{"id":252,"date":"2026-10-24T16:52:49","date_gmt":"2026-10-24T16:52:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readingtimes.online\/?p=252"},"modified":"2026-10-24T16:52:49","modified_gmt":"2026-10-24T16:52:49","slug":"part-3-the-dead-mans-secret-005","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readingtimes.online\/?p=252","title":{"rendered":"Part 3: The Dead Man\u2019s Secret 005"},"content":{"rendered":"

The name on the financial transfer stopped my heart cold.<\/p>\n

I stared at the document Margaret Chen had emailed me, my coffee growing cold beside my laptop. The transaction was clear: $250,000 transferred to an account registered to Dr. Harold Reeves \u2014my father\u2019s cardiologist, the man who had signed his death certificate, the physician who had vanished without a trace three weeks after my father\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n

But Harold Reeves had been declared dead six months before my father\u2019s heart attack.<\/p>\n

I read the file three times, certain I had misunderstood. But the evidence was undeniable. Someone had been using a dead man\u2019s identity to kill my father.<\/p>\n

My phone rang at 6:47 AM. Margaret Chen\u2019s voice was tense. \u201cYou saw the file?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw it. How is this possible?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to figure out. Harold Reeves supposedly died in a boating accident off Cape Cod. Body was never recovered. But somehow, his medical license remained active, and someone was writing prescriptions under his name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone who wanted my father dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone who knew exactly how to make it look natural.\u201d Chen paused. \u201cAlyssa, there\u2019s something else. I ran the shell company that paid for the medication. It traces back to a holding corporation in Delaware. And that corporation\u2026 it\u2019s owned by a trust.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhose trust?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Gregory Prescott Family Trust. Established by your father. But the trustee listed isn\u2019t your father.\u201d<\/p>\n

I gripped the edge of my desk. \u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. My mother\u2014already facing decades in prison for fraud and embezzlement\u2014had potentially orchestrated my father\u2019s murder. But something didn\u2019t fit.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would she kill him?\u201d I asked. \u201cShe was already stealing from the company. The fraud was working. Killing him would only draw attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUnless he found out,\u201d Chen said quietly. \u201cUnless he threatened to expose everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought back to the blue ledger, to the meticulous documentation my father had compiled. He had known about the fraud for years. He had been preparing to act. Maybe he had confronted my mother. Maybe that confrontation had sealed his fate.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to see her,\u201d I said. \u201cI need to look her in the eye and ask her if she killed my father.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Rhode Island Women\u2019s Correctional Facility was a gray concrete building that seemed to absorb all light and hope. I sat in a sterile visitation room, waiting for my mother to appear.<\/p>\n

When she walked in, shackled and wearing prison scrubs, I barely recognized her. The elegant, calculating woman who had tried to rob me of my inheritance was gone. In her place was a hollow-eyed stranger who looked twenty years older than the last time I had seen her.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Alyssa.\u201d Her voice was flat, defeated.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

We stared at each other across the metal table. The silence stretched between us like a chasm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to ask you something,\u201d I said finally. \u201cAnd I need you to tell me the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Florence Prescott laughed bitterly. \u201cThe truth? That\u2019s a luxury I haven\u2019t had in a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you kill Dad?\u201d<\/p>\n

The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade. My mother\u2019s face went through a series of emotions\u2014shock, anger, and then something I hadn\u2019t expected: genuine confusion.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? No. No, I didn\u2019t kill him. I stole from him, lied to him, manipulated him\u2014but I didn\u2019t kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou expect me to believe that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI expect you to believe whatever you want.\u201d She leaned forward, her eyes suddenly fierce. \u201cBut I loved your father. In my own twisted way, I loved him. I would never have killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen who did?\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother was silent for a long moment. Then she said something that changed everything.<\/p>\n

\u201cAsk your Uncle Robert.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 4: The Uncle Who Never Existed
\nI didn\u2019t have an Uncle Robert.<\/p>\n

I spent the drive back to Providence trying to remember if my father had ever mentioned a brother. There were no photographs, no family stories, no holiday gatherings. Gregory Prescott had been an only child\u2014or so I had always believed.<\/p>\n

But when I called Margaret Chen from the car, she confirmed the impossible.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert Prescott. Born 1961, five years after your father. Died in a car accident in 1994.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDying isn\u2019t the same as dead,\u201d I said, remembering Dr. Reeves. \u201cWhat if he faked his death too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we\u2019re dealing with something much bigger than a family dispute.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next morning, I drove to my father\u2019s attorney\u2019s office in downtown Providence. Arthur Delgado was seventy-three years old, semiretired, and the only person my father had trusted completely. He had been the one to contact Margaret Chen six months before my father\u2019s death. He had been the one to hold the blue ledger in safekeeping.<\/p>\n

