
“A wall.”
Maya waited.
“He said the wall was built after the fire.”
“Why?”
“To seal something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
Maya stood.
“We're going.”
Rachel grabbed her arm.
“Not with Lily.”
“I wasn't planning to take her.”
“I'll stay here.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“You came into my house after someone entered my daughter's room. I'm not leaving her with you while I walk into a hidden basement.”
Rachel's face fell.
“I understand.”
Maya immediately regretted the harshness.
But trust had become difficult.
She went upstairs and woke Lily.
“We're going to stay with Mrs. Carter for a few hours.”
Lily nodded sleepily.
“Who is Mrs. Carter?”
“Someone I trust.”
They drove Lily to a neighbor's house.
Then Maya and Rachel went to St. Matthew's.
The church was nearly empty.
A caretaker recognized Rachel.
“You're Denise's daughter.”
Rachel nodded.
“We need access to the old basement.”
The caretaker frowned.
“Why?”
“Family property records.”
He studied them.
Then sighed.
“Five minutes.”
The basement smelled of damp stone.
At the far end stood a brick wall.
Rachel stopped.
“That's it.”
Maya ran her fingers along the bricks.
One section sounded hollow.
She looked at Rachel.
“Move.”
Rachel stepped aside.
Maya found a loose brick.
Behind it was a narrow metal box.
Inside were three objects.
A key.
A folded document.
And a cassette tape.
Maya stared.
“Who still uses cassette tapes?”
Rachel gave a nervous laugh.
“Apparently your grandfather.”
They took the box upstairs.
The caretaker refused to let them play the tape inside the church.
At home, Maya found an old cassette player in a storage closet.
The tape hissed when she inserted it.
Then a man's voice emerged.
Her grandfather.
“If you're hearing this, the fire has already happened.”
Maya gripped the table.
Rachel covered her mouth.
The recording continued.
“I was wrong to trust Robert.”
Maya looked at Rachel.
The tape crackled.
“Clara warned me.”
A pause.
“She found the names.”
Maya leaned closer.
“Names of people who were paid to move money through the trust.”
The recording skipped.
Then her grandfather spoke again.
“One of them is family.”
Maya stopped breathing.
Rachel whispered, “Who?”
The tape continued.
“I couldn't tell Maya.”
Maya stared at the machine.
Her own name.
“Because if they knew she was the beneficiary, they'd come for her.”
The recording ended.
Maya sat frozen.
Rachel was crying.
Then the cassette clicked.
The machine had reached the end.
Maya rewound it.
But before she could press play, someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow knocks.
Maya looked at Rachel.
Neither moved.
A voice came from outside.
“Maya, it's me.”
Her father.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Her Father Arrived With One Final Piece of Evidence, But the Name He Revealed Changed Who Maya Could Trust
The Dinner Was Supposed to Mend Our Family Until My Daughter’s Cry Changed Everything
Part 7 of 20
