My mother’s handwriting was elegant, each curve and line reflecting her care. As I ran my fingers over the journal’s cover, tears threatened to spill.
But when I opened it, the contents struck me like a punch to the gut.
“There are several projects being sabotaged; there must be an insider. The broken funding chain is tied to Randall, but he has vanished.”
“Christopher received a text from Randall before he died, claiming he hadn’t misappropriated public funds and wanted to meet. That same night, Christopher was killed by a truck.”
“The truck driver, William Pint, has late–stage uremia. Three days before the incident, he divorced his wife and left with nothing. It all seems too strange.”
Each entry was concise, but the implications sent a chill racing down my spine.
I had always sensed something was off with the family business, but back then, I was too immersed in school to grasp the full picture.
After my father passed away, I returned from surgery in Manovia, convinced it was just a tragic accident. But reading my mother’s words now painted a different picture–one of a sinister conspiracy lurking in the shadows. It felt as if unseen hands had been manipulating the fate of the Green family without my knowledge
The realization that someone had been following my mother struck me like a thunderclap. A wave of fear washed over me.
Emma stood beside me, her voice caught in her throat as she pointed at the journal. We exchanged a glance, both of us understanding the gravity of what we had unearthed.
At that time, the Green family was merely a small player–a publicly traded company dwarfed by giants. like Harmon Group or Brightwave Group. But it still turned a healthy profit each year. If someone had targeted us, we would be helpless against such formidable forces.
“Eva, didn’t your uncle end up buying your family’s company?”
Her question flickered a light in my memory.
“Have you not been in touch with them all these years?”
It hit me then: the Green family wasn’t gone; it was just another branch of the family tree I had lost touch with.
Years ago, the Green family had been drowning in debt, and it was Uncle Keenan’s family that stepped in to take control.
Thinking of Uncle Keenan Green, my memories grew hazy. He was my father’s half–brother, and we’d never shared a close bond. Back when Grandpa was still around, we’d gather for holiday meals now and then, but once he passed, we drifted apart like autumn leaves carried away by the wind.
I knew little about family politics, only that after our family found its footing. Uncle Keenan seemed to vanish from our lives.
“I don’t think I saw his family at your mom’s funeral, right?”
When my mom passed away, Emma had been abroad with her advisor
from me, no one else came.
but she hurried back. Yet, aside
If I remembered correctly, Uncle Keenan’s business was doing well. Harmon Group had even collaborated with Keenan Corporation a couple of times.
“Emma, do you remember that accountant from my family, Mr. Vargas?”
With everything that had happened, my mom had never filled me in on the details.
Randall had been with the company for years. He was older than my dad and always treated me like family. I’d considered him an uncle, but the thought that he might somehow be tied to the broken funding chain was hard to swallow. Yet, when my parents were in trouble, he had been absent.
Emma paused, her brow furrowing. “You mean that bald guy, Mr. Vargas? The one with those old–man glasses who always brought you snacks?”
I nodded, memories flooding back.
“His name is Randall Vargas?”
I nodded again, feeling the weight of the name.
An uneasy silence settled between us.
Randall was the man my mom had written about in her journal–a family friend for more than 20 years.
Whenever my parents had something important to attend, it was often Randall who swooped in to pick me up from school. He’d arrive with a mountain of snacks, sharing them with my dorm mates like a cheerful uncle.
“He’s a nice guy, right? But you know, you can’t always trust appearances,” Emma said, her brow furrowing with concern. I nodded, the weight of her words sinking in.
It was true–looks could be deceiving. But could someone who’d shown me kindness for over 20 years really turn on me?
“When your dad was alive, how many companies rushed to your family’s aid? “I remember your dad was going to donate to the school, and a lot of companies followed suit,” she continued.
“But after he died, where were they? I thought your dad had a good reputation,” she concluded, voicing the nagging doubts that had lingered in my mind.
My dad was well–liked and known for his integrity–he never took advantage of anyone and often lent a hand through charity work.
The Green family had wealth and a solid reputation; big projects didn’t choose a newly public company without good reason. Yet, when my family crumbled, not a single person stepped up to help.
For the first time, I seriously examined my family’s situation, and I began to see the cracks in the facade.
In just a few short months, the Green family had faced a series of setbacks. But after my illness, the pain had been so overwhelming that I had pushed these thoughts aside.
After Emma left, I found myself restless, my mind swirling with the contents of my mom’s journal
Finally, I scrolled through my phone, finding Uncle Keenan’s number–one I had saved but never dialed. It had been ages since I last reached out; he felt like a distant memory.
But now, my fingers moved instinctively, pressing the call button.
The phone rang a few times before a cautious voice broke the silence. “Eva? Is this Eva Green?”
I cleared my throat. “Uncle Keenan, how have you
