Chapter 6: The Secret I Buried Ten Years Ago
I stared at the file name on my computer screen.
*MICHAEL_CARTER_ORIGINAL_PARTNER.mp4*
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Not because I was afraid of what was inside.
Because I already knew.
There was only one person Nathan could be referring to.
One person whose name had vanished from every company document.
One person who had helped me build Carter & Vale from an idea scribbled on a napkin into the company it became.
My older brother.
Andrew Carter.
I hadn’t heard his name spoken in years.
Not because he was dead.
Because I had forced myself to forget.
“Michael?””
Laura’s voice came from behind me.
She looked at my face.
And she knew something was wrong.
“What is it?””
I closed the laptop.
“Nothing.””
She stared at me.
After everything that happened, she still knew when I was lying.
“No.””
Her voice was quiet.
“That’s not nothing.””
I didn’t answer.
Because how could I explain something I had spent ten years refusing to talk about?
How could I tell her that the man she betrayed me with had somehow found the one scar I had hidden from everyone?
“Who is Andrew?””
The question hit me harder than I expected.
I looked at her.
“How do you know that name?””
She hesitated.
“Nathan mentioned it.””
My stomach tightened.
“What exactly did he say?””
Laura looked nervous.
“He said you built your company by destroying someone who trusted you.””
I looked away.
Because that was the lie I had been afraid would come back.
Not because it was true.
Because it was complicated.
And complicated truths were easy to turn into weapons.
I didn’t open the video that night.
I couldn’t.
For the first time since this began, I was afraid of information.
Because there were some secrets you didn’t hide because you were guilty.
You hid them because remembering them hurt too much.
Andrew was five years older than me.
When we were kids, he was the person who protected me from everything.
When I fell off my bike, he carried me home.
When kids at school made fun of me, he stood between us.
When our father died, Andrew was seventeen.
He became the person who held our family together.
Years later, when I had the idea for Carter & Vale, he was the first person I called.
Not because he had money.
Not because he had connections.
Because I trusted him.
We built everything together.
The first office was a tiny room above a restaurant.
The furniture was secondhand.
The computers were outdated.
We worked eighteen-hour days.
We ate cheap food.
We dreamed.
And then one night, everything changed.
A mistake happened.
A mistake that cost us a major contract.
Investors panicked.
The company nearly collapsed.
And Andrew took the blame.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Including me.
The next morning, I woke up knowing I couldn’t avoid the video forever.
I went downstairs before Ethan woke up.
The house was quiet.
I sat at the kitchen table.
Then I opened the file.
The video started.
A dark office.
A camera angle I didn’t recognize.
Then a voice.
My voice.
Ten years younger.
My heart stopped.
I watched myself sitting across from Andrew.
“You can’t do this, Andrew.””
My younger self sounded angry.
Andrew looked exhausted.
“I didn’t do anything.””
“You signed the document.””
“Because you told me to.””
I froze.
The video continued.
My younger self leaned forward.
“If investors find out, we lose everything.””
Andrew stared at me.
“You’re asking me to take the blame.””
The room went silent.
Then my younger self said the words I had spent ten years trying to forget.
“You’re my brother. You’ll survive this.””
I stopped the video.
My hands were shaking.
Because Nathan had found it.
The conversation I never wanted anyone to see.
The conversation that could make me look like a monster.
But it wasn’t the full story.
It wasn’t what happened afterward.
It wasn’t what Andrew did.
My phone rang.
David.
I answered.
“Tell me you found something.””
“I did.””
I sat up.
“What?””
“I traced the video source.””
“And?””
“It came from a private server.””
“Whose?””
David paused.
“Andrew Carter.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Is he working with Nathan?””
“I don’t know.””
The answer bothered me.
Because David was usually certain.
“What else?””
“There’s something strange.””
“What?””
“The server was created six years ago.””
Six years.
Not ten.
My eyes narrowed.
“Why would Andrew keep a video for four years before using it?””
David didn’t answer.
Because we both knew.
There was more.
That afternoon, I drove to the old neighborhood where Andrew lived.
I hadn’t been there in years.
The house looked smaller than I remembered.
The paint was faded.
The garden was overgrown.
I sat in my car for five minutes before walking up.
I didn’t know what I expected.
A confrontation?
An apology?
Anger?
Instead, the door opened before I knocked.
Andrew stood there.
Older.
Tired.
But still my brother.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled sadly.
“You finally came.””
Those words bothered me.
“You knew I would?””
He looked past me.
“At some point.””
I stepped inside.
The house was quiet.
Almost empty.
“Why did Nathan have that video?””
Andrew looked at the floor.
“So he showed it to you.””
I stared at him.
“You knew about Nathan?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
Andrew walked toward the kitchen.
“Because he came to me first.””
That stopped me.
“What?””
“He wanted my help.””
I followed him.
“Why would he want your help?””
Andrew laughed quietly.
“Because he thought I hated you.””
The words hit hard.
“Do you?””
He looked at me.
For a second, I saw the pain.
The pain of ten years.
“No.””
A pause.
“But I hated what happened.””
I looked away.
“You took the blame.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
His expression changed.
“You really don’t remember?””
I felt my chest tighten.
“What?””
Andrew shook his head.
“You don’t remember the night after the video.””
I said nothing.
“Michael, you came to my apartment.””
My face went cold.
“You were crying.””
I frowned.
“I don’t remember.””
“You were drunk.””
The room became silent.
“You told me investors would leave if the truth came out.””
I swallowed.
“And?””
Andrew looked at me.
“You asked me to disappear.””
My heartbeat slowed.
“No.””
“Yes.””
He walked toward a drawer.
Pulled out a folder.
And placed it on the table.
“You said if people knew the truth, they would destroy everything we built.””
I opened the folder.
Inside were documents.
Legal agreements.
Ownership transfers.
My name.
Andrew’s name.
My hands trembled.
“You signed over your shares.””
I looked up.
“What?””
Andrew nodded.
“You made me the owner.””
My mind raced.
“That’s impossible.””
“No.””
His voice was calm.
“That’s what happened.””
I looked at the papers.
“Then why did I think you betrayed me?””
Andrew’s expression broke slightly.
“Because you didn’t remember the whole night.””
The room felt smaller.
“What did I forget?””
He looked at me.
And the answer terrified me.
“You didn’t remove me from the company, Michael.””
I waited.
“You begged me to leave.””
I left Andrew’s house an hour later with more questions than answers.
The entire foundation of my memory had shifted.
I had spent ten years believing I was the victim.
But what if I wasn’t?
What if I had destroyed my own brother?
When I reached my car, my phone buzzed.
A message.
From Nathan.
*Now you understand why I chose you.*
Another message appeared.
*You and I are the same. We both know how to take what we want.*
I stared at the screen.
Then a third message came.
*But unlike you, I don’t pretend I’m the good guy.*
My jaw tightened.
Then my phone rang.
Laura.
I answered.
Her voice was shaking.
“Michael.””
“What happened?””
“I found something.””
“What?””
A pause.
Then:
“Nathan wasn’t just trying to steal your company.””
I waited.
“He was looking for something Andrew hid.””
My eyes narrowed.
“What?””
Laura whispered:
“The original company files.””
I looked back toward Andrew’s house.
The place where I had just learned my own memories were incomplete.
“What files?””
Her voice dropped.
“The ones proving who actually founded Carter & Vale.””
The call went silent.
Because suddenly I understood.
Nathan didn’t just want my company.
May you like
He wanted the truth buried with it.
And someone had spent ten years making sure that truth never came back.
