Chapter 4: The Voice From My Mother’s Past
My father’s face told me everything before the voice on the phone said another word.
The fear in his eyes wasn’t the fear of being exposed.
It was the fear of seeing a ghost.
Everyone in the room froze.
The music from the stadium outside continued as if nothing had happened. Thousands of people were cheering, unaware that behind the walls of the private lounge, my entire understanding of my family was collapsing.
My father held the phone against his ear.
His lips parted slightly.
“No,” he whispered.
A pause.
Then his hand started trembling.
“No, that’s impossible.””
I stepped closer.
“Dad.””
He didn’t look at me.
His attention was completely trapped by whoever was on the other end.
The person he thought was gone forever.
The person he believed was dead.
“Who is it?”” I asked.
Nothing.
My father slowly lowered the phone.
The screen was still lit.
A number.
No name.
No contact photo.
Just a call waiting.
“Dad.””
This time, my voice was sharper.
He finally looked at me.
And I saw something I had never seen before.
Guilt.
Not the kind that came from making a mistake.
The kind that came from hiding something for years.
“Maya,” he said quietly.
I stared at him.
“Who was that?””
He looked around the room.
At the people watching.
At Chloe.
At me.
Then he walked toward the corner of the lounge.
Away from everyone.
A gesture that immediately made my blood run cold.
Because my father only did that when he didn’t want someone to hear the truth.
I followed him.
“No.””
He stopped.
I stood in front of him.
“You don’t get to walk away.””
“Maya, please.””
“Please?””
My voice cracked.
“Tonight you gave away my ticket. You let someone use my name. You knew someone was trying to take control of my company. And now you’re getting calls from people who are supposed to be dead.””
His eyes dropped.
“I know how this looks.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You don’t.””
The room was silent behind us.
Everyone was listening.
“I spent years thinking you just didn’t believe in me,” I said.
My father looked at me.
“But this?””
I swallowed.
“This is different.””
His expression softened.
“Maya…”
“What did you do?””
He closed his eyes.
And that hesitation answered me.
“You were involved.””
It wasn’t a question.
His silence confirmed it.
My chest tightened.
“How?””
He rubbed his face.
“I never wanted this to happen.””
“That doesn’t answer my question.””
He looked exhausted.
“When your mother died…”
The room seemed to disappear.
Every conversation.
Every sound.
Gone.
Because my mother was the one subject that could still break through every wall I built.
My father continued.
“After the funeral, I found documents.””
“What documents?””
“About the money she left.””
I stared.
“I know about the money.””
“No.””
His voice was quiet.
“You know the part I told you.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“There was another part?””
He looked away.
“Yes.””
For years, I had believed my mother left me savings.
Money to help me study.
Money to help me start my music career.
Money that my father had always treated like a mistake.
But now I wondered what else she had left behind.
“What was it?””
My father took a breath.
“Your mother didn’t just save money.””
I waited.
“She invested.””
The room went still.
“What?””
“She had shares.””
My eyebrows pulled together.
“In what?””
He didn’t answer immediately.
And somehow, that made the answer worse.
“In several companies.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.””
“It does.””
“No.””
I stepped back.
“My mother was a music teacher.””
“Yes.””
“She wasn’t some wealthy investor.””
My father looked at me.
“She never wanted you to know.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Why?””
“Because she wanted you to grow up without feeling like you owed anyone.””
My eyes burned.
That sounded exactly like her.
My mother never wanted money to define me.
She wanted me to create something.
Not inherit something.
“So what does this have to do with tonight?””
My father’s face darkened.
“Someone found out about the shares.””
“Who?””
“I don’t know.””
“You’re lying.””
His expression changed.
“I don’t know who they are.””
“But you know something.””
He didn’t respond.
I stepped closer.
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“Tell me.””
His voice dropped.
“The person who called me was your mother’s former business partner.””
The name hung between us.
“Who?””
