Power,Lies And Us

Chapter2-TheMeeting

Madeleine’s POV

I hardly slept that night .

Every time I closed my eyes, the photograph of my father surfaced to my mind. That man with the creepy smile burned itself into my mind like a warning I couldn’t avoid.

And then there was also the text message.

‘Meet me at Brooklyn Park tomorrow at 4pm if you want to know the truth about your father.’

I must have read it a thousand times before finally giving up and falling asleep around two in the morning.

By the time I opened my eyes again, it was already morning.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked the time.

9:15am

“s**t!”

I was late.

Panic shot through me instantly as I stumbled out of bed, almost falling over the pile of clothes I told myself I would clean up four days ago. My apartment looked exactly how I felt. Chaotic.

I breezed through my morning routine, mentally trapped in yesterday’s events. The envelope. The photograph. The message.

Nothing about it made any sense. Who sent it and Why now. Why wait twelve years to send this.

My phone rang just as I was about to wear my coat.

Mom.

I answered the call and set the phone on the counter, while attempting to tame my curly hair in the mirror.

“Hi, mom”

“Don’t ‘Hi, Mom’ me. You know exactly why I’m calling,” she snapped immediately. “Have you eaten?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically “Good morning to you too. ‘How have you been, Madeleine?’ ‘Oh I’ve been fine, mom, thanks for asking. How are you?’”

“You’re not funny.”

“Well some people find me hilarious.”

My mother sighed dramatically. “Madeleine.”

“I’m joking,” I mumbled with a small laugh. “And no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Madeleine.” I could clearly hear the frustration in her voice.

“I’m running late.”

“You’re always running late.”

Very true.

“I’ll have a big lunch,” I promised.

“You said that yesterday.”

I did.

“Well, something important came up.” Lots of things, actually. The envelope, the photograph. And of course, the message.

“What was more important than eating?” She scolded.

“Work.” I grabbed my bag from the couch and shoved my laptop inside.

“You’re just like your father. Always working and barely eating.” My mother sighed again, softer this time.

My grip slipped on the phone.

My father was the definition of a workaholic. He was worse than me when it came to work. Once he was focused on a story, nothing else mattered. Not sleep, not food, not time.

It was like he couldn’t function properly until he was finished a story.

I always wanted to be like him.

I used to sit beside him at the kitchen table while he worked late into the night, surrounded by newspapers and handwritten notes.

He always looked tired.

He would hand me a pen, and tell me that every good journalist needed two things.

Patience and curiosity.

“Ask questions about everything, Maddie,” he would always say. “People lie but details don’t.”

The memory hit harder than I expected.

“Madeleine?”

I blinked back tears quickly. “Sorry mom, I’m here.”

“You should come visit this weekend. You haven’t been home in almost two months,” my mother said. “Isabelle will be home too. It’ll be just like old times. Come on, it’d be good for you.”

She knew I couldn’t say no to that.

I slipped my shoes on and grabbed my keys from the counter. “Yeah, I’ll visit.”

“Yes! I’ll tell Isabelle.” I could practically hear her smile through the phone.

After a few more minutes of her telling me to eat properly and fix my sleeping schedule, we exchanged our ‘I love yous’ and goodbyes.

By the time I got to work, my brain already felt drained.

The newsroom buzzed around me as usual, everyone going about their daily routines.

I sat at my desk, staring blankly at my monitor while the meeting text sat heavily in the back of my mind.

I already made up my mind. I won’t go.

It was too dangerous. Too risky.

It could be some kind of set up or a sick joke.

I could find out the truth all on my own. I am an investigative journalist after all.

I could investigate the Hawthornes on my own.

And yet, every time I tried to focus on work, my mind drifted back to the message again.

4pm.

I should not have been curious.

But curiosity always got the better part of me.

By 3:45, I was already grabbing my coat.

Adeola looked up instantly. “Where are you going?”

“Um, nowhere?”

“Wrong. Try again, Maddie.”

“I’m just going for a drive.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“Uh, I just need air.” I swallowed. I’m not very good at lying and Adeola is not easily fooled.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously . “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. It’s like you’re here, but your mind is somewhere else.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re also a terrible liar.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” she mumbled. “Text me later, and share your location so I know you didn’t get kidn*pped”

The park was more beautiful than I expected when I got there. Different trees were scattered across the space, families sat on picnics, joggers passed by and people moved through their own little worlds.

I checked the time on my phone.

4:07pm.

Technically late.

Not that I cared anymore.

I walked deeper into the park, trying to find someone who looked even slightly suspicious.

I didn’t know who sent this message or what they looked like.

For all I knew, it could be a serial killer, or someone who had just gotten out of jail. Or worse… a serial killer who had just gotten out of jail.

I was terrified of the possibilities.

I was just about to turn back when a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

“Madeleine?” A low voice asked.

I froze.

I was too scared to turn around and face whoever was behind me.

