Part 7: The Person Who Never Stopped Watching
Part 7: The Person Who Never Stopped Watching
For several seconds after the woman’s words, I couldn’t move.
The phone was still pressed against my ear.
Michael was staring at me.
Waiting.
Watching my face change.
Because he knew.
He knew something had happened.
But I couldn’t speak.
Not yet.
The sentence kept repeating inside my head.
The person who ordered it is still alive.
“Who are you?”
My voice came out quieter than I expected.
The woman on the other end sounded nervous.
“My name is Linda Parker.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
“I don’t know you.”
“No.”
A pause.
“But I knew your grandfather.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What happened?”
Silence.
The kind of silence people use when they’re deciding whether telling the truth is worth the danger.
Finally, she whispered:
“Your grandfather discovered what Richard was doing.”
My stomach turned.
My father.
Again.
“What was he doing?”
Linda took a shaky breath.
“Moving company money.”
I closed my eyes.
The same pattern.
Money.
Control.
Secrets.
“How much?”
A pause.
“Millions.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Michael moved closer.
He mouthed:
“Who is it?”
I covered the phone slightly.
“Someone who worked with my grandfather.”
His expression became serious.
He immediately picked up a notebook.
Always the lawyer.
Always trying to create order from chaos.
Linda continued.
“Your grandfather was going to report everything.”
“To who?”
“Authorities.”
A pause.
“But he never got the chance.”
I looked down.
Because I already knew where this was going.
“The accident.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“Who ordered it?”
Silence.
Then:
“I don’t know.”
I almost stopped breathing.
“But you said—”
“I know what I heard.”
Her voice cracked.
“I heard Richard arguing with someone the night before.”
My father.
“Who was he talking to?”
Another pause.
“He wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Linda whispered:
“Eleanor.”
I froze.
No.
Not Eleanor.
My grandmother’s old friend.
The woman who had attended family dinners.
The woman who always smiled at me.
The woman who seemed so harmless.
No.
It didn’t make sense.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
Linda sounded afraid.
“She knew about the money.”
My mind raced.
My grandmother’s letters.
Her warnings.
The way she wrote about people seeking power.
But Eleanor?
Why would she?
“Wait.”
I stood.
“My grandmother and Eleanor weren’t close.”
Linda went quiet.
Then said:
“They weren’t enemies either.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your grandmother trusted her once.”
My heart sank.
Because betrayal from an enemy hurts.
But betrayal from someone trusted...
Destroys something deeper.
I ended the call after getting Linda’s location.
Michael immediately asked:
“Are you okay?”
I looked at him.
And the answer was complicated.
“No.”
A pause.
“But I need to know.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
The next morning, we met Linda at a small café outside the city.
She was older than I expected.
Thin.
Tired.
She kept looking over her shoulder.
Like she expected someone to appear.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
“You look like him.”
My breath caught.
“My grandfather?”
She nodded.
“The same determination.”
I sat down.
“What happened?”
She looked at Michael.
“Is he safe?”
Michael frowned.
“Yes.”
She studied him.
Then looked back at me.
“Your grandfather loved you.”
My throat tightened.
“He always talked about you.”
A sad smile.
“He worried about what your family would become.”
Linda pulled out a small envelope.
“I kept this because I didn’t know who to trust.”
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
My grandfather.
My father.
Eleanor.
Standing together.
Years ago.
Before everything happened.
I stared.
“Why is Eleanor here?”
Linda looked down.
“Because she was part of the company deal.”
My stomach dropped.
“What deal?”
“The one your grandfather wanted to stop.”
She explained.
Years ago, my grandfather discovered a partnership.
My father had created hidden agreements.
Eleanor had financial interests.
They were moving assets.
Using the company.
Using the family name.
Using people.
And when my grandfather threatened to expose them...
Everything changed.
“But my grandmother…”
I stopped.
Because I didn’t know what to ask.
Did she know?
Did she help?
Did she stay silent?
Linda understood.
“She tried to protect you.”
“But she knew.”
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t tell me.”
Linda looked sad.
“She believed the truth would put you in danger.”
I looked away.
Because that was the hardest part.
Everyone kept making choices for me.
Even people who loved me.
Michael asked:
“Do you have proof?”
Linda nodded.
“Yes.”
She reached into her bag.
A small flash drive.
“The original files.”
My heart raced.
“What files?”
“Financial records.”
A pause.
“And recordings.”
Michael immediately took it.
“We need to copy this.”
Linda grabbed his hand.
“Wait.”
We both looked at her.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Your sister.”
I froze.
“Erica?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What about her?”
Linda hesitated.
“Your father didn’t create Erica’s behavior alone.”
The words were confusing.
“What does that mean?”
Linda whispered:
“She was taught.”
The café suddenly felt colder.
“By who?”
Linda looked at me.
And answered:
“Eleanor.”
My heart stopped.
Everything rearranged itself.
My family.
The favoritism.
The control.
The obsession with appearances.
Erica wasn’t just a child seeking attention.
She had been shaped.
Trained.
Rewarded for certain behaviors.
Punished for others.
And someone had been watching.
Teaching.
Manipulating.
Michael looked at me.
“Sarah.”
I barely heard him.
Because another memory surfaced.
A childhood memory.
I was ten years old.
Erica had broken my mother’s favorite vase.
I was blamed.
I cried.
My grandmother came into the room.
She looked at Erica.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
And Erica immediately became quiet.
Back then, I thought my grandmother was just strict.
Now I wondered.
Had she known?
Had she seen what Erica was becoming?
Linda’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“There’s something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“The night your grandfather died…”
A pause.
“Your grandmother wasn’t at home.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She was at the construction site.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Linda shook her head.
“No.”
A pause.
“She arrived after the accident.”
My hands went cold.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because Richard made sure nobody talked.”
The pieces were falling into place.
My grandmother wasn’t hiding the truth because she didn’t care.
She was hiding it because she knew how dangerous it was.
But one question remained.
If she knew Eleanor was involved...
Why did she let Eleanor stay near the family?
That evening, I returned home.
Michael was reviewing the files.
I was sitting quietly.
Thinking.
Then my phone received a message.
Unknown number.
One sentence.
Stop digging. Some truths are buried for a reason.
My blood ran cold.
Michael saw my face.
“What is it?”
I showed him.
His expression changed.
“Send me the number.”
“I already did.”
He typed quickly.
Then stopped.
“What?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“The message came from inside this house.”
I froze.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The location data.
The signal source.
It wasn’t from outside.
It was from the device connected to our home network.
Someone had access.
Someone close.
Michael stood slowly.
“Sarah.”
“Yes?”
“Where is the box from your grandmother?”
I looked toward the bedroom.
“Why?”
His face was serious.
“Because someone may have been searching for it.”
We rushed upstairs.
The bedroom door was open.
I knew I had closed it.
My heart pounded.
The box was on the floor.
The contents scattered.
Someone had gone through everything.
But one thing was missing.
The flash drive Linda gave us.
It was gone.
I felt sick.
Because only a few people knew about it.
Michael.
Me.
Linda.
And one other person.
The person who had been with us at the café.
The person who had watched.
The person who knew exactly what we had.
I turned slowly toward Michael.
“Who else knew we met her?”
His face changed.
Then he whispered:
“Someone who was there.”
A pause.
“Someone we didn’t notice.”
My phone rang.
Linda.
I answered immediately.
Her voice was screaming.
“Sarah!”
My blood froze.
“What happened?”
“She’s here.”
“Who?”
Silence.
Then Linda whispered:
May you like
“Eleanor.”
The line went dead.
