Chapter 6 - What My Father Hid
My father was still in the car when I came downstairs.
He looked at my face.
Then at Richard.
He understood immediately.
“What did Matthew say?”
I opened the door.
“Who financed NexusCore’s first year?”
My father said nothing.
That was answer enough.
I got inside.
Richard took the front passenger seat.
I sat behind my father.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then my father told the driver to pull away.
“Not until you answer me.”
The car stopped.
My father turned.
“When you and Matthew started NexusCore, you had almost no capital.”
“I know.”
“You believed your first angel investor was Benjamin Rowe.”
“Yes.”
“He represented me.”
My stomach dropped.
I stared at him.
“You were the investor?”
“Indirectly.”
“You told me you would not fund Matthew.”
“I didn’t.”
“That is exactly what you did.”
“I funded you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Three million initially.”
My anger rose.
“Three million?”
“Over eighteen months.”
“How much total?”
“Eleven-point-five.”
I stared at him.
Matthew and I had spent years celebrating the myth that we built NexusCore from nothing.
I had skipped meals.
Sold jewelry.
Lived in a tiny apartment.
Worked until my hands shook.
Meanwhile my father had been silently placing money beneath us.
“Why?”
“Because I disagreed with your marriage.”
He looked at me steadily.
“I did not disagree with your ability.”
My anger cracked.
He continued.
“You refused my help.”
“So you lied.”
“Yes.”
“You manipulated me.”
“Yes.”
Richard looked out the window.
My father did not defend himself.
That made being angry harder.
“Did Matthew know?”
“Not initially.”
“When did he find out?”
“Series B.”
My heart sank.
Seven years earlier.
Right around the time my relationship with my father ended.
“What did he say?”
“He came to me.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“More money.”
Of course.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
My father looked toward the window.
“He told me you were willing to transfer additional founder equity if I invested.”
“I never said that.”
“I knew.”
“So what happened?”
“I refused.”
His expression hardened at the memory.
“Matthew said I would regret humiliating him.”
I whispered.
“You never told me.”
“You would not have believed me.”
The words hurt because they were true.
I would have accused my father of trying to destroy my marriage.
I might have run directly to Matthew and repeated everything.
“What about Owen?”
My father’s eyes shifted.
That was worse.
“What about him?”
“Owen discovered the investment structure.”
I leaned forward.
“And?”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“Four days before his accident.”
Richard spoke quietly.
“Owen believed Matthew was moving company funds through related entities.”
I looked at him.
“You knew there might be fraud four years ago?”
“We knew Owen suspected it.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
My father answered.
“Because Owen refused to give us evidence.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid.”
“Of Matthew?”
“Yes.”
The word barely existed.
My skin prickled.
“What did Owen say?”
My father looked at me.
“He said Matthew knew things about everyone.”
“What things?”
“Debts.”
“Affairs.”
“Tax problems.”
“Personal secrets.”
“He collected leverage.”
That sounded exactly like Matthew.
Not the man I thought I married.
The man I now realized had always existed.
“Owen said he had copied financial records.”
“Where are they?”
“We never received them.”
“Because he died.”
“Yes.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Richard hired a private investigator.”
Richard turned slightly.
“The police concluded the crash was accidental.”
“Was it?”
“We found no evidence otherwise.”
I stared at my father.
“Then why did Matthew bring him up?”
“Because he knows we looked.”
“How?”
“We don’t know.”
My father’s phone vibrated.
He ignored it.
I stared at him.
“Did you ever think Matthew hurt Owen?”
My father took too long.
“Yes.”
The inside of the car suddenly felt too small.
“But you had no proof.”
“No.”
“And you let me stay married to him.”
Pain crossed his face.
“I tried to reach you.”
“When?”
“Your birthdays.”
“You sent cards.”
“Each one asked you to call.”
I looked away.
Matthew had always collected the mail.
An old memory surfaced.
A white envelope.
Sterling embossed across the back.
Matthew tossing it into the trash.
“You don’t need another guilt trip.”
How many had there been?
My father continued.
“I had Richard contact you twice.”
“I never heard from him.”
Richard turned.
“I sent letters to your personal email.”
My stomach turned.
Matthew managed my devices.
He knew my passwords.
At the time, I had called it convenience.
Now it looked like surveillance.
I covered my face with my good hand.
“I gave him everything.”
My father reached toward me.
Then stopped before touching me.
“I know.”
“No.”
I lowered my hand.
“I gave him every password.”
“Every account.”
“Every insecurity.”
“Every fight we ever had.”
“I told him exactly how angry I was at you.”
My father’s expression did not change.
“He used it.”
“Yes.”
The car started moving again.
We drove in silence.
Then Richard’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Henderson.”
His posture changed.
“Slow down.”
We all looked at him.
“When?”
A pause.
“Is anyone hurt?”
Another pause.
“Call the police.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
Richard looked at me.
“Someone broke into your old storage unit in Queens.”
I blinked.
“I don’t have a storage unit.”
“Yes, you do.”
My father frowned.
“What?”
Richard continued.
“NexusCore rented it during the company’s first year.”
“Why is it still active?”
“Automatic payment from a dormant corporate account.”
I suddenly remembered.
Boxes.
Old servers.
Pitch documents.
Prototype equipment.
Matthew and I had put everything there when we moved offices.
“We forgot about it.”
“Apparently someone remembered.”
“What did they take?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I looked at my father.
“Owen.”
Richard nodded slowly.
“He helped us pack that unit.”
My pulse accelerated.
“If he hid something—”
“Matthew may be looking for it.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Another message.
Too late.
A photograph followed.
A dark storage corridor.
Unit 318.
The door hanging open.
Then another photograph.
A cardboard archive box sitting on concrete.
Across the lid, written in black marker, were two words.
OWEN — PERSONAL.
My father stared.
Richard whispered.
“Whoever has been texting you was there.”
A final message arrived.
Matthew thinks I took the box.
Then another.
I didn’t.
May you like
Then one last line.
You did.