He was also, according to his receptionist, missing.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Delgado hasn\u2019t been in the office for three days,\u201d the young woman said nervously. \u201cHe said he was going to his cabin in Vermont. But he never arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n

My blood ran cold. \u201cDid he say anything else? Anything unusual?\u201d<\/p>\n

She hesitated. \u201cHe said\u2026 he said if anyone came looking for him, I should give them this.\u201d<\/p>\n

She handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it.<\/p>\n

I opened it in my car, my hands trembling. Inside was a single sheet of paper in Arthur\u2019s precise handwriting:<\/p>\n

Alyssa,<\/p>\n

If you\u2019re reading this, I\u2019m probably dead. Robert found out I had the ledger. He knows everything.<\/p>\n

Your father didn\u2019t die of a heart attack. He was poisoned. The medication was administered by someone he trusted\u2014someone who had access to his food, his drinks, his daily routine.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t your mother. She\u2019s a thief, but she\u2019s not a killer.\n\nThe person who murdered your father has been hiding in plain sight for thirty years. He changed his name, changed his face, and waited for the right moment to strike.\n\nLook at the photographs in the Providence house. The ones from your grandmother\u2019s 80th birthday. There\u2019s a man in the background\u2014tall, gray hair, standing near the garden. That\u2019s him.\n\nThat\u2019s Robert.\n\nHe wants the company. He wants everything. And he\u2019s willing to kill anyone who gets in his way.\n\nI\u2019m sorry I couldn\u2019t protect you better.\n\nRun, Alyssa. Run.\n\nPart 5: The Face in the Photograph\nI found the photograph in my grandmother\u2019s attic.\n\nIt was tucked inside a dusty album, hidden behind pages of family weddings and christenings and summer vacations. The image was grainy, faded, but the man in the background was unmistakable.\n\nTall. Gray-haired. Standing apart from the crowd, watching.\n\nI stared at his face, searching for something familiar, something that would explain how this stranger could be my father\u2019s brother. And then I saw it: the same sharp jawline, the same intense eyes, the same slight crookedness to his smile.\n\nRobert Prescott. My uncle. The man who had supposedly died thirty years ago.\n\nThe man who had killed my father.\n\nI photographed the image and sent it to Margaret Chen. Her response came within minutes.\n\n\u201cWe ran facial recognition. The man in the photo matches a current identity: Richard Harmon, CEO of Harmon Industries. He\u2019s a respected businessman, philanthropist, and\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s on the board of Prescott Regional Builders.\u201d\n\nThe floor seemed to drop out from under me. Robert had infiltrated the company years ago, positioning himself close to my father, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He had probably been the one to introduce Christopher to my mother, encouraging the fraud, using their greed as a distraction while he planned something far more sinister.\n\n\u201cWhere is he now?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s at the Providence house. He\u2019s been there for the past hour.\u201d\n\nI drove like a woman possessed, breaking every speed limit between my office and the historic home my father had left me. The house where I had played as a child. The house where my father had been murdered.\n\nThe lights were on when I arrived. His car\u2014a black Mercedes with Rhode Island plates\u2014was parked in the driveway. I didn\u2019t bother calling the police. This was between me and the man who had destroyed my family.\n\nI found him in the study, standing before my father\u2019s desk, holding the blue ledger in his hands.\n\n\u201cHello, Alyssa,\u201d Robert said, turning to face me. He looked exactly like the photograph\u2014older, but unmistakably the same man. \u201cI was wondering when you\u2019d figure it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou killed him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did what was necessary.\u201d He set the ledger down carefully. \u201cGregory was going to expose everything. The fraud, the embezzlement, the shell companies. He was going to destroy thirty years of work.\u201d\n\n\u201cWork? You murdered your own brother!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was never my brother!\u201d Robert\u2019s voice cracked like a whip. \u201cHe was my competitor. My rival. My enemy. From the moment we were born, he was the golden child, the favorite, the one who got everything. The company. The inheritance. The love of our parents.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you faked your death. You waited. You plotted.\u201d\n\n\u201cI waited thirty years for the perfect moment. And it was perfect, wasn\u2019t it? Your mother and her idiot husband took the fall for the fraud. You were too busy playing soldier to notice what was happening. And your father\u2026\u201d He smiled coldly. \u201cYour father died thinking his family had betrayed him. It was poetic justice.\u201d\n\nPart 6: The Trap\nI had walked into the lion\u2019s den, and Robert knew it.