Chapter 5

I couldn't stop staring at the last sentence, Soren knows who killed me, my father's words blurred, I read them again an again, they didn't change. Soren stood across the room, watching my face, “what else does it say?” I folded the letter before he could see how badly my hands were shaking, “nothing,” his eyes narrowed, “Nyla,” I stepped back.

For the first time since I'd met him, I wanted distance between us and Soren noticed, “you think I killed your father.”  It wasn't a question but I hated how easily he could read me. “I think my dead father warned me not to trust you.”

“And you believe him,” he said

I waited before answering again,  "because he was my father,” Soren looked away, that hurt more than an argument would have, “did you know about the letter, and do you know he'd written something for me?”

“No," he replied. I stared at him, “then why would he write that?” Soren didn't answer, I waited but he said nothing, my anger rose again, “that's what I thought.” I turned toward the door.

“Nyla,” he called, I kept walking, his hand caught my wrist, I stopped. His fingers loosened immediately, but neither of us moved, I looked down at his hand, then at him, he released me, “don't leave like this.”

I rubbed my wrist, “how exactly am I supposed to leave, I've been alone with this for eight years.” I saw regret in his expression and It disappeared almost immediately, “things are different now, because someone is looking for what your father left behind.” I stared at him, “what did he leave behind?”

Soren's eyes moved to the letter in my hand, “I don't know,” I almost laughed, “you really need a new answer, then why does everyone seem to know something except me?” Soren held my gaze, “because your father wanted it that way and he kept you out of his business for a reason.” I stared at him frowning my face, “don't use my father to excuse your secrets.”

“He wasn't protecting you from me," he said. I looked at him, " then who?"

Soren said nothing, the silence told me more than he intended, “who was he protecting me from?” He looked toward the broken room, “someone who knew what he was investigating.”

I stepped closer, "who? give me something.” Soren's eyes met mine, “your father had a second office.” I stared at him, “What! where? “He never told anyone about it," he said.

My frustration boiled over, “you don't know anything,” his face changed, “I know enough to keep you alive.”

“Then start proving it," I replied.

I pushed past him, this time, he didn't stop me, I spent the entire drive home thinking about the letter. I had taken it with me, not because I trusted Soren but because I didn't. The words were still in my head, Soren knows who killed me, but there was something else bothering me, the photograph, someone had stolen it from my father's study.

If the letter was what they wanted, they could have taken that too but they didn't, they had taken the photograph, that meant the photograph mattered, I pulled it from my bag, my father's face stared back at me, beside him stood Soren's younger self, June 14. I turned it over, the same date and same handwriting but now I noticed something I'd missed before, a small mark beneath the date, a triangle.

I frowned, I'd seen that symbol before, not in the archives but at home, I searched my memory, my father's study, the old desk, the drawers, then it came to me.

The desk had a hidden compartment, I had forgotten about it, I turned the car around, I returned to my father's house before sunset, the place looked different now, not because anything had changed but because I knew someone had been inside every shadow seemed suspicious.

Every sound made me look over my shoulder, I entered the study and went straight to the desk, the drawers had already been searched, but whoever had done it hadn't known about the hidden compartment, I ran my fingers beneath the edge of the desk and saw nothing, I crouched there.

A small metal catch, I pressed it, a section of wood shifted, my heart jumped, inside was a narrow compartment.

There was only one thing in it which is a key, not the silver key from the archives but a different one which is smaller and black, I picked it up, a number had been engraved on it, 17. My pulse quickened, the same number as the silver key, I turned it over, there was another mark, the triangle. I stared at it, two keys, one number and one symbol.

And a photograph dated eight years ago, I took out my phone, I almost called Soren, then I remembered the letter don't trust him, I lowered the phone.

I needed to find the answer myself, I searched the study again, this time, I noticed something beneath the bookshelf, a narrow metal plate and a keyhole, my heart started pounding, I inserted the black key and it turned. Something clicked behind the wall, I stepped back. The bookshelf moved and not much but just enough to reveal a narrow opening.

