Binta

Chapter Twelve — The Man in the Photograph

I stared at the photograph until my eyes began to hurt.

My father.

Alive.

Standing between Binta and Tracy.

Yesterday.

It was impossible.

I zoomed in.

The photograph became grainy, but there was no mistaking him.

The same face.

The same gray at his temples.

The same watch I had given him on his fiftieth birthday.

My father.

The man I had buried.

My hands began trembling.

I called the unknown number back.

It was switched off.

I called Binta.

No answer.

Tracy.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

I stood beside my car, staring at the photograph.

My mind was refusing to accept what my eyes were seeing.

My father was dead.

I had watched his coffin being lowered into the ground.

I had stood beside my mother while she cried.

I had touched his cold hand for the last time.

So how could he be standing in a photograph taken yesterday?

Unless—

The thought was too terrible to finish.

I got into my car.

I knew where I was going.

Gold Creek.

---

The gates of the Cole estate opened slowly as I approached.

Two security guards stepped forward.

"Mr. Issa, you can't enter."

"I need to see Daniel Cole."

"He's not receiving visitors."

"I don't care."

One guard moved toward my car.

"Sir—"

I stepped out.

"Where is Tracy?"

Neither man answered.

"Where is she?"

"She's not here."

I held up my phone.

"Then explain this."

They looked at the photograph.

The first guard's expression changed.

The second immediately reached for his radio.

I knew then that I had come to the right place.

"Who is that man?"

Neither answered.

"Who is he?"

The first guard looked at me.

"Sir, you need to leave."

"That's my father."

The guard's face went pale.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then a voice came from behind them.

"Let him in."

I turned.

Daniel Cole stood on the veranda.

Tracy's father.

The man I had spent years believing was my enemy.

He looked older than the last time I'd seen him.

But his eyes were sharp.

"Come inside, Issa."

I didn't move.

"Where is Tracy?"

"Safe."

"Where is Binta?"

His expression changed slightly.

"Also safe."

"Then why won't either of them answer my calls?"

"Because they don't have their phones."

"Why?"

"Because they came to me for answers."

I stepped closer.

"About my father?"

Daniel looked at me.

"Yes."

My heart pounded.

"He's alive."

Daniel said nothing.

"Isn't he?"

He looked away.

"Issa, you need to understand something."

"Answer me."

"Your father is dead."

"Then who is in that photograph?"

Daniel's eyes returned to mine.

"Someone who looks like him."

I laughed.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No."

He turned and walked inside.

"That's why you're here."

I followed him.

---

The house felt strangely familiar.

I had been here before with Tracy.

We had studied together in the library.

We had argued in the garden.

We had kissed beneath the old mango tree.

I remembered being eighteen and believing this house contained everything I wanted.

Tracy.

Her family.

Her future.

My future.

I hadn't known then how much pain would come from it.

Daniel led me into the library.

He closed the door.

"You want the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then sit."

I remained standing.

"Tell me."

He sighed.

"Your father and I were friends before you were born."

"I know."

"We built businesses together."

"Gold Creek?"

"Among other things."

"What happened?"

"Your father discovered something he shouldn't have."

"What?"

Daniel looked at me.

"That Gold Creek had been used by powerful people to move money through Liberia."

I stared at him.

"And you were involved?"

"I was."

The admission shocked me.

"But I wasn't the only one."

"Who else?"

"Politicians. Businessmen. Foreign investors."

"And my father?"

"He wanted out."

"Why didn't he just leave?"

"Because he had evidence."

I remembered the notebook.

"The evidence Binta's father has?"

Daniel nodded.

"Her father was one of the men who helped your father."

"Then why was he selling tea?"

Daniel's expression softened.

"Because when you lose everything, sometimes you learn to live with very little."

I said nothing.

"Your father gave him the tea cart."

"What?"

"He needed somewhere to hide."

"From you?"

"From everyone."

I felt my anger rising.

"You destroyed his life."

"No."

Daniel looked directly at me.

"Your father destroyed it."

I shook my head.

"You're lying."

"Perhaps."

He opened a drawer.

Then removed an old file.

He placed it on the table.

"Read."

I opened it.

The first document was a hospital record.

My name.

My mother's name.

My birth date.

Then another document.

A death certificate.

I stared at it.

Not my father's.

My mother's.

I looked up.

"What is this?"

Daniel didn't answer.

I turned the page.

The date was twenty-three years ago.

The day after I was born.

I looked at Daniel.

"My mother died?"

"No."

"Then why is there a death certificate?"

"Because someone needed the world to believe she was dead."

I couldn't breathe.

"Why?"

"To protect you."

I dropped the document.

"From whom?"

Daniel stared at me.

"From your father's enemies."

---

The door suddenly opened.

Tracy stood there.

My heart stopped.

She looked exhausted.

Her eyes were red from crying.

"Binta?"

She shook her head.

"She's not here."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

She stepped into the room.

"She left before me."

"When?"

"An hour ago."

"Where?"

"She said she was going to your mother's house."

I pulled out my phone.

No new messages.

I looked at Tracy.

"What happened?"

She looked at her father.

"Tell him."

Daniel shook his head.

"You tell him."

Tracy swallowed.

"Issa, Binta came here because she believed my father knew what happened to yours."

