Chapter 5 - THE DEATH THAT BUILT AN EMPIRE
I didn't sleep that night.
At six the next morning, I sat at my kitchen table staring at Adrian Voss's business card.
My mother's words echoed in my head.
Someone connected to the Voss family.
For twelve years, I'd believed my father died because of a terrible accident.
Now I wondered whether someone had deliberately caused it.
I called Detective Bell.
He listened carefully.
Then told me not to confront anyone involved.
Especially Adrian.
I agreed.
Then stared at the card.
At nine, Adrian called.
I almost didn't answer.
But I did.
"Sophie."
His voice was calm.
"Good morning."
I swallowed.
"Is it?"
A pause.
"What happened?"
I closed my eyes.
"Did you know my father?"
Silence.
Then:
"What was his name?"
"Michael Carter."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Construction worker?"
My stomach dropped.
"You knew him."
Adrian exhaled.
"I knew of him."
I gripped the phone.
"Did your family kill him?"
Silence.
Then Adrian said quietly:
"I don't know."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's convenient."
"Sophie—"
"No. Don't."
I stood.
"My father died when I was sixteen. My mother worked two jobs. We lost our house. I watched her cry herself to sleep for years."
Adrian said nothing.
I continued.
"And now I find out someone connected to your family may have been responsible."
His voice softened.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring him back."
"I know."
I swallowed.
"Then tell me the truth."
Adrian hesitated.
"Your father worked on a warehouse owned by my uncle, Vincent Voss."
My heart pounded.
"Go on."
"Vincent controlled several construction contracts. There were allegations of safety violations."
"Allegations?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"And?"
Adrian's voice hardened.
"My uncle died eight years ago. But I can have the records reviewed."
I shook my head.
"No."
He went silent.
"I don't want your private investigators. I want the police to handle this."
A pause.
Then:
"All right."
I stared.
"You'll cooperate?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"Even if it damages your family?"
Adrian answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
After the call, I sat motionless.
For years, I'd imagined justice as something dramatic.
A confession.
A courtroom.
Someone finally saying my father mattered.
May you like
But now the truth felt like a locked door.
And I wasn't sure what waited behind it.