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to kill me too,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cJust like you killed Dad.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid so.\u201d He reached into his jacket and withdrew a syringe. \u201cThe same medication, actually. Untraceable. The coroner will rule it a heart attack, just like your father. And the grieving daughter will be buried beside her beloved dad.\u201d\n\n\u201cExcept I\u2019m not going to let that happen.\u201d\n\nI moved faster than he expected. Years of military training had honed my reflexes to a razor\u2019s edge. I ducked under his arm, grabbed his wrist, and twisted hard. The syringe clattered to the floor.\n\nRobert was stronger than he looked. He threw me against the bookshelf, sending volumes crashing to the ground. I rolled, came up swinging, and caught him in the jaw with a right hook that would have made my combat instructor proud.\n\n\u201cYou think you can beat me?\u201d he snarled, blood dripping from his lip. \u201cI\u2019ve been planning this for three decades!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ve been fighting for my life since I was seventeen!\u201d I grabbed the brass fireplace poker and swung it like a bat. It connected with his shoulder, and he howled in pain.\n\nBut he didn\u2019t stop. He lunged at me, and we crashed through the French doors, spilling onto the back patio. The cold night air hit my face as we wrestled on the stone tiles, each of us fighting for control.\n\nThen I heard the sirens.\n\nMargaret Chen had tracked my phone. She had known I would come here. And she had brought backup.\n\nRobert heard them too. His eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw fear in his face.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s over,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019re done.\u201d\n\nHe looked at me\u2014really looked at me\u2014and something shifted in his expression. Not remorse. Not regret. Recognition.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re just like him,\u201d he whispered. \u201cJust like Gregory. You never give up.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m better than him. I finish what I start.\u201d\n\nPart 7: The Reckoning\nThe trial of Robert Prescott\u2014aka Richard Harmon\u2014was the most sensational case Rhode Island had seen in decades.\n\nThe evidence was overwhelming. The blue ledger. The financial records. The testimony of Dr. Harold Reeves, who had been living in hiding under an assumed name, terrified that Robert would find him. And finally, my mother\u2019s testimony, which she gave in exchange for a reduced sentence.\n\n\u201cHe approached me fifteen years ago,\u201d she said, her voice steady for the first time in months. \u201cHe told me he could help me take control of the company. He said Gregory was weak, that he didn\u2019t deserve what he had. I didn\u2019t know he was going to kill him. I swear I didn\u2019t know.\u201d\n\nThe jury deliberated for only four hours. Robert Prescott was found guilty of first-degree murder, attempted murder, fraud, and conspiracy. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.\n\nMy mother received a reduced sentence of eight years for her cooperation. Christopher got twelve. Lucas was cleared of all charges.\n\nPart 8: The Legacy\nOne year later, I stood on the steps of the Providence house, watching the sun rise over the Atlantic.\n\nThe house had been restored\u2014new paint, new windows, new life. The company had been restructured, renamed Prescott Family Enterprises, and was now a model of ethical business practices. Lucas had proven himself a capable and honest executive, overseeing the restaurant division with a dedication that surprised everyone, including himself.\n\nMy mother wrote to me from prison. Her letters were short, tentative, filled with apologies I wasn\u2019t ready to accept. But I read them. I kept them. Maybe someday I would write back.\n\nAnd then there was Marcus.\n\nMarcus Chen, Margaret\u2019s son, was a former Navy SEAL who had helped with the investigation. We had met during the trial, bonded over shared experiences of service and sacrifice, and somewhere between the depositions and the verdicts, we had fallen in love.\n\nHe stood beside me now, his hand warm in mine, as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky gold and pink.\n\n\u201cYou did it,\u201d he said. \u201cYou won.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe won,\u201d I corrected. \u201cAll of us.\u201d\n\nMy father\u2019s legacy was safe. His name was cleared. And his killers were behind bars.\"\"\n\nBut the greatest gift my father had left me wasn\u2019t the house, the company, or the fortune. It was the knowledge that I was strong enough to fight for what was right\u2014and wise enough to know when to let love in.\n\nI looked at the portrait of my grandmother, hanging in the front hall. She smiled down at me, a woman who had known her own share of battles.\n\n\u201cWhat now?\u201d Marcus asked.\n\nI smiled, feeling the weight of the past year lift from my shoulders.\n\n\u201cNow we live.\u201d\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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