"And the night he died... he’d found sothing...related to your brother."
Serena leaned forward, her expression intent as she pressed Sam. "What do you an he’d found sothing? What kind of information?"
Sam swallowed hard, his face pale as he tried to organize his thoughts. "He called that night," he began, his voice shaky. "Just before the accident. You know how he used to leave you with us sotis when things got... complicated. When he called that evening, I assud it was to let know he’d be coming to pick you up. That was the usual routine."
He paused, his brow furrowing as if reliving the mont. "But this ti, his tone was different—urgent, almost frantic. I could tell right away that sothing was wrong. I asked him what was the matter, but he didn’t give much to go on. All he said was that he’d found sothing—sothing about his son. His voice was so... I don’t know, shaken. Like he was struggling to believe it himself."
Sam hesitated, his gaze darting to Serena before continuing. "And then he said sothing that left completely stunned. He told that if anything happened to him, I should make sure to send you to his mother or keep you with . Not to hand you over to anyone else. That completely threw . I an, his mother. He’d always said she was the one behind everything—the one pulling the strings."
He took a deep breath, his words spilling out faster now. "I tried to press him, to get him to explain what was going on. But he brushed off. He said he’d explain everything later, once he was sure. I could hear the strain in his voice so I didn’t press. I just thought that I’d ask him when we t."
Sam’s voice wavered as he finished, his hands clasped tightly together as he looked at her keenly. "I hope you don’t bla for what I did—or didn’t do. I thought I was protecting everyone, Serena. I thought staying silent was the only way to keep you and my family safe."
Serena drew in a deep breath, her expression softening as she looked at the man, "No, Uncle Jam," she said gently, shaking her head. "I don’t bla you. You did what you thought was right. You were looking out for , and I’ll always be grateful for that."
Sam let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as though a great weight had been lifted. "Thank you, Serena," he said quietly. "I’ve carried that guilt for years, wondering if I made the wrong choice."
She reached across the table, placing a hand over his. "You were trying to protect , and I respect that. But now, I need to know everything—every detail, no matter how small."
Sam hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table before eting hers again. "I know what I’ve told you so far doesn’t seem like much, but there’s sothing else—sothing I think might help you. It’s the real reason I wanted to talk to you."
Serena leaned forward, "What is it, Uncle Sam?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, as though reluctant to continue. "Your father... he had a habit. A way of keeping track of things."
"A habit?" she echoed, frowning.
Sam nodded slowly. "Yes. You know how so people keep diaries or write notes to themselves? Well, your father had his own system. But it wasn’t sothing obvious—nothing that could be easily found or fall into the wrong hands."
Serena tilted her head, intrigued. "What do you an?"
"Your father was ticulous," Sam explained. "He saved everything—information, docunts, even bits of what seed like random trivia. But he didn’t store it in a diary or a notebook. He had a safer way of keeping it all."
Serena’s brows knit together. "What kind of way?"
Sam hesitated again before lowering his voice, as though afraid soone might overhear. "He encoded it and sent it to an email id. At that ti, not everyone knew how to operate computers and send emails or use them.He used to carry a hefty laptop with him, another thing that had only started around the ti. But he was an expert in all that technology. Since he said he’d found sothing that night, there’s a good chance he left a trail sowhere—sothing only you or soone close to him could understand."
Serena’s pulse quickened at the thought. "Where do I start looking, Uncle Sam? Do you have any idea what he might have left behind? Do you know this email id?"
He shook his head, his expression regretful. "I don’t know exactly. But if anyone can figure it out, Serena, it’s you. You were closer to him than anyone else."
Serena sat back, her mind racing with possibilities. If her father had left clues, she was determined to find them. Whatever he’d discovered that night—whatever had gotten him killed—was the key to understanding the truth about this entire ss. And she wasn’t going to stop until she uncovered it.
Once the old man had left, Serena remained seated, her gaze fixed on the empty space before her. Her mind churned with questions and unease. How had she not known about her father’s habit of ticulously saving information? It was unsettling, to discover sothing like this.
But beyond the surprise, there was sothing else—sothing that gnawed at her. Doubt. She had already identified the culprit. She was no longer grasping at straws; she had started to gather the evidence she needed to expose him and finally bring him to justice. The plan was in motion, ticulously crafted, and nearing its execution. By all accounts, this new piece of information about her father’s habit shouldn’t change anything in the long run.
And yet, it did.
Because deep down, an insistent feeling tugged at her—a sense that sothing wasn’t exactly right. It was subtle, like the faintest shift in the wind before a storm, but it was enough to unsettle her and make her feel doubtful.
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