CHAPTER THREE — SECRETS

Imani barely slept that night. She tossed and turned, closing her eyes, but all she could think about was what her father had said and the cold indifference in his voice. Every word echoed in her head like a curse she couldn’t shake: “You will do as I say… the deal is final.”

Like hell she would follow his wishes.

She sat up, opened her drawer, and took out the photo in its silver frame. Her fists clenched around the old picture of her mother smiling, radiant, alive. She remembered the day they took it: a picnic, just her and Mum. Father had said he was busy something she didn’t believe anymore. Now she could see the strain between them, the small cracks she’d ignored.

Was it really a heart attack? Or something darker? The thought sent chills down her spine and anxiety nearly crippled her. Father wouldn’t, right? she asked the empty room. Night answered with silence.

She held the frame to her chest and let the tears fall. Sleep finally won the war.

By morning the house felt emptier than ever. The scent of coffee, her mother’s morning ritual was gone. The walls seemed to whisper secrets she was never meant to hear.

Imani moved to her mother’s study with determination in her step. Her father had sealed that room after the funeral, but today she didn’t care. She took the spare key her mum had once given her, slid it into the lock, and opened the door. Dust greeted her with a soft cough.

The desk was exactly as her mother had left it: books on geology and gold mapping, handwritten notes scattered across the surface. She ran her fingers over the worn wood, eyes closed, remembering how her mother used to sit there with her glasses on and a cup of citrus tea at her side, lost in thought and research. Oh, how I miss Mum.

With a heavy sigh she searched the desk until something brown caught her eye a folder. Tucked beneath it was a letter that made her freeze.

“If anything happens to me, check the mine records under ‘Project Aurora.’ Trust no one especially your father.”

Dated two days before her mother’s death

Imani’s heart thundered. Her mother knew.

Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number appeared:

“Meet me at The Spindle Diner by 8 p.m. I have information about your mother. Come alone.”

Her breath caught. Who could it be? A trap or the first real clue she’d been waiting for?

Outside, the sky was painted in shades of gold and gray. For the first time since her mother’s death something burned in her chest: a need for truth stronger than her fear. She straightened her shoulders and clutched the letter.

After two rings she dialed a trusted contact. A warm voice answered like velvet.

“What’s up?” Jade’s familiar tone sounded deceptively casual; Imani rolled her eyes. Typical Jade.

“A lot,” Imani said, keeping her voice cold. “I’m meeting someone tonight who says they have information about Mum’s death. I need you to track this number and find out who it belongs to. Be on standby before 8 p.m.”

“On it,” Jade replied. The soft clacking of keys sounded in the background. “This is going to take time, but I can get it.”

“I’ll be careful,” Imani said. “It could be a trap. But I’m not going in blindly.”

“Trust me my hands have been itching for work anyway,” Jade teased. “Send me the number.”

She forwarded the number and then tucked the brown folder and the letter under her arm. She walked out with her head held high.

If her father thought he could use and keep her in the dark , he was wrong!

Tonight she would find out what really happened no matter the cost.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon when Imani stepped out of the house, her black hoodie pulled tight against the cool night breeze. Her heart thumped like a steady drumbeat of defiance. Every step away from her father’s mansion felt like shedding a weight she’d carried for too long.

Her phone vibrated a message from Jade flashed across the screen. She unlocked it and clicked open the message.

Jade: I traced the number but could only find his name. Not sure if it’s real though. The name is listed as “Daniel.” He’s clean… too clean. No digital footprint, no history, nothing. That’s not normal, babe. Be careful! This could be a trap maybe from your dad or the Greensbergs. But there’s no direct traceable link to them.

Imani’s pulse quickened. If Jade couldn’t find anything, that meant one of two things the man was either ghost-level private… or dangerous.

She typed back quickly as she turned onto the next street, stepping into the black Camry she had ordered as an Uber.

Imani: Noted. If anything goes wrong, track my location. I’m on the move.