I closed my eyes tightly, silently hoping the man behind me would magically disappear.

“Madeleine?” The voice asked again.

I gathered up the courage and finally turned around.

Woah.

This man was tall. Very tall.

And annoyingly attractive.

Dark curly hair. Sharp jawline. Hazel eyes. Golden brown skin.

He was unfairly attractive.

For one embarrassing second, I forgot why I was there.

Then he looked directly at me. “Madeleine Sinclair.” He drawled, sounding certain.

His voice was smooth. Controlled.

I looked around the park trying to hide the turmoil inside me. “You know my full name. Should I be concerned?”

“One of the many things you should probably be concerned about.”

Okay. Noted.

“You’re late,” he stated simply.

I blinked. Once. Twice. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “I said 4pm. It’s 4:11.”

“Wow,” I said slowly. “I didn’t know there was a race I was being timed for.”

A faint pause.

Then, almost like he was amused but refusing to show it, “I’m Theodore Torres.”

“You’re the one who sent the message?”

“Yes.”

“And the envelope?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Most of the time,” he shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes at that and he noticed.

“You don’t trust me?” one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Why should I?” I crossed my arms slightly. “You haven’t given me any reason to trust you.”

“Fair enough.” He answered, as he moved towards a nearby bench.

I followed and sat next to him, careful to put enough space between us.

“I have a lot of questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

I scoffed. “Firstly, how did you find me? How were you able to send that envelope to my office? How did you know my father? And how”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he interrupted. “And take a deep breath. I’ll answer your questions one at a time.”

I hated how calm he was, while I was a nervous wreck.

“I’m not here for games,” I said. “So stop stalling, and tell me what you know”

Theodore leaned back on the bench, eyes drifting somewhere ahead. “Your father was investigating the Hawthornes before he died.”

My stomach tightened instantly. “Investigating what exactly?”

“That,” he replied, looking away, “is where things get complicated.”

“You keep saying things like that and expect me to trust you.”

“I don’t expect you to trust me. I just need you to listen.”

“You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

“You’re handling this better than most, actually.”

“Trust me, I’m barely holding it together.”

Something almost like amusement flashed across his face, gone as fast as it came.

“Your father got too close to something powerful,” Theodore stated. “The Hawthornes made sure it never got out.”

I stared at him. “And you know this because…?”

He hesitated.

Barely noticeable, but I caught it.

Theodore looked away briefly before looking back at me. “I’m a cop,” he answered finally. “It’s my job to know things.”

I blinked at him.

“You’re a cop?” I blurted.

“Detective, technically.”

A short laugh escaped me. “That somehow makes this worse.”

“How?”

“Because now I have even more questions.”

“That’s fair.”

“You could’ve led with that instead of being all sneaky and sending cryptic messages like a serial killer.”

“You still came.”

“I was curious.”

“That explains a lot.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Was that an insult?”

“Just an observation.”

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”

“I’ve heard it a few times,” he shrugged.

I studied him more carefully now.

A detective.

Somehow, it fit. The stillness. The way he caught everything without seeming to look. The controlled tone. Even the way his eyes kept scanning the park every few seconds, not anxiously, just automatic, like it never really switched off.

Theodore tugged his sleeve down and continued.

“Your father’s case never sat right with me.”

My expression went cold. “You worked on it?”

“Not officially.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed. “It means I looked into it after it was closed.”

“Why?”

He went quiet for a moment. “Because a lot of things didn’t add up.”

Finally, someone else saw it too.

“The accident report was inconsistent,” he continued. “Witness statements changed, evidence disappeared and people involved suddenly went quiet.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “And no one thought that was suspicious?”

“People did,” Theodore said. “They just valued their lives more.”

Something in his tone made my skin prickle.

I looked away, trying to gather myself.

This was becoming too intense.

“So what do you want from me?”

Theodore leaned forward, looking more serious than ever.

“I want to expose the Hawthornes.”

There it was.

Direct, honest and completely dangerous.

“And you think I can help with that?”

“I know you can.”

“You’re very confident for someone who met me a few minutes ago.”

“What can I say? You’re your father’s daughter,” he stated simply.

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten again.

Like it actually meant something.

I fiddled with my hands for a moment before pulling myself back.

“You still haven’t told me everything,” my voice sounded small even to myself.

Theodore went silent, which spoke volumes.

“I can’t,” he admitted, finally.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

I sighed and stood up.

“That’s not really reassuring.”

“Neither is the truth,” Theodore looked up at me unbothered. “Would you rather I lie to you?”

God.

He spoke like every sentence belonged in a crime documentary.

“I’ll think about it,” I replied finally.

He nodded once. “That’s all I’m asking.”

I turned to leave, then stopped. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“If you’re secretly a serial killer, now would be a great time to let me know.”

For the first time since this conversation began, Theodore actually smiled.

It wasn’t a huge smile. It was small and brief.

But enough to completely throw me off.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

And reluctantly, I caught myself smiling back.