Ashes and Answers
1336 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, rain began to fall—thin, cold, and steady. It clung to the old house's windows like a veil, muting the light and sharpening the silence.
Maya stood before the fireplace, flipping through the notebook her father had hidden so carefully. She’d read every word three times already, but it was the kind of truth that didn’t settle easily. The kind that made your chest feel heavier each time you breathed it in.
Eli entered the room quietly, a cup of coffee in each hand. He handed one to her, and she took it with a faint smile.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Too many questions.”
“We’ll get answers.”
She turned back to the fire. “Did my father know they were going to kill him?”
Eli didn’t answer right away. “I think he knew they might. But he did it anyway.”
Maya swallowed hard. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“To protect you. That’s what good men do when bad ones surround them.”
She closed the notebook. “We need to go to the paper.”
Eli frowned. “You trust them?”
“Not the press. Just one person—Colleen Avery. She was my father’s friend. Investigative reporter. Retired now, but she’d never let this die quietly.”
“Can we risk that?”
Maya looked at him. “We don’t have time for fear anymore.”
---
Colleen Avery’s home sat at the edge of a hill overlooking the river. The house was small but sturdy, the porch lined with potted plants and bird feeders. When Colleen answered the door, she looked exactly as Maya remembered—sharp-eyed, silver-haired, wrapped in a long cardigan and suspicion.
“Maya Carter,” she said, her voice a mixture of warmth and wariness. “Didn’t expect to see you back.”
“I need to talk. About my father.”
Colleen stepped aside. “Then come in. Bring your shadow, too.”
Eli gave a polite nod and followed.
Inside, the living room was filled with books, stacks of old newspapers, and framed photographs from decades of reporting. Maya sat on the worn couch and pulled the notebook from her bag.
Colleen’s expression shifted the moment she saw it.
“That’s his,” she said softly.
“You knew about all this?”
“I knew bits,” Colleen admitted. “Your father tried to keep it quiet. He was afraid. Not just for himself—for you, your mother. If he documented everything, someone might pick up where he left off if the worst happened.”
Maya opened the notebook and went to the page marked with a paperclip.
“This ledger names everyone. Land deals, political bribes, backroom alliances. But it doesn’t say why. What were they trying to build?”
Colleen leaned back, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Langston had a plan. A redevelopment project—‘New Briar Edge,’ they called it. It's a fancy title, but it was a cover. They wanted to gut half the town, force people out, and sell the land to Carter Industries and two offshore shell companies. Your father was supposed to be the face of it—until he started asking the wrong questions.”
Maya’s pulse quickened. “And my mother?”
“Marilyn tried to stop him. She was terrified. Thought they’d come after you.”
“They did,” Maya whispered.
Eli looked between them. “Can we trace the money?”
Colleen nodded. “If you have the files from his study and that flash drive, I might still have my old contacts on the network.”
Maya handed her the USB stick. “Then we move fast.”
Colleen stood. “Let me make some calls. If you’re going to burn this place down, you better strike the match before someone takes the box of matches away.”
---
Later that night, Maya and Eli sat on the porch of the Carter home, watching the rain fall in sheets. The power flickered once, twice, then held.
“She’s going to blow the whistle,” Maya said.
Eli nodded. “Once the story goes public, we’ll be targets.”
“We already are.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded photograph. “I found this at the warehouse. Hidden behind one of the beams.”
Maya took it.
It was a picture of her father… and Clara.
They stood near the edge of a wooded area. Her father looked serious, and Clara looked furious. Behind them was a black SUV—and a familiar face climbing into it.
Langston.
“She was working with him,” Maya murmured. “All along.”
Eli nodded grimly. “The night your father died, Clara was unaccounted for. Claimed she was out of town.”
“She lied.”
“I think she knew. Maybe even helped them.”
The air felt heavier. Thicker. Like the storm was building inside her now.
“I need to confront her,” Maya said. “Face to face.”
“Maya—”
“I have to. She’s family. And I need to know why.”
---
Clara lived in a stately home at the end of Hollow Creek Lane—polished, pristine, and cold. When Maya knocked on the door, she heard nothing for a long time. Just as she turned to leave, it opened.
Clara stared at her like a ghost had walked through the threshold. “Maya.”
“Can I come in?”
“I… yes. Of course.”
The inside smelled like rose water and had polished floors. Every picture was perfectly aligned, and every surface was clean. It made Maya feel out of place—too real for such a sterile setting.
Clara led her to the sitting room. Maya remained standing.
“I found the notebook,” she said. “Dad’s ledger. And the recordings.”
Clara stiffened.
“I know about Langston—the Oak Society. The land grabs. The shell companies. You were part of it.”
Her aunt looked down. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
“Then how was it supposed to happen?”
Clara’s voice cracked. “Your father was brilliant. But naïve. He thought exposing them would fix things. That truth still mattered.”
“It does.”
“You think that because you still believe in justice. But justice isn’t real, Maya. Not here.”
“You sold him out,” Maya whispered. “Your own sister’s husband.”
“I tried to stop it,” Clara said desperately. “I warned him. I begged him to walk away.”
“He couldn’t. And neither can I.”
Clara’s eyes welled. “I didn’t know they’d kill him.”
“But they did.”
Maya turned and walked to the door.
“You’ve chosen your side,” she said. “And I’ve chosen mine.”
---
Back home, the storm raged overhead. Thunder cracked the sky, and the wind howled through the trees like a chorus of ghosts. Maya and Eli were packing, organizing files, and prepping digital copies. If they had to run, they needed to be ready.
The phone rang.
Eli answered.
Then his face changed.
He handed it to her. “Colleen.”
Maya pressed the phone to her ear. “Colleen?”
“They know,” came the hurried voice. “Langston’s people. Someone tipped them off. I’ve got three different sources confirming this. You need to leave—now.”
“What about the story?”
“I’m sending it to every outlet I’ve got. It’ll run. But if they catch you first…”
The line went dead.
Maya stared at the silent receiver.
And in that moment, she understood.
This wasn’t just a story anymore.
It was a war.
And she was officially on the front lines.
- Writer
