The Real Truth

The days that followed were a blur of fear and anxiety. Sleep became a luxury she couldn't afford. Fear clung to her like a second skin, and paranoia crept into her every move. Harriet refused to let her leave the house, but even within the walls of their home, safety felt like an illusion. The box with her defaced picture haunted her every time she closed her eyes. 

Racheal's heart was still racing from the latest nightmare, she rolled over and checked her phone. The screen glowed with a call from an unknown number. Her stomach twisted into knots as she hesitated, wondering if she should open it.

Just as the call ended, her phone rang again, shrill and insistent. Racheal's heart skipped a beat until she saw David's name on the screen.

She answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hello?"

"Racheal, we need to go and check the old wine house," he said, his voice firm yet cautious. "Andrew confessed to taking some of Richard's things there, before he set the car on fire. I think we should burn them, give him a final goodbye."

Racheal hesitated. "Is that really necessary?"

"I know you're scared," David admitted. "But I swear I'll keep you safe. My brother Spencer just got back from New York. He's a private investigator, so I told him everything. He'll come with us."

That caught her attention. "A private investigator?"

"Yes. He'll make sure we are fine. We go in, get the stuff, and leave."

After a long silence, Racheal exhaled. "Fine. Tomorrow."

The next evening, Under the fading light of day, as shadows stretched and darkness gathered, Spencer navigated the car through the winding roads, finally coming to a stop at an overgrown alley a few meters away from the old wine house.

"We should park here," he said, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings. "No one can see us from this distance. We need to be careful."

They parked a mile away and proceeded cautiously, the cold air thick with tension. As they approached, movement inside the Wine House caught their attention.

"There are men inside," Rachel whispered. "Let's turn back."

But Spencer's eyes narrowed. "No. We need to see what's going on. Stay low."

They crept closer, sneaking in through a side entrance. The Wine House was dimly lit, the smell of aged oak mixing with something more pungent. A room in the corner had a small hole in the wall, offering a vantage point into the main hall.

A voice rang out."That voice," Racheal's eyes widened, "can you guys hear that voice." 

She leaned forward, peering through the hole. Her stomach dropped.

It was her father.

A small grunt of shock escaped her lips, but Spencer and David immediately covered her mouth.

"Not here, Racheal," Spencer whispered.

Anthony George stood in the center of the room, addressing a group of men.

"Pack all of it," he ordered. "We need to make space for new shipments. The other location is getting too full."

Rachel's head spun. Shipments? What shipments?

The men worked efficiently, clearing out old crates. Then, headlights pierced the dim space as a vehicle pulled up outside. The group tensed as men began unloading packages from the truck into the Wine House.

David's breath hitched. "This is going to be a long night."

"What are they doing?" Rachel whispered.

Spencer's jaw tightened. "Drugs, Rachel. Those are cocaine shipments."

Her heart pounded. "But why is my dad here?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Spencer cautioned. "We need to be sure."

As they continued watching, a worker carelessly dropped a box, spilling its contents. Small plastic bags filled with white powder. Antony George stepped forward, furious. He grabbed the man by the collar, his voice a deadly whisper.

"Do you have any idea how much this is worth?" he seethed. "Handle it carefully."

Rachel swallowed hard. The truth was undeniable now.

As the men finished their task, they discarded Richard's belongings into a pile, destined for disposal. Once the wine house fell silent, David, Racheal and Spencer emerged from the shadows. Amidst the discarded items, David picked up a few clothes and an old, dust covered flash drive. Spencer's eyes locked onto the drive, and he quickly snatched it up. "This might be important," he muttered.

They continued rummaging through the pile, ensuring nothing else of value was left behind. Satisfied, they gathered the remaining items into a heap, struck a match, and watched as flames engulfed the evidence, crackling and casting eerie shadows against the old Wine House.

As the flames danced, they turned to leave.

The three hurried back to the car, Spencer keeping an eye on their surroundings. Back at David's apartment, Spencer plugged the flash drive into his laptop. Racheal sat beside him, nerves on edge. A video file loaded. The timestamp read August 10th, 10:20 PM. 

A shaky recording.Richard sat in a dimly lit room, tied to a chair. His face was battered and bloodied. He was breathing hard.

Then, