NOTE: This part reveals the identity confusion surrounding Robert, connects the historical fire to the present danger, and forces the family to confront the possibility that someone has been manipulating them.
I couldn't speak.
My mother had just told us that the man we had believed was her brother had not actually been her brother.
"What does that mean?"
She looked exhausted.
"Robert had a twin."
Daniel stared at her.
"You never told us."
"Because nobody was supposed to know."
"Who was the other one?"
"His name was Samuel."
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
My mother continued.
"Robert and Samuel were identical."
"Where is Samuel?"
"I don't know."
"Mom."
"I haven't seen him in twenty-seven years."
I didn't believe her.
Not completely.
Because the police had identified the fingerprint in our house as Eric Reed.
Thomas Reed's son.
If Samuel had survived, perhaps he had contact with Eric.
But there was another possibility.
Someone had deliberately planted clues to make us suspect the wrong person.
We needed evidence.
Not guesses.
I asked my mother to tell us everything.
She finally agreed.
Twenty-seven years earlier, my father had discovered that Robert was stealing money from a company he managed.
Samuel had helped him.
The brothers had used each other's identities.
That made the records confusing.
My mother discovered the fraud.
She tried to confront them.
Instead, she chose to protect Robert.
She burned the documents.
The fire spread.
I was nearby.
I inhaled smoke and fell.
My father carried me outside.
Thomas arrived afterward.
Samuel disappeared.
Robert was presumed dead.
But my mother never confirmed which brother had died.
"Why not?"
"Because I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That Samuel had survived."
I felt a chill.
"Why?"
"Because he knew what I had done."
Daniel asked, "Did Dad know?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't he tell us?"
"Because he wanted to protect you."
I almost laughed.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
My mother looked at me.
"What?"
"Everyone says they lied because they wanted to protect us."
She lowered her eyes.
"But you weren't protected."
"No."
She began crying.
"I know."
The police listened to her statement.
They reopened the historical case.
The investigators found something important.
Robert's death had never been officially confirmed.
There was no body.
Only the assumption that one of the brothers had died in the fire.
That changed everything.
If Samuel had survived, he could have lived under Robert's identity.
Or Robert could have survived and Samuel could have died.
Nobody knew.
The old records were too incomplete.
Then Eric Reed contacted the police.
He said he knew who had been responsible for the recent fireplace tampering.
He gave them a name.
Samuel Vale.
My mother's maiden name was Vale.
Samuel Vale.
The name sent a shock through the room.
"Where is he?"
Eric didn't know.
"But he contacted me."
"When?"
"Three months ago."
"What did he want?"
"Information about your father."
"Why?"
"Because your father kept evidence."
That evidence was the metal box.
Eric admitted he had entered our house once.
He claimed he had not touched the fireplace.
"Then why were your fingerprints there?"
"I don't know."
The police showed him the evidence.
He became visibly shaken.
"I never touched that."
That meant someone had used Eric as a cover.
Someone knew he had been in the house.
Someone could have anticipated that his fingerprints would create suspicion.
We were dealing with someone careful.
The investigator asked whether Eric had seen Samuel.
"Only once."
"Where?"
"At a motel."
"When?"
"Last year."
"Can you identify him?"
"Yes."
A sketch was created.
My mother looked at it.
She became pale.
"That's Samuel."
The police asked whether she was certain.
She nodded.
"I would recognize him anywhere."
Then they asked the most important question.
"Why would Samuel target your grandson?"
My mother shook her head.
"I don't think he wants the baby."
"What does he want?"
"The documents."
I looked at the metal box.
"What documents?"
My mother hesitated.
"Your father discovered something else."
"What?"
"He found proof that Robert and Samuel weren't acting alone."
Daniel leaned forward.
"Who helped them?"
My mother looked at him.
"Someone in the family."
I felt sick.
"Who?"
She whispered a name.
"Evelyn?"
Daniel stared.
"You mean yourself?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"Your grandfather."
Silence.
My grandfather had died before I was born.
But apparently, he had helped his sons conceal financial crimes.
My father had discovered the truth.
That explained why he had kept records.
It also explained why my mother had been desperate to destroy them.
The family had been protecting itself for generations.
