Chapter 9 - What My Father Knew
I left the meeting with the document.
Danielle immediately ordered an independent verification.
By the next afternoon, the signature appeared genuine.
My father had signed paperwork connected to Northstar.
That did not mean Liam’s story was true.
But it meant my father had known something.
Mom was sitting at my kitchen table when I showed her.
She stared at the page.
Then slowly removed her glasses.
“Where did you get this?”
“Liam.”
Her face changed.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
“Emma…”
“You knew.”
“Not about the affairs.”
“I’m not talking about the affairs.”
She folded her hands.
“Your father lent Liam money.”
“How much?”
“Seventy-five thousand.”
I nearly dropped the page.
“When?”
“Before the wedding.”
“Why?”
“Liam said he had an opportunity to invest in a property management business.”
“And Dad agreed?”
“At first, no.”
“Then why?”
“Because he wanted to help you.”
I stared at her.
“Help me?”
“Your father worried Liam wouldn’t be able to give you the stability you wanted.”
The irony hurt.
“So he invested?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
Mom looked toward the nursery.
“He loaned the money to Liam with conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“That the investment remain separate from your marriage until it was profitable.”
I sat slowly.
“Why would Dad do that?”
“Because if it failed, he didn’t want you responsible.”
A sad laugh escaped me.
“That worked well.”
Mom reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Your father thought he was helping.”
“By hiding seventy-five thousand dollars from me?”
“It was his money.”
“And Liam became my husband.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“You were so happy.”
There it was.
The sentence that had protected every lie.
You were so happy.
As though happiness required ignorance.
I stood.
“I need all of Dad’s financial records.”
“Emma.”
“All of them.”
That evening, Ethan and I opened boxes from our parents’ garage.
Dad kept everything.
Receipts.
Tax returns.
Old warranties.
A manual for a microwave they had thrown away in 2003.
At nearly midnight, Ethan found a blue folder.
NORTHSTAR
Inside was the original loan agreement.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
Liam would purchase and rehabilitate small properties.
Dad would receive repayment plus eight percent.
Nothing illegal.
Nothing secret except from me.
Then we found a second agreement.
This one dated nine months later.
Liam had requested another $50,000.
Dad refused.
On the document, in his handwriting:
Concerned about unexplained transfers. Need full accounting before any further investment.
My heartbeat accelerated.
Another page.
Met L. today. Avoiding questions. Says partner handles banking. Find out who.
Then:
Rachel?
I stared.
Dad knew her name.
Ethan whispered, “He was investigating Liam.”
Page after page.
Notes.
Dates.
Questions.
Then one final sheet.
Written six days before Dad died.
If Liam is using Emma’s identity, speak to attorney Monday. Do not confront him until documents secured.
My hands began shaking.
Dad died on Saturday.
He never made it to Monday.
Ethan sat beside me.
“Emma…”
I couldn’t speak.
For months after his death, I had blamed myself for not calling him that Friday night.
Now I wondered what he had intended to tell me.
At the bottom of the folder was a small brass key taped to an index card.
Three words.
Box 317. First National.
A safe-deposit box.
The next morning, Mom came with us to the bank.
Dad had listed her as co-owner.
The clerk led us into a private room.
Box 317 was narrow and surprisingly heavy.
Mom turned the key.
Inside were envelopes.
Property documents.
A USB drive.
And an old phone.
Ethan looked at me.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
I almost smiled.
Then I picked up the phone.
The battery was dead.
We charged it in my car.
When it finally powered on, there were three audio recordings.
The first was Dad dictating notes.
The second was a conversation with his attorney.
The third lasted seven minutes.
The title read:
Liam - Office - Friday
Six days before Dad died.
I pressed play.
Dad’s voice filled the car.
“Sit down, Liam.”
Then my husband.
“You had no right to go through those records.”
Dad answered calmly.
“You put my daughter’s name on financial documents she has never seen.”
My breath disappeared.
Liam said, “You don’t understand.”
Dad replied:
“Then explain it before I explain it to Emma.”
A pause.
Then Liam’s voice.
Cold.
“If you tell her now, you’ll destroy her marriage.”
Dad answered:
“No, son.”
Another pause.
May you like
“You already did that.”
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