The Man Who Wasn’t Supposed to Talk
I didn’t go back to the house.
Not yet.
Instead, I went back to the cemetery.
The groundskeeper was still there.
Like he hadn’t moved.
Like he had been waiting.
“You read it,” he said.
Not a question.
I nodded.
“You knew,” I said.
He sighed.
Slow.
Heavy.
“Your father told me just enough,” he replied. “Not everything.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“You think I didn’t consider it?”
I didn’t answer.
“Your father tried,” he said quietly. “Before he got too sick.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“They dismissed him,” the man said. “Said he was confused. Sick. Paranoid.”
Of course they did.
Because that’s what happens when powerful people want you silent.
“You’re saying Linda—”
“I’m saying she wasn’t alone.”
That hit harder than anything.
“Then who?”
The groundskeeper looked around.
Like even now, he wasn’t sure who might be listening.
“There were men coming to the house,” he said quietly. “Late at night. Suits. Expensive cars.”
Not random.
Not small.
Organized.
“This is bigger than her,” he added.
I felt my pulse rising again.
“Then why give me this?” I demanded. “Why not destroy it?”
The old man looked at me.
Straight.
Steady.
“Because your father believed you wouldn’t run.”
Silence.
“And he was right.”
To be continued in Part 05
Click Here : [Part 05] When I got out of prison, I ran straight to my father’s house.
