Chapter 4 - The Safe Behind the Painting
The safe was in my father’s study.
It took less than a minute to find once I knew there was something worth hiding.
The huge oil painting of my grandfather had always hung crooked by half an inch. Emily used to joke that the old man was trying to escape the frame.
I pulled the painting aside.
Steel door.
Old keypad.
Key slot underneath.
The silver key fit.
My father stood behind me.
“Ethan, you need to understand something.”
“I understand plenty.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then talk.”
He looked toward Celeste, who was being watched by two private security guards at the study entrance.
She crossed her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
Anna kept Noah downstairs with my mother.
I was grateful. I didn’t want him hearing any of this.
I turned the key.
The safe clicked.
Inside were three things.
A black ledger.
A flash drive.
And Emily’s wedding ring.
I stopped breathing.
I had buried her without it.
The funeral director told me the ring had been lost in the crash.
I picked it up.
My fingers went numb.
“Why is this here?”
My father said nothing.
I slammed the ledger onto his desk.
“WHY IS THIS HERE?”
He flinched.
“I took it from the evidence room.”
The room tilted.
“You stole my wife’s ring from police evidence?”
“I had help.”
“Why?”
“Because there was blood on the inside.”
I stared at him.
“What does that even mean?”
Celeste laughed softly.
My father turned on her.
“Shut up.”
She smiled.
“Three years of secrets, Richard, and now you want discipline?”
I held up the ring.
“Whose blood?”
My father’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not Emily’s.”
I felt cold everywhere.
“Then whose?”
He looked at the flash drive.
“I don’t know.”
I plugged it into the computer.
One folder.
HARBOR.
Inside were bank transfers, scanned signatures, security photos, and a video file dated the night Emily died.
I clicked it.
The video showed the underground garage beneath Cole Industries.
Emily appeared on screen, arguing with someone beside a black SUV.
No sound.
The angle was bad.
The other person’s face stayed hidden.
Then Emily shoved them away.
They grabbed her.
She slapped them.
For half a second, they turned toward the camera.
I paused the video.
Zoomed in.
My stomach dropped.
May you like
It wasn’t Celeste.
It was my mother.
