Chapter 4 - The Man in the Gray SUV
I froze. My father, Harold Bennett, had suffered a heart attack in his apartment. At least that was what the hospital called it. The doctors had shown me charts. I had signed the papers for his funeral.
The stranger in the SUV held up a photograph through the lowered window. My father stood beside a loading dock I recognized from the foundation headquarters. He looked exhausted. The date stamped on the corner was three days before he died.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Darius King. I worked security at Whitmore.”
Marcus moved between us. “Nia, this man was fired for stealing.”
Darius gave a tired laugh. “I was fired for keeping a copy of the access logs.”
Evelyn stepped forward. “Why didn't you bring them to me?”
“I did. Your office said you were unavailable.”
Celia appeared at the ballroom door, flanked by the event director. She saw Darius and stopped.
“Call the police,” she said.
“Gladly,” Darius answered. “I want them to ask why the cameras were shut off at 11:42 p.m. the night Harold came to the basement.”
I turned to Marcus. “You told me Dad never went to headquarters.”
“He didn't. Not that night.”
Darius held up a second photograph: my father stepping through the basement door, timestamped 11:39 p.m.
Marcus stared at the ground. The silence told me enough.
Evelyn ordered her driver to pull closer. “Darius, follow us to my house. Nia, you ride with me. Marcus, find your own way.”
He gripped my arm gently, which somehow hurt more than if he'd shouted. “I wanted to protect you.”
“From what?”
He opened his mouth, but Celia called his name. He let me go.
In Evelyn's car, I looked through the window at the family I had tried to join. Marcus stood beneath a banner advertising the foundation's promise: EVERY CHILD DESERVES A CHANCE.
My phone rang. The caller ID showed my father's old landline, disconnected since the funeral.
I answered with numb fingers.
May you like
A recording played, broken by static. My father's voice said, “Nia, if you hear this, check the blue box under my workbench. Trust Evelyn. And don't trust—”
The line went dead before he finished the name.