And every attempt at protection had created another secret.
The investigator opened the metal box.
They examined every document.
Then they found a photograph.
It showed four men.
My grandfather.
Robert.
Samuel.
And another man.
The fourth man was Thomas Reed.
On the back, my father had written:
"They all know."
The police traced the photograph.
Thomas had been involved.
But Thomas was dead.
His son Eric had inherited his papers.
Maybe that was why Eric had been contacted.
Maybe Samuel wanted the evidence.
But why target our house now?
The answer came through our security footage.
A figure had entered the backyard two nights before the fireplace incident.
The image was blurry.
But the person was carrying a small metal case.
The investigator enlarged it.
My mother stared at the screen.
"It's him."
Samuel.
The case was later found hidden beneath an abandoned shed near the edge of town.
Inside was a key.
A photograph.
And a note.
The note said:
"Mark has the last piece."
I looked at the metal box.
"What last piece?"
The investigator searched the documents.
One folder was missing.
My father's records showed that the folder had once existed.
It contained evidence connecting the family to the original fraud.
But where was it?
I searched the house.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the letter.
The unfinished sentence.
"Do not trust anyone who tells you this concerns money. It does not. The truth concerns what happened the night—"
The rest was missing.
Maybe the missing folder contained the answer.
My mother finally confessed that she had removed it years ago.
"Where?"
"I hid it."
"Where?"
She looked toward the fireplace.
My stomach dropped.
"In the old house."
The house where the first fire had occurred.
The house had been abandoned for years.
But someone had recently purchased it.
The investigator checked the records.
The buyer was listed under a company name.
The company belonged to Samuel.
He had returned.
Not for money.
For the missing folder.
And now he knew we were looking for it.
That night, Daniel stayed with us.
We installed additional security.
Lily slept upstairs.
For the first time since the fireplace incident, I felt that the danger wasn't accidental.
It was deliberate.
Someone wanted us to find the truth.
But someone else wanted to make sure we never reached it.
At three in the morning, the alarm sounded.
I ran upstairs.
Lily was crying.
Claire was already holding her.
Daniel stood at the window.
"There."
I looked outside.
A car was parked across the street.
Its lights were off.
The vehicle remained still for several minutes.
Then it drove away.
Daniel wrote down the license plate.
The police traced it.
It belonged to Eric Reed.
The next morning, Eric was arrested.
He insisted he had been framed.
"I didn't go there."
But the evidence placed him nearby.
His fingerprints had already been found in the house.
My mother watched from the kitchen.
"He's not the one."
I looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because Samuel always works through other people."
"How many?"
She looked away.
"Enough."
The investigator found one more clue.
A bank transfer from an account belonging to Samuel.
It had been sent to someone in our town.
The recipient was a private investigator.
That investigator had been following us for months.
He had photographs of our house.
Photographs of Claire.
Photographs of Lily.
And photographs of Daniel.
I stared at them.
"Why photograph my brother?"
The investigator turned one over.
There was writing on the back.
"Possible replacement."
Daniel went pale.
"Replacement for what?"
My mother suddenly whispered:
"Your father."
I looked at her.
She was crying.
"Samuel doesn't just want the documents."
"What does he want?"
She answered.
"He believes your father stole something from him."
"What?"
My mother looked toward Daniel.
"The identity of the man who died."
I didn't understand.
Then Daniel did.
"You mean Samuel thinks Dad knew which brother survived."
My mother nodded.
"And he believes Dad left that answer somewhere."
The missing folder was no longer simply evidence.
It contained the identity of the surviving brother.
And if Samuel had spent twenty-seven years hiding his identity, he would do almost anything to keep the truth buried.
That evening, my father’s old house appeared on the police radar.
Someone had entered.
The investigator called.
"We found the folder."
I waited.
"Where?"
"Inside the fireplace."
My blood ran cold.
"Is it intact?"
A pause.
"No."
"What's missing?"
"The final page."
Click Here to continue read next: PART4: The Missing Page Was Finally Found Inside the Old Fireplace, and What My Father Had Written There Changed Who We Believed Had Survived
My Brother Burst Through the Door With My Newborn in His Arms, but the Strange Smoke Behind Him Made Me Realize Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 3 of 8
