The anonymous messages stopped after the third one.
I called the number.
It was disconnected.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Daniel watched me from across the table.
“Do you know who that was?”
“No.”
“Did Nicolas ever mention another person?”
Daniel thought for several seconds.
“There was someone.”
“Who?”
“A private investigator.”
“Name?”
“Michael Reed.”
“Where is he now?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Alex leaned forward.
“Would Nicolas have kept his records?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I suspect you already found them.”
I understood.
The storage unit.
The boxes.
The missing pieces.
We returned that afternoon.
This time, I knew exactly what I was searching for.
Not proof that Javier killed Nicolas.
Proof of what Nicolas had discovered.
We opened every box.
Receipts.
Letters.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Bank statements.
Old newspapers.
Nothing.
Then I found a notebook.
It was hidden beneath the wooden trunk.
The cover was black.
Nicolas's handwriting filled the first page.
I began reading.
He had documented everything.
Dates.
Names.
Meetings.
Phone calls.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Elena Vidal.
Another appeared beside it.
Carmen Alvarez.
Then a third.
Javier Alvarez.
But there was a fourth.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
I looked at Alex.
“Who is he?”
“I don't know.”
The notebook explained.
Samuel Grant had been the physician who treated Elena after my birth.
He had also treated Carmen.
And he had signed several of the original medical documents.
Why would Nicolas investigate him?
I turned the page.
A note appeared.
Grant altered Elena's medical records.
I froze.
Another page.
The original hospital report listed Elena as having suffered severe postpartum complications.
But a later copy had been changed.
A diagnosis had been removed.
A medication had been added.
I didn't understand.
Then I saw the date.
Six months before my birth.
I looked at Alex.
“This happened before I was born.”
“Yes.”
I kept reading.
Nicolas believed the medical changes were connected to a research program.
A private study.
He had written that Elena had been recruited without fully understanding what she was agreeing to.
There were references to genetic testing.
Inherited cardiac conditions.
And something called the Vidal Study.
I felt cold.
Sara had died from a congenital heart condition.
Leo might inherit it.
I looked at the birthmark.
Then the notebook.
This was no longer simply a family secret.
It was medical history.
Possibly something much larger.
I turned another page.
Nicolas had written that he suspected Elena had been pressured into signing papers after giving birth.
He believed someone wanted access to the baby's medical information.
My medical information.
I stopped reading.
Alex touched my shoulder.
I moved away.
Not angrily.
Automatically.
He withdrew his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“I need to understand something.”
“What?”
“When did you know about Sara's illness?”
“Before she died.”
“Did you know it could be inherited?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew I might be at risk?”
“I wasn't certain.”
“You could have told me.”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I should have.”
For once, there was nothing else to say.
We found another document.
A consent form.
Elena's signature.
But beneath it was a handwritten note.
Patient did not understand the long-term implications.
The signature of the attending physician was Samuel Grant.
I felt sick.
“Who is he now?”
“I don't know.”
I searched the name on my phone.
A medical foundation appeared.
Grant Medical Research Institute.
The founder was Dr. Samuel Grant.
Age eighty-two.
Still alive.
Still working.
I stared at the screen.
“We need to see him.”
Alex nodded.
But before we could leave, my phone rang.
Adela.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was shaking.
“Lucia, you need to come here.”
“What happened?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Something Sara left.”
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“One of you.”
“I have photographs.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“This one was taken before you were born.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I didn't understand it until today.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“We're coming.”
When we arrived, Adela was waiting at the door.
She looked frightened.
She led us into the living room.
On the table was a photograph.
I picked it up.
My mother stood outside a hospital.
She was pregnant.
Beside her was Nicolas.
But another man stood behind them.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
I turned the photograph over.
A date.
Three days before I was born.
And beneath it, a handwritten sentence.
They know.
I looked at Adela.
“Who took this?”
“Sara.”
“When?”
“After she found it among Elena's belongings.”
“Why didn't she show me?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Adela looked at Alex.
“Of the people who were still alive.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Did Sara think someone was watching her?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
“Then why was she afraid?”
Adela sat down.
“She believed her illness wasn't entirely natural.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She believed the same people who studied Elena had followed her medical history.”
I looked at Leo.
“Did she think they caused her illness?”
“I don't know.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
Adela lowered her eyes.
“Sara didn't know.”
Silence filled the room.
Then I remembered the message.
Your father wasn't killed because of you.
He was killed because of what he discovered.
I looked at Alex.
“Someone knew we found the storage unit.”
He frowned.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
Leave the past alone.
I stared at it.
Then another.
Or you'll lose someone else.
Alex stood.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Lucia.”
“No.”
I showed him.
His expression hardened.
“This is a threat.”
“I know.”
“We should call the police.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't know who sent it.”
“And waiting helps how?”
“It doesn't.”
I looked at Adela.
“Did Sara ever mention Michael Reed?”
Her eyes widened.
“Yes.”
My heart jumped.
“When?”
“Two months before she died.”
“What did she say?”
“She said he was helping her.”
“Helping her with what?”
“She didn't tell me.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
I searched the notebook again.
Michael Reed appeared on the final page.
Beside his name was an address.
A motel.
I looked at Alex.
“We're going.”
He shook his head.
“Not without the police.”
“I need answers.”
“And I need you alive.”
I looked at him.
That sentence would once have comforted me.
Now it sounded like a warning.
Still, I understood what he meant.
We called the police.
An officer took copies of the messages.
They promised to investigate.
But there was no immediate identification.
So we waited.
The next morning, Michael Reed called.
“I know who you are,” he said.
“How?”
“I've been waiting for you.”
“Where are you?”
“Don't tell your husband.”
I looked at Alex.
The line remained open.
“Why?”
“Because Sara didn't trust him.”
My heart stopped.
“What did Sara know about Alex?”
“She thought he was hiding something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why should I believe you?”
“Because I have proof.”
“What proof?”
“The night Nicolas died.”
I gripped the phone.
“What about it?”
“Your husband was there.”
I looked at Alex.
He had heard enough to understand.
“No,” I whispered.
Michael continued.
“I saw Alex at the marina.”
My husband stepped backward.
“That's impossible.”
Michael said one final sentence.
“Sara knew.”
The call ended.
I turned to Alex.
He looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
“Tell me.”
“I can explain.”
The words were almost identical to the ones he had spoken when I first came home.
But this time, they carried a different weight.
“Then explain.”
He stared at me.
“I was there.”
I felt something inside me go still.
“Why?”
“I followed Nicolas.”
“Why?”
“Because Sara asked me to.”
I stared at him.
“Sara knew?”
“Yes.”
“What did she ask you to do?”
Alex swallowed.
“To stop him from meeting Javier.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed Javier was dangerous.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“No.”
I stepped away.
“What happened at the marina?”
“I arrived after Nicolas left.”
“That's not what Michael said.”
“I saw Javier.”
“And?”
“He was arguing with someone.”
“Who?”
Alex's eyes met mine.
“Samuel Grant.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: My Husband Finally Told Me Why He Followed My Father, but His Confession Opened a Door to the Secret Sara Had Died Trying to Expose
I Came Home Expecting a Quiet Surprise, but the Baby in My Bedroom Made Me Question Everything I Knew About My Marriage
Part 7 of 12