I stared into the darkness, my father had a hidden room and he'd never told me, I turned on my phone flashlight and stepped inside, the room was small, dust covered the shelves, old documents filled the cabinets, boxes were stacked against the wall.

I moved closer, most were labeled with dates, then I saw one marked: JUNE 14 — CALDER. I reached for it, a noise of footsteps came from behind me, I stopped.

Someone was inside the house, my heart slammed against my ribs, I switched off my phone light, the footsteps came closer, slow and  carefully, I moved behind the shelves, the study door opened, I held my breath, a shadow crossed the floor and then a voice, “Nyla?”

Relief hit me so quickly it almost made me dizzy, I stepped out. “What are you doing here Soren?” his eyes immediately went to the open bookshelf and then to me, his face changed, “you found it.”

I frowned, Soren entered the hidden room, I followed him, his eyes landed on the box for a moment, he looked genuinely shaken, "what's inside Soren?” He didn't answer, he crouched and picked up the box, "where did you get the key?”

“From the desk," I said. His gaze moved to the second key in my hand, “you found both.” I stared at him, “both?” Soren closed his eyes briefly and that was enough,“you knew about this room.”

“Yes,” I said.

The answer came quietly, I looked at Soren for some seconds, “you've been here before.” He looked at me, “eight years ago.” The room seemed to shrink, "with my father?” Soren nodded, “on June 14?” His silence answered and my anger returned, “you were here the night he died.”

“Yes," he said.

The word hit harder than I expected, I stepped backward, “you told me you knew what happened.”

“I said I knew what happened that night because I was here,” he replied.

I watched Soren carefully, “then why didn't you tell me?” he looked up at me, “because your father asked me not to.” I stared at him, “my father asked you to keep secrets from me and why?" Soren looked down at the box, “because he knew someone was watching him.” My stomach tightened, “and you knew?”

“I suspected,” he said.

I stepped closer, “open it,” Soren looked at me, he didn't move. I reached for the box, Soren caught my hand, “don't.” I pulled away, “you don't get to tell me what I can know anymore because my father died because of this,” his expression changed, “that is exactly why I'm telling you to stop because it could put you in danger,” his voice cracked on the last word, my body went still.

For one second, the control disappeared from his face, he looked afraid and I softened despite myself, “what happened that night?” his eyes met mine, “I got there too late.” The anger inside me faltered, “too late for what?”

“To stop him from leaving.”

“Who?" I asked

Soren looked at the box, “my father,” my blood ran cold, “your father was here and why?” Soren let out a short breath he didn't know he was holding, “because he came to take something.”

I stared at him, “what?” Soren didn't answer, I looked at the box, “what's inside?” he finally opened it. Documents, bank statements, photographs, small flash drive and one handwritten note. Soren picked up the note, his face drained of color.

“what?” I asked

He didn't respond, I took it from him, the handwriting wasn't my father's handwriting, it was unfamiliar but the message was short.

If Soren brings Nyla here, she already knows too much.

I looked at Soren, “what does that mean?” his eyes were fixed on the note, then his phone rang, he answered, “hello?” his expression changed, “what?” I watched him listen, then he looked at me, “Nyla, we need to leave.”

He ended the call, his face had gone completely cold, “the security team found the man who broke into the archives.” My heart jumped, “who?” Soren stared at me, “they found him dead.” The room went silent, “he was killed before they could question him.” A chill moved through me, “who killed him?” Soren's eyes dropped to the note in my hand “we don't know.”

I looked down at the words again, if Soren brings Nyla here, she already knows too much, my stomach twisted, someone had known I would find this room, someone had known Soren would bring me here and someone had been watching us. Then I noticed something beneath the note, a photograph I picked it up  my father's face,  andSoren's and a third man standing between them. I stared at him, I knew that face and have seen it before, not in my father's photographs and not  in the archives but on the news.

My breath caught, “this is him,” Soren looked at me, “who?” I looked back at him, “the man who interviewed me when my father died.” His expression changed, “what did he tell you?”

I turned the photograph over, a date was written on the back, June 14. And beneath it, my father's handwriting, he was there when he died, I looked at Soren, for once, he didn't have an answer  and that frightened me more than anything else.