Novels by Roland Marigold

STACY’S POV I stare at the document in my stepbrother’s father’s hand, struggling to understand why my stepfather’s words have suddenly become the least frightening thing in the room.My father was planning to do something to Josh?Impossible.My father loved me, and although I know there were things he never told me, I cannot imagine him deliberately hurting the person I love.“What are you talking about?” I demand.Josh’s father ignores me and holds the document toward his son.“Take it, Joshua. You deserve to know what your father was involved in before you decide to judge me.”Josh doesn’t move.“If you have something to say, say it without playing games.”His father sighs, as though Josh’s refusal to cooperate disappoints him.“Your father discovered that the Blackwell family had been moving money through several businesses for years. He wanted to expose everything, but he needed evidence. Unfortunately, he chose to approach the wrong people.”“Who?” I ask.“Damien Blackwell, fo

JOSH’S POVI know I should have told Stacy everything before we left the house, but some truths become harder to confess when the person you love is standing close enough to see the disappointment in your eyes.She walks ahead of me, her handbag pressed against her side, determined to reach the old building before anyone else can interfere. I watch her for a moment, wondering how much longer I can protect her without becoming another person she has every reason to distrust.My father has always taught me that silence is a form of protection. When I was younger, I believed him. I thought the things he refused to explain were matters too complicated for a child to understand, and I accepted his instructions because I trusted him.Now, every memory of that night makes me question whether he was protecting me or simply teaching me how to live with his crimes.“Josh, are you coming?”Stacy turns toward me from beside the car.I force myself to move. “I’m coming.”She studies my face. “You’

I stare at Josh’s message, reading it repeatedly as if the words might change into something less disturbing.It was my father. And he wasn’t alone.My fingers tighten around the phone. For days, I have been piecing together fragments of a night that destroyed my family, but every answer seems to open another door leading to something worse.I call Josh again.This time, he answers.“Where are you?” I ask immediately.“At home.”“Then come here. We need to talk.”“Stacy, I don’t think—”“Your father was involved in my father’s death, Josh. You can’t send me a message like that and expect me to wait until you’re ready to explain.”He goes quiet.“Give me thirty minutes,” he finally says. “And please, don’t tell anyone I’m coming.”The call ends before I can ask another question.I look down at the brass key resting in my palm. The note from my father is folded beside me, its familiar handwriting reminding me that he anticipated this day, even if he couldn’t be here to guide me through

“Open the door, Stacy.”My stepfather’s voice carries a warning that makes me hesitate, but I refuse to let him see how frightened I am. I slip my phone beneath my pillow and unlock the door, finding him standing outside with his arms folded across his chest.“Why were you in the security room this morning?” he asks.“I wanted to check something.”“Something concerning John?”I look at him carefully. “How did you know?”His expression tightens. “The security guard informed me that you were asking questions about the recordings. I want to understand why you’re suddenly interested in things that have nothing to do with you.”“John was my father’s lawyer. How does his death have nothing to do with me?”My stepfather sighs impatiently. “You’re allowing grief to cloud your judgment. Whatever happened to John has already been investigated.”“Then you won’t mind explaining why you visited this house on the night he died.”His face changes, and I know he wasn’t expecting that question.“Where

I barely sleep that night. Every time I close my eyes, I see the stranger carrying the black briefcase, followed by the message telling me to check the security footage from the night John died.Someone knows what happened, and whoever keeps sending me these messages seems determined to lead me toward the truth without revealing their identity.By morning, I have made up my mind.I need to find the security footage before my stepfather discovers that I am looking for it.I wait until he leaves for work before heading downstairs. The housekeeper is cleaning the dining room, and the security guard is standing near the main entrance, checking something on his phone.I approach him with a smile, hoping I look more confident than I feel.“Good morning. Please, I need to check something on the security cameras from a few weeks ago. Can you help me?”He looks up. “What exactly do you want to check, miss?”“Someone came to the house on the night John died. I need to know who it was.”His expr

Stacy I stop outside the study, listening as my stepfather speaks to the stranger inside.“Then we need to make sure she never finds out.”The words leave me with little doubt that they are talking about me, but before I can move closer, Josh catches my wrist and gently pulls me away from the door.“Not here,” he whispers. “We need to leave before they discover we’re listening.”I pull my hand free. “I’m tired of running away every time someone mentions my father. If they have something to hide, I want to know what it is.”“And what happens when they realize you’ve heard too much?” he asks. “You don’t know what these people are capable of.”“Neither do you, apparently, because you’ve spent years keeping their secrets.”His expression tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he glances toward the study when we hear footsteps moving across the floor.We retreat down the hallway and slip into the small sitting room beside the staircase. From there, I can see part of the entrance to the