Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO STOLE FORTY YEARS
The letter in my hands was more frightening than any threat I'd received from Trent Mallory.
Because my grandmother hadn't merely warned me about the Rahal family.
She had warned me not to trust them.
Layla looked at the paper.
"Nia, may I?"
I hesitated.
Then handed her the letter.
She read silently.
Her face grew pale.
"There's something Kareem never told you."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Farid wasn't simply his older brother."
Layla took a breath.
"He was the person Kareem trusted most."
I frowned.
"But Kareem said Farid was involved in criminal activity."
"That's what the family believed."
Layla looked toward the window.
"Before his disappearance, Farid had been collecting records of illegal shipments. He wanted to separate the legitimate shipping company from the criminal operation."
"Then who was responsible?"
"We never discovered the full truth."
I looked down at the key.
"Grandma apparently did."
We brought the letter downstairs.
Kareem read it beneath the building's entrance light.
For the first time, I saw his hands tremble.
"Samira knew."
His voice sounded broken.
"All these years, she knew."
I folded my arms.
"Why didn't she tell you?"
Kareem didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
"Because someone convinced her I was responsible."
My breath caught.
"Were you?"
He looked directly at me.
"No."
Something about the way he answered made me believe he was telling the truth.
But belief wasn't evidence.
I remembered Grandma's warning.
"Then prove it."
Omar stepped forward.
"Miss Brooks, Mr. Rahal doesn't need to—"
Kareem raised his hand.
"She's right."
He looked at me.
"I owe her an explanation."
We entered the waiting SUV.
Kareem explained that Farid had discovered his business partners were using the shipping company for crimes.
When Farid threatened to report them, he received death threats.
Then came the warehouse explosion.
The official investigation found little evidence.
Farid was declared dead.
Samira disappeared.
And Kareem eventually inherited control of the family business.
I stared.
"You benefited from his death."
Kareem closed his eyes.
"Yes."
The honesty frightened me more than a denial would have.
"Did people suspect you?"
"Many."
"And Grandma?"
He nodded.
"She believed I'd betrayed him."
I looked down at the brass key.
"Maybe it opens something that proves what happened."
Omar examined the engraving.
"FR."
His expression changed.
"What?" Kareem asked.
Omar hesitated.
"My father once mentioned a private storage facility used by Farid Rahal."
Kareem turned sharply.
"Where?"
"Brooklyn."
A pause.
"It closed years ago."
"Find the records."
Omar nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
Your grandmother should have destroyed that key.
Another message followed.
If you want to stay alive, stop talking to Kareem Rahal.
I showed him.
His expression turned cold.
Then a third message arrived.
A photograph.
My apartment door.
Taken moments earlier.
May you like
Beneath it were four words.
WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.
