Chapter 6: The Hidden Room
1546 Words
The silence inside the car felt heavier than the rain outside.
I stared at the message on my phone.
STOP LOOKING FOR THE TRUTH.
Then the second message appeared again in my mind.
OR YOU'LL END UP LIKE YOUR MOTHER.
I couldn't stop shaking.
Ethan noticed.
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“I need to check the number.”
I handed it over.
He studied the screen.
“It’s blocked.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Not immediately.”
“So what do we do?”
“We find out who sent it.”
I looked out the window.
“How?”
“Your mother's records.”
I turned toward him.
“You think the answer is in her things?”
“I think whoever broke into your house was looking for something.”
“The journal?”
“Possibly.”
“But they didn't take it.”
“Maybe they didn't find what they were looking for.”
I looked down at my hands.
“Then what did they miss?”
Ethan didn't answer.
The car stopped outside his residence.
I stared up at the enormous building.
“You're really taking me here?”
“Yes.”
“You said it was temporary.”
“It is.”
“How temporary?”
“Until I know you're safe.”
I sighed.
“I still don't like this.”
“I know.”
We entered the private elevator.
Neither of us spoke.
When the doors opened, I stepped into Ethan's penthouse.
It was nothing like my house.
Everything looked perfect.
Clean.
Expensive.
Almost too perfect.
A woman in her fifties was waiting in the hallway.
“Mr. Black.”
“Mrs. Grant, this is Mia Carter.”
The woman smiled politely.
“It's nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“She'll be staying here.”
Mrs. Grant's eyebrows rose slightly.
“Of course.”
Ethan walked away.
I followed.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“Where am I sleeping?”
“The guest room.”
“Good.”
He glanced at me.
“Were you expecting something else?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You really enjoy irritating people.”
“I wasn't aware.”
“You should be.”
For the first time that night, I saw the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
He walked toward his study.
“Get some rest.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother left me a warning, someone broke into my house, and now I'm living with a man who knows more about my mother's death than he's telling me.”
He stopped.
“You're right.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You won't sleep.”
He turned around.
“Come with me.”
We entered his study.
He locked the door behind us.
I stared at him.
“Why are you locking the door?”
“Because I don't want anyone interrupting us.”
He opened a drawer and removed a small black box.
He placed it on the desk.
“I found this after my father died.”
I looked at the box.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why do you have it?”
“Because it was hidden inside my father's desk.”
He opened it.
Inside were several documents.
Old photographs.
A key.
And a handwritten note.
I picked up the note.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
“What does it say?”
Ethan looked at it.
“My father wrote this.”
I read the words.
If anything happens to me, find the Carter woman. She knows the truth.
I looked up.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Your father knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know until recently.”
“You're lying.”
His expression hardened.
“I've spent years trying to understand what happened to my father.”
“And my mother.”
“Yes.”
I looked through the photographs.
There were pictures of Ethan's father with different business partners.
Then I found one that made me stop.
My mother.
She was standing beside Victor Black.
But they weren't smiling.
They looked frightened.
Behind them was a building.
I recognized it immediately.
“My mother's office.”
Ethan leaned over.
“When was this taken?”
I checked the back.
October 12, 2009.
My fingers trembled.
“That's one month after the photograph from her journal.”
Ethan nodded.
“What happened that month?”
“I don't know.”
I turned the photograph over.
Something was written across the back.
Room 217.
My eyes widened.
“The key.”
Ethan immediately picked up the small key from the box.
The number engraved on it was 217.
“Your father had this?”
“Yes.”
“And someone left another key at my house?”
“Yes.”
“Why would two keys have the same number?”
“Maybe they don't open the same door.”
I stared at him.
“Then we need to find out what they open.”
Before Ethan could respond, his phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes?”
His expression changed.
“Are you sure?”
He listened.
“Send me the location.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“The security team found the car.”
“The one following us?”
“Yes.”
“Who owns it?”
Ethan hesitated.
“A company.”
“What company?”
“Carter Investigations.”
I froze.
“My mother's company?”
“She worked there before opening her own office.”
“Why would someone using her old company be following us?”
“I don't know.”
I walked toward the window.
Everything was becoming more complicated.
My mother's investigation.
Ethan's father.
The keys.
Room 217.
The mysterious car.
The threats.
Then something clicked.
I turned around.
“My mother had an old filing cabinet.”
“Where?”
“In the basement.”
Ethan frowned.
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you mention it?”
“Because I forgot about it.”
“What was inside?”
“I don't know. She never let me touch it.”
Ethan grabbed his jacket.
“We're going back.”
“You said my house isn't safe.”
“It isn't.”
“Then why are we going?”
“To find out what's in that cabinet.”
We returned to my house less than an hour later.
The police had left.
The street was quiet.
Ethan's security team checked the property before letting us enter.
We went straight to the basement.
The air smelled damp.
Boxes were stacked against the walls.
Old furniture covered one side.
I switched on the light.
Nothing happened.
“Of course,” I muttered.
Ethan used his phone flashlight.
“Where's the cabinet?”
“Over there.”
I pointed.
It was hidden behind several boxes.
We moved them aside.
The cabinet was old and covered in dust.
I tried opening it.
Locked.
Ethan examined the lock.
“Do you have a key?”
“No.”
He took out the key from his pocket.
Room 217.
He inserted it.
The lock clicked.
My heart stopped.
“It works.”
Ethan opened the cabinet.
Inside were folders.
Dozens of them.
Most were labeled with dates.
I pulled one out.
My mother's handwriting was on the cover.
BLACK ENTERPRISES — CONFIDENTIAL.
I opened it.
Financial records.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Names.
Then I saw one name repeated several times.
Victor Black.
My mother's investigation had been deeper than I imagined.
I turned another page.
There was a list of payments made through several companies.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Victor didn't do this alone.
I looked at Ethan.
“What does that mean?”
He took the folder from me.
His eyes moved quickly across the documents.
Then he stopped.
“What?”
He pointed to a signature.
“This isn't my father's.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you recognize it?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“It belongs to someone who is still alive.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, we heard a noise upstairs.
A door slammed.
Ethan immediately closed the cabinet.
“Stay here.”
“I'm coming with you.”
“No.”
He moved toward the stairs.
I followed anyway.
We reached the hallway.
Nothing.
The front door was still closed.
Ethan looked around.
Then he noticed something.
A photograph on the floor.
He picked it up.
It was one of the pictures from my mother's investigation.
Someone had taken it from the basement.
Someone had been inside the house while we were downstairs.
I looked toward the dark hallway.
“Ethan…”
He raised one hand.
“Don't move.”
Then a voice came from upstairs.
“Mia.”
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
It was my mother's voice.
But that was impossible.
She had been dead for two years.
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