Chapter 3 - THE FATHER I NEVER ASKED ABOUT
My father had been dead for fourteen years.
I knew three things about him.
His name was Rafael Morales.
He fixed elevators.
He loved old jazz records.
And he died in a workplace accident when I was twelve.
That was enough history for me.
Apparently not for the Vale family.
“What did my father have to do with you?”
Sebastian sat.
Julian remained standing.
Neither looked relaxed.
“Rafael Morales didn’t repair elevators,” Sebastian said.
“He did.”
“He repaired one elevator.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The private lift in my grandfather’s residence.”
Julian looked at him sharply.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Sebastian continued.
“Rafael was actually an electrical systems engineer.”
I laughed once.
“No.”
“My father wore work boots and fixed broken doors.”
“Because after he left Vale Industries, that was what he wanted people to think.”
My pulse changed.
Julian asked:
“When did he work for us?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
A year before Dad died.
I sat slowly.
“What did he do?”
Sebastian looked at Julian.
“Security architecture.”
I frowned.
“For a building?”
“For the trust.”
That made no sense.
Julian understood before I did.
“The digital controls.”
Sebastian nodded.
“Grandfather built an encrypted voting system tied to the trust.”
I stared.
“My father programmed it?”
“Helped.”
“What happened?”
“He found unauthorized changes.”
“Victor?”
“Probably.”
My stomach tightened.
“And then Dad died.”
Silence.
Julian looked at me.
I hated the pity in his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Sebastian pulled out his phone.
He showed me an archived employee photograph.
My father.
Younger.
Clean-shaven.
Standing beside Julian’s grandfather.
And next to them—
my mother.
I froze.
“No.”
She looked exactly like I remembered.
Dark hair.
Soft smile.
But she was wearing a Vale Industries badge.
“She worked there too?”
Sebastian nodded.
“Compliance.”
I thought of her current life.
Hospital visits.
A tiny apartment in Queens.
Never once had she mentioned Vale.
“Why would she hide that?”
“Ask her.”
I stood.
“I’m going to.”
Julian stepped forward.
“I’ll take you.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“You don’t get husband privileges because of eleven minutes.”
His mouth almost moved.
Then Sebastian’s phone buzzed.
He read something.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Someone just accessed Rafael Morales’s old personnel file.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
My blood ran cold.
Then my own phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Ma?”
Her voice was weak.
“Lena.”
“What happened?”
“Do not come home.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Someone is here.”
I heard a man’s voice in the background.
Then glass breaking.
“Mom!”
She whispered:
May you like
“Your father didn’t die in an accident.”
The line went dead.
