Chapter 5 - The Forgotten AccountMarcus traced the call for six hours.
I had watched his coffin descend into the ground.
I had worn black beneath freezing November rain.
I had stood beside Julian as the minister spoke about Thomas Avery’s generosity, discipline, and impossible work ethic.
I had touched the polished walnut casket.
I had scattered dirt over it.
I had believed my father was inside.
So when Victoria told me to ask him, my first reaction was not hope.
It was rage.
“You’re sick.”
She backed away.
“You wanted answers.”
“My father died in Zurich.”
“So you were told.”
“He had a heart attack.”
“So you were told.”
I stepped closer.
“Do not use my father to frighten me.”
“I’m not trying to frighten you.”
“For two years, you let people call me a murderer.”
Her face hardened.
“You think I had choices?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
“We all have choices, Victoria. Sometimes every choice is terrible. But we still make one.”
She glanced across the ballroom.
Adrian was moving toward us.
“I can’t talk here.”
“Then where?”
“You shouldn’t trust Evelyn.”
That stopped me.
Victoria turned.
Adrian reached us.
“There you are,” he said lightly. “Julian’s looking for you.”
Victoria touched her stomach.
“I needed air.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Genevieve.”
“Adrian.”
His smile remained friendly.
Too friendly.
“Try not to make today uglier than it already is.”
I looked directly at him.
“Was my father in his coffin?”
His smile disappeared.
Victoria inhaled sharply.
Adrian stared at her.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you tell her?”
His tone changed enough that two nearby guests looked over.
Victoria stepped backward.
Julian approached from behind him.
“What is going on?”
I watched all three.
Julian.
Adrian.
Victoria.
Three faces.
Three different kinds of fear.
“My father,” I said. “Where did he die?”
Julian’s expression did not move.
“Zurich.”
“Hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
He hesitated.
Less than a second.
But I knew.
“My God.”
“Genevieve.”
“You don’t know.”
“Of course I know.”
“Which hospital?”
Guests had begun listening.
Julian took my elbow.
“We are not doing this here.”
I pulled away.
“What hospital?”
Adrian stepped closer.
“You’re upset.”
That sentence nearly made me hit him.
Instead I smiled.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You answered me.”
I walked out.
Evelyn followed.
We reached the elevator before she spoke.
“What happened?”
I pressed the lobby button.
“I need my father’s death certificate.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“And the funeral records. Hospital documents. Insurance. Everything.”
“Genevieve.”
“Victoria says my father might not have died when Julian told me he did.”
The elevator doors opened.
Evelyn did not move.
“That’s impossible.”
“I watched Julian lie under oath while holding his mistress’s hand.”
The doors began closing.
I stopped them.
“I’m done deciding things are impossible because decent people wouldn’t do them.”
We left the hotel.
Marcus met us at Evelyn’s office.
By four that afternoon, he had obtained a copy of my father’s death certificate.
It looked ordinary.
Cause of death: myocardial infarction.
Place: Zurich.
Physician: Dr. Stefan Müller.
But Marcus noticed the problem.
“There’s no hospital.”
I leaned over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The certificate lists a private residence.”
My father had supposedly collapsed during a business trip.
Julian told me he had died at a medical clinic.
“That isn’t what I was told.”
Marcus searched Swiss corporate records.
The address belonged to a private rehabilitation facility.
Closed four years earlier.
“What kind of rehabilitation?” Evelyn asked.
“Neurological.”
My stomach tightened.
Marcus continued digging.
Two hours later, he found a news archive.
A photograph showed the facility.
Secluded.
Expensive.
Designed for long-term brain injury patients.
My father had not suffered from a neurological condition.
At least not before he left Chicago.
The final call came from the funeral home.
Evelyn placed it on speaker.
The director had retired, but the company still possessed archived records.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Thomas Avery. Six years ago.”
“Was the body embalmed?” Evelyn asked.
A keyboard clicked.
“No.”
“Viewed?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“International transport complications. The casket arrived sealed.”
My fingernails dug into my palms.
“Who identified him?” I asked.
A pause.
“Excuse me?”
“Who confirmed the body belonged to Thomas Avery?”
More typing.
“The paperwork was certified by… Julian Sterling.”
My chair scraped backward.
I stood.
Evelyn disconnected.
Nobody spoke.
The office suddenly felt too small.
Marcus broke the silence.
“A sealed casket doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
“It also doesn’t prove he was alive.”
“I know.”
But my heart had already begun behaving as though something impossible might be true.
I remembered my father’s final trip.
A phone call from Zurich.
His voice sounded tired.
He had told me there was something he wanted to discuss when he returned.
Something about Julian.
Two days later, Julian called me.
Dad had collapsed.
Then came another call.
Complications.
Death.
Everything happened quickly.
Too quickly.
“Why would Julian fake his death?” Evelyn asked.
I looked at the financial records.
“My father controlled the company.”
Marcus nodded.
“And unlike me, he could remove Julian immediately.”
Silence.
Then Marcus said, “If Thomas discovered the fraud first…”
“They needed him gone.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Every person in the room froze.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Then breathing.
“Who is this?”
A man spoke.
Old.
Weak.
Barely audible.
“Jenny?”
No one had called me Jenny since I was seventeen.
My father called me Jenny.
Only my father.
I stopped breathing.
“Who is this?”
A cough.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
The line disconnected.
I stood motionless.
Evelyn whispered, “Genevieve?”
My phone fell onto the desk.
I began shaking.
Not crying.
Shaking.
Marcus picked up the phone.
“What did he say?”
I looked at him.
“He called me Jenny.”
“Who?”
May you like
I could barely speak.
“My father.”
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