Chapter 11 - My Father’s Last Recording|
The basement seemed to grow colder.
I read my father's note again, searching for some indication that I had misunderstood it. But the handwriting was unmistakable, and the sentence remained exactly the same.
The person who killed me is already inside your home.
Adrian took the paper carefully.
“Don't jump to conclusions,” he said.
“How can I not?”
“We know someone may have altered the medical report. We know Victor was involved in the financial transfers. We know Maureen was hiding something. We don't yet know who was responsible for your father's death.”
“What if it was her?”
“Then we'll find evidence.”
His calmness irritated me, but I knew he was trying to keep me from making a decision out of grief.
I picked up the cassette recorder.
There was a tape inside, its label written in blue ink.
NOVEMBER 13 — FINAL ACCOUNTS.
The date was one day before my father died.
Adrian examined the device.
“Do you have anything to play this?”
I shook my head.
Evelyn arranged for the cassette to be transferred to a secure digital file by a forensic technician. We waited in the café office while the technician worked, the recorder sitting between us like an unexploded bomb.
At last, the technician returned with a laptop.
“The audio is damaged, but much of it is clear. We've preserved the original.”
He pressed play.
At first, there was only static.
Then my father's voice filled the room.
“Daniel, I know the numbers don't match. I checked every invoice twice.”
A second voice answered. It was a man's voice, low and hurried.
“You need to stop looking, Quinn.”
“Why? Because someone is stealing money?”
“Because you don't understand who you're dealing with.”
My father's voice hardened.
“I understand that people are using my signature to transfer property I never agreed to sell.”
There was a pause.
Then the second man spoke again.
“You were warned.”
“By whom?”
A chair scraped across the floor.
“I can still fix this,” the man said. “But you have to give me the ledger.”
“No.”
“You're making a mistake.”
“No. I made a mistake when I trusted you.”
A sharp noise followed.
Then my father's voice, quieter now.
“If anything happens to me, Nora will know where to look.”
The recording ended in static.
I couldn't breathe.
The second voice was familiar, but I couldn't identify it. I had heard too many men speaking around the café, too many customers whose names I never learned.
Adrian replayed the final section.
The voice sounded distorted, as though the speaker had been standing farther from the recorder.
“Can you identify him?” Evelyn asked.
Adrian shook his head.
“Not from this.”
The technician pointed to a waveform on the screen.
“There may be another voice in the background. A woman. It's faint, but we can isolate it.”
He adjusted the audio.
A woman spoke for less than two seconds.
“Just make sure she signs.”
Then the sound disappeared.
My stomach turned.
“That sounds like Maureen.”
“Possibly,” Evelyn said. “But we need an expert to compare it with a verified recording.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“Who was your father meeting that night?”
“I don't know. Maureen told me she was with him when he collapsed.”
“Did she ever say anyone else was there?”
“No.”
Evelyn closed the laptop.
“This is enough to reopen questions about the death. It is not enough to accuse anyone.”
I wanted to scream.
My father had left me a clue, a warning, and a recording that could explain why he died. Yet even with all of it in front of us, the truth remained just beyond reach.
Then the technician noticed something.
“There's a timestamp embedded in the digital transfer. The recorder was activated at 8:17 p.m. on November thirteenth. But the final audio appears to have been recorded later.”
“How much later?” I asked.
“Possibly the next morning. The cassette was reused.”
Adrian stared at the recorder.
“Your father recorded more than one conversation.”
The technician rewound the tape and examined the label.
“There's a second recording beneath the first. Someone recorded over the original, but the magnetic imprint may still contain fragments.”
“Can you recover it?” Evelyn asked.
“I can try.”
He packed the recorder into a protective case.
As he reached the stairs, my phone buzzed.
A new message had arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of Maureen sitting in a chair, her wrists bound with white tape. Her face was bruised, and a man stood behind her with one hand on her shoulder.
Below the image were six words.
BRING THE LEDGER. COME WITHOUT ADRIAN.
I looked at the photograph until the edges of the room blurred.
Adrian held out his hand.
“Let me see.”
I showed him.
His expression became frighteningly still.
“No,” he said.
“No what?”
“You're not going alone.”
“The message specifically says—”
“I can read.”
“If we don't go, they might hurt her.”
“If we go carelessly, they'll hurt you too.”
I looked at Maureen's frightened face.
For all the things she had done to me, I couldn't accept the idea of leaving her to die because I wanted justice.
“Then we find a way to get her out.”
Adrian studied me for a long moment.
“All right,” he said. “But we do this with the police, and you follow the plan.”
I nodded.
Then another message appeared.
This time, it contained a short video.
Maureen lifted her head and looked directly into the camera.
“Nora,” she whispered, “whatever happens, don't trust the man who brings you the ledger.”
May you like
The video ended.
And Adrian, standing beside me, was the only man in the room who knew where the ledger was hidden.
