ADRIAN’S POV
I stood in the corner of the dimly lit room, my back pressed against the cold wall as I watched the private investigator flip open a small notepad. His pen was poised, ready. to jot down every detail. I knew the routine well–facts, observations, questions. None of them would bring my mother back.
“So you said when you walked in, she was already holding the gun?” His voice was calm and professional, but I could sense the undertone of curiosity.
“Yes.” My response was clipped, my throat tightening as I said the words out loud. Saying them made it real. I was still trying to digest the truth–that my mother was gone. That I was alone.
The investigator’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before he scribbled something down. “This was clearly an act of suicide,” he said. “But the main issue is finding out who or what pushed her to this point.”
I swallowed hard, my mind replaying the moment she last looked at me. Her tear- streaked face, the way her fingers trembled as they gripped that photo. And then her final words–words that echoed in my mind like a curse.
“They took everything from us.”
I had asked her who “they” were, but she never answered me.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Who? Was it someone from her business? An old enemy? Or someone she had trusted?
When I did walk in I saw her dropping down her phone, could it be that ‘they‘ were in her contact?
Am sure I can find some clues in her phone.
The investigator’s voice snapped me back. “Did she leave behind any notes? Say anything that might give us a clue?”
I hesitated. Should I tell him? Should I hand over the only two pieces of information | had–her cryptic words and her phone?
But I already knew what would happen if I did. The police would follow legal procedures, conduct an investigation, and maybe even find the person responsible. And then what? Some watered–down punishment? A courtroom battle that would drag on for years? A slap on the wrist? They weren’t directly involved in her death so they might even get off easy.
No. That wasn’t enough. Whoever drove my mother to this point didn’t deserve a trial. They deserved something much worse.
I forced my expression to remain neutral. “No,” I said flatly. “She didn’t say anything.”
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The investigator exhaled, looking disappointed. “With no leads, this might be harder than I expected, but we’ll do everything we can to find the truth.” He gave me a sympathetic look, one that I didn’t want or need. “My team and I will be back tomorrow to search for any evidence, so please don’t touch anything in this room.”
I nodded once, just enough to make him think I was listening.
“Take care of yourself, Adrian. And if you need anything, call me.” With that, he walked
toward the door and left.
The second I heard the door click shut, I turned toward my mother’s nightstand. My fingers hovered over the phone for a moment before I grabbed it.
I pressed the power button, my heart hammering.
No password.
That meant she hadn’t been hiding anything from herself. She had wanted someone
to find this.
I went straight to her call history. My eyes narrowed as I saw the same number repeated over and over–81 missed calls. She had been desperate to reach someone,
yet they had ignored her every time.
The name attached to the number made my stomach churn.
Sam Grayson.
Grayson. That name sounded familiar. I knew I had heard it somewhere before, but
where?
I moved to her messages, scrolling through the flood of texts she had sent him.. Dozens of messages. Pleas for him to call her back. But he hadn’t responded. Not
even once.
I scrolled up to the very first message. If I was going to understand what happened, I needed to start from the beginning.
I walked over to the door and locked it, making sure no one would interrupt me. Then, I
sat on the bed and began reading.
Martha: “The dinner was lovely, Mr. Grayson. Best regards to Mrs. Grayson.”
Sam: “Will do, Mrs. Westwood. I hope we can meet up tomorrow to conclude the
business.”
Martha: “Certainly. I’ll go through the documents you sent me and give you my feedback tomorrow.”
Documents. That meant there was paperwork involved in whatever deal they had made. If those documents were still in this room, they could hold the missing pieces! needed.
I kept reading.
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Martha: “Good day, Sam. I just finished reading the document. Isn’t the amount requested a little too much?”
Sam: “Come on, Martha. You know how the business world is–you need money to make money. This is going to be a huge project, and I know we will all reap good fruits from it.”
Martha: “The problem is, my company doesn’t have that much funds to invest at the
moment.”
Sam: “Then why don’t you just talk to your investors? I’m sure they can help you out here. We can’t afford to miss this opportunity. Tell them if they invest more, they will
get 200% ROI.”
Martha: “Really? That’s amazing.”
Sam: “Yes, it is. That’s why we cannot miss this.”
Martha: “Alright, I’ll talk to them and get the funds available.”
I clenched my jaw. This was it. This was where it started. He had convinced her to gather more funds, pushing her to put everything on the line.
Then the messages went silent for three days.
And on the fourth day, my mother had sent him a new message.
Martha: “Good news, Sam. The funds are ready.”
Sam: “That’s amazing. I knew you could do it. The next step is–you’re going to convert the funds to BTC, and I’ll send you an address to transfer everything there.”
I stopped reading.
BTC Bitcoin.
3/3
