Chapter 14 - The Man I Called Dad

My father, Luis Torres, had died of a heart attack when I was eighteen. He drove city buses, sang along badly to the radio, and never missed a parent-teacher conference. Whatever was on Mateo's recording couldn't take away the years Luis had been my dad.

Katherine arranged for investigators to receive the recording before I watched it. We needed to protect its original file and verify the date and source. Mateo agreed. The next evening, I sat in Katherine's office and pressed play.

Mom appeared against a pale wall. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, with a streak of gray above one temple. She looked straight into the lens.

"Elena, sweetheart. If you're seeing this, I wasn't brave enough or lucky enough to tell you in person. I'm sorry. Your dad loved you from the minute he held you. Nothing I'm about to say changes that."

She inhaled and glanced down at notes.

"Graham Whitcomb is my father. When I was young, he tried to control every choice I made. I left and married Luis because he made our home feel safe. Years later, I learned Graham's business partners were using company routes to transport people who had been forced into work. I went back to gather evidence. I told myself I could get proof and leave."

Her voice trembled.

"Mateo was the son of a worker who disappeared after reporting abuses. Graham's people called him a liability. I couldn't leave that boy behind. Luis helped me make a plan, but he didn't know how dangerous it would become."

She leaned toward the camera.

"And there's something else. Whitcomb isn't protecting a secret because he cares about the business. He's protecting the people who financed it. The records you need aren't in the blue room anymore. They're stored in the object I left where he would never think to search."

The recording flickered. Mom's final words came in a whisper.

"Elena, you wore it every winter. You called it your lucky star."

I froze. My lucky star was a brass pendant Dad gave me when I was eight, attached to a red cord. I'd kept it in a jewelry box ever since.

Then I remembered the apartment break-in. The ripped mattress. The overturned drawers.

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They'd been searching for the pendant.

And I'd left it at home.