Part 5: Someone Was Watching Me
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
It wasn’t an old picture.
It wasn’t taken years ago.
It had been taken recently.
Very recently.
I stared at it.
There I was, locking the restaurant door after my shift.
Completely unaware.
Someone had been standing across the street with a camera.
Watching me.
Following me.
For how long?
The thought made my skin crawl.
My mother noticed the fear in my eyes.
“That’s why I had to find you.”
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
Her hands trembled.
“Your father contacted me six months ago.”
The room fell silent.
“He told me he was dying.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said there were people around him he no longer trusted.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“He never gave names.”
My sister stepped forward.
“But he said one thing.”
I swallowed hard.
“What?”
She took a deep breath.
“He said if anything happened to him, they would come after you next.”
A cold chill ran down my spine.
Suddenly—
BANG!
The front door downstairs exploded open.
Everyone jumped.
The sound echoed through the house.
Then came heavy footsteps.
Fast.
Several people.
Coming inside.
My mother’s face went white.
“No…”
My sister rushed to the window.
The moment she looked outside, she froze.
“They found us.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“Who found us?”
Before she could answer, another crash shook the house.
Someone was forcing their way upstairs.
Instinct took over.
I grabbed a heavy lamp from a nearby table.
The footsteps got closer.
Louder.
Closer.
Then—
A voice shouted from below.
“Search every room!”
The blood drained from my face.
They weren’t burglars.
They were looking for someone.
They were looking for us.
My mother suddenly pointed toward the back wall.
“There’s a hidden door.”
“What?”
“Your father built it years ago.”
My sister pushed on a bookshelf.
To my shock, it swung open.
Revealing a narrow passage.
“Hurry!” she cried.
The footsteps were almost at the top of the stairs now.
I helped my mother into the passage.
My sister followed.
Just as I stepped inside, the bedroom door burst open.
A man in a black jacket stormed into the room.
For a split second, our eyes met.
And my blood froze.
I knew him.
Not from my father’s world.
Not from some secret conspiracy.
I knew him from my own life.
He was my uncle.
The man who raised me.
The man I trusted.
The man who had lied to me for twenty years.
The moment he saw me, his face twisted with panic.
“Stop him!” he screamed.
I slammed the hidden door shut.
The lock clicked into place.
And we ran.
The passage stretched beneath the house like a tunnel.
Behind us, pounding echoed through the walls.
They were trying to break through.
My mother was struggling to breathe.
My sister was crying.
But we kept moving.
Finally, we reached the end.
A metal hatch opened into an abandoned storage building behind the property.
We stumbled outside.
For a brief moment, it felt like we’d escaped.
Then I heard an engine.
A black SUV screeched around the corner.
Heading straight toward us.
The driver’s door flew open.
A man stepped out.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
Wearing an expensive suit.
He raised both hands.
“Don’t run!”
My sister froze.
My mother gasped.
And then she whispered a name that made my stomach drop.
“Michael…”
The man looked directly at me.
Tears filled his eyes.
Then he said something impossible.
“Your father didn’t die.”
The world seemed to stop.
Because the man standing in front of me…
Was the same billionaire whose funeral had taken place three days earlier.
And according to every news report…
He was supposed to be dead.