"And?"

"And he does."

I stared at Daniel.

"What happened to my father?"

Daniel looked at the floor.

"Your father disappeared."

"When?"

"Six months before his death was announced."

My stomach turned.

"What?"

"Your father didn't die when you were told he died."

I felt dizzy.

"Then whose body did we bury?"

Daniel didn't answer.

I stepped toward him.

"Whose body?"

He looked at me.

"Someone who was supposed to be you."

Silence.

Tracy covered her mouth.

I stared at Daniel.

"What did you just say?"

"Your father believed his enemies were coming for you."

"So he found someone who looked like me?"

"No."

Daniel shook his head.

"He found someone who looked like him."

I couldn't understand.

"My father?"

"Your father had a brother."

I froze.

"What?"

"He was your father's twin."

The room seemed to tilt.

"That's impossible."

"No."

Daniel's voice was quiet.

"Your father had a twin named Ibrahim."

I stared at him.

"Where is he?"

Daniel didn't answer.

Tracy began crying.

"He was the man in the photograph."

I looked at her.

"What?"

"The man you thought was your father."

I looked at the photograph again.

The resemblance was exact.

My father.

His twin.

Someone who had taken his place.

"Why?"

Daniel answered.

"Because your father wanted to disappear."

"And you helped him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he had finally realized that the only way to protect you was to make everyone believe he was dead."

My knees felt weak.

I sat down.

"So my father is alive?"

Daniel looked at me.

"Yes."

My heart stopped.

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"You just said he was alive."

"He was."

I stared at him.

"What happened?"

"He went into hiding."

"Why didn't he come back?"

Daniel looked toward Tracy.

"Because he believed coming back would put you in danger."

I shook my head.

"Then why did you let me believe he was dead?"

"Because your father asked me to."

I laughed bitterly.

"Everyone knew except me."

Tracy approached.

"Issa..."

I pushed her away.

"Don't."

She stopped.

"You lied to me."

"I know."

"You knew my father was alive?"

"I knew he might be."

"And you still let me grieve him?"

Tears rolled down her face.

"I was afraid."

"Of your father?"

"Of losing you."

I stared at her.

"You already lost me."

She looked down.

"I know."

---

I left Gold Creek just before midnight.

I didn't know where to go.

Home felt impossible.

The clinic felt worse.

I drove aimlessly through Monrovia until I found myself near the old tea stand where Binta's father used to sell tea.

The cart was gone.

The place was empty.

I stopped the car.

Something felt wrong.

I called Binta again.

This time, she answered.

"Binta?"

Silence.

"Binta, where are you?"

Her breathing was shaky.

"Issa."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm in a car."

My heart jumped.

"Whose car?"

"I don't know."

"Can you see anything?"

"Trees."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Who is driving?"

Silence.

"Binta?"

She began crying.

"Issa, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I should have told you everything."

"You can tell me now."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because he is here."

My blood ran cold.

"Who?"

She whispered:

"Your father."

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

I called back.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Then a message appeared.

A location.

I opened it.

My heart stopped.

The coordinates led to an abandoned building outside Monrovia.

I started the engine.

---

The building was almost completely dark.

I parked several meters away.

No lights.

No people.

Just silence.

I stepped out.

"Binta!"

Nothing.

I walked toward the entrance.

The door was open.

Inside, the smell of dust and damp concrete filled the air.

"Binta?"

A light switched on.

I froze.

Someone was sitting at a table.

A man.

His back was toward me.

I couldn't see his face.

"Binta?"

The man slowly stood.

Then turned.

My heart stopped.

I couldn't breathe.

It was him.

My father.

Older.

Thinner.

But alive.

He looked at me.

And for several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he whispered:

"My son."

I couldn't move.

"You..."

He took one step toward me.

"Issa."

My eyes filled with tears.

"You've been alive."

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?"

His expression broke.

"Because I had to protect you."

"From who?"

He looked behind me.

Then his eyes returned to mine.

"From the people who killed me."

I frowned.

"What?"

He stepped closer.

"Issa, listen to me carefully."

His voice trembled.

"The man whose funeral you attended was not my twin."

I stared at him.

"Then who was he?"

My father looked toward the doorway.

"Someone I trusted."

A sound came from outside.

A car door slammed.

My father suddenly grabbed my arm.

"We have to go."

"Why?"

He looked terrified.

"Because they followed you."

"Who?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he pulled me toward a back door.

Then we heard footsteps approaching.

Several people.

My father pushed me behind him.

"Issa, whatever happens, don't let them take you."

The door burst open.

A man stepped inside.

I recognized him immediately.

Binta's father.

But he wasn't alone.

Beside him stood Binta.

And behind them was my mother.

My mother looked directly at my father.

Then she whispered:

"You were never supposed to come back."

My father stared at her.

"I came back for my son."

My mother began to cry.

Then Binta looked at me.

"Issa..."

I turned toward her.

She was holding something in her hand.

A small photograph.

She looked terrified.

"There's something you need to know."

"What?"

She raised the photograph.

"This is the real reason your father chose me."

I stepped closer.

"What is it?"

Binta turned the photograph around.

My heart stopped.

It showed my father holding a newborn baby.

Beside him stood Binta's mother.

And written across the bottom were six words:

This is not Issa's first child.