My father swallowed.
“Daniel Cross.””
The name meant nothing to me.
But the reaction around the room said everything.
Rebecca suddenly went pale.
I turned.
“Rebecca?””
She looked uncomfortable.
“Maya…”
“You know that name?””
She slowly nodded.
“Yes.””
My stomach tightened.
“How?””
Rebecca looked at the floor.
“Because Daniel Cross was one of the biggest investors in the music industry fifteen years ago.””
Adrian stepped forward.
“And he disappeared.””
I looked between them.
“Disappeared?””
Rebecca nodded.
“He was accused of financial fraud.””
My father whispered:
“He wasn’t supposed to survive.””
A chill moved through me.
“What do you mean?””
Nobody answered.
Then Chloe spoke.
Quietly.
“He’s the reason you never had money problems.””
Everyone turned toward her.
My eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?””
She looked terrified.
For the first time since I had known her, Chloe wasn’t pretending.
She wasn’t smug.
She wasn’t confident.
She was scared.
“I shouldn’t have said that.””
I walked toward her.
“What do you know?””
“Nothing.””
“Chloe.””
Her eyes filled with frustration.
“You think I wanted any of this?””
The question surprised me.
I stopped.
Because beneath all the jealousy and competition, there was something else.
Fear.
“What did they tell you?””
She looked at my father.
Then back at me.
“They told me I could finally be someone.””
I said nothing.
She continued.
“They said Maya had everything. The talent. The company. The attention.””
Her voice became bitter.
“And they said if I helped them get close to you, I could have my own chance.””
My father looked horrified.
“Chloe.””
She started crying.
“I didn’t know they wanted to destroy her.””
Nobody spoke.
Because for once, Chloe wasn’t trying to win.
She was admitting she had lost.
I looked at my father.
“And you?””
He looked ashamed.
“I thought they wanted to invest in her.””
I laughed quietly.
“You thought strangers who wanted access to my company were helping your daughter?””
His face fell.
“I thought I was fixing things.””
“Fixing what?””
He looked at me.
“The fact that Chloe always felt like she was living in your shadow.””
I stared.
The answer hurt.
Because it explained everything.
My father hadn’t just failed to support me.
He had spent years trying to balance a scale that was never unfair.
He thought my success was the reason Chloe was unhappy.
So instead of teaching Chloe to build her own life, he tried to take pieces of mine.
The door opened suddenly.
A security staff member stepped inside.
“Sorry, Maya.””
I turned.
“What happened?””
He looked nervous.
“There’s someone asking to see you.””
“Who?””
He hesitated.
“They said you would recognize the name.””
My heartbeat increased.
“Name?””
The guard looked down at his tablet.
Then up at me.
“Daniel Cross.””
Nobody moved.
My father whispered:
“No.””
The guard continued.
“He’s waiting at the main entrance.””
I stared at the door.
Four years.
That was how long my mother had been gone.
Four years since I buried her.
Four years since I thought every connection to her disappeared.
But now someone from her past was standing outside my concert.
Someone who knew about her money.
Someone who knew about my company.
Someone my father thought was dead.
I walked toward the door.
“Maya,” my father said.
I stopped.
I looked back.
“What?””
His face was pale.
“Don’t trust him.””
I stared at him.
The irony almost hurt.
The man who had hidden the truth from me was warning me about someone else.
“Why?””
My father’s voice shook.
“Because Daniel Cross wasn’t your mother’s partner.””
A pause.
“He was the man who destroyed her life.””
The door behind me opened slightly.
Cold air entered the room.
And from the hallway, a man’s voice called my name.
“Maya Bennett.””
I turned.
An older man stood beneath the backstage lights.
Gray hair.
Sharp eyes.
A familiar expression.
Not because I had seen him before.
Because he had my mother’s old photograph in his hand.
May you like
And he looked at me like he had been waiting years for this moment.
“I owe you the truth your father buried.””
