Chapter 2 - The Accident That Never Happened
My father had been buried for fifteen years.
Yet one hundred dollars had suddenly made me question everything about his death.
"What do you mean it wasn't an accident?" I demanded.
Reuben looked toward the kitchen door.
"Keep your voice down."
"Don't tell me to keep my voice down. You're talking about my father."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Thomas worked on a construction project for Morgan Industries. A luxury development along the Chicago River."
"I know. That's where he fell."
Reuben shook his head.
"That's the official story."
My stomach tightened.
"What actually happened?"
"Your father discovered something wrong with the electrical systems. Safety inspections were being falsified. He refused to sign off on work that could have endangered hundreds of people."
I stared.
"Then why was he fired?"
"He wasn't fired."
Reuben paused.
"He disappeared for two days."
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
"What?"
"Your mother received a phone call. Someone told her Thomas had suffered an accident. By the time she reached the hospital, he was already dead."
I grabbed the counter.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your mother begged me not to."
I felt a surge of anger.
"She lied to me?"
"She was terrified."
"Of Vincent?"
Reuben hesitated.
"I don't know."
His answer frightened me more than a yes.
I left the diner without another word.
On the bus ride home, I stared at the hundred-dollar bill.
Your father taught you that line.
How did Vincent know?
And why had he waited fifteen years to say anything?
My mother was sitting in her recliner when I arrived.
A thin oxygen tube rested beneath her nose.
She looked up from her knitting.
"Emma? You're home early."
I knelt beside her.
"Mom, I need to ask you something."
Her smile faded.
"What's wrong?"
"Did Dad really die in a construction accident?"
The knitting needles slipped from her fingers.
For several seconds, she didn't breathe normally.
Then she whispered, "Who told you?"
"Reuben."
Her face turned pale.
"Oh, Thomas."
She covered her mouth.
I felt tears gathering.
"Mom, please."
She reached for my hand.
"Your father was a good man."
"I know."
"He found documents. Terrible documents. He believed someone was stealing money from the workers' pension fund."
I stared.
"Who?"
She looked toward the window.
Then whispered, "A company connected to Vincent Morgan."
My chest tightened.
"Was Vincent responsible?"
"I don't know, sweetheart."
She began crying.
"Your father said he was going to meet Morgan and show him everything."
"What happened?"
"He never came home."
I sat frozen.
Then Mom gripped my wrist.
"Emma, listen carefully. There was something your father left behind."
"What?"
"A blue metal toolbox."
I frowned.
"His old toolbox?"
She nodded.
"I hid it after he died."
"Where?"
"In the basement storage room."
My heart pounded.
Mom tightened her grip.
"But you must promise me something."
"What?"
"If you find what's inside, don't trust anyone who works for Morgan Industries."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because the man who threatened your father is still working there."
And then she said a name.
May you like
"Richard Morgan."
Vincent's younger brother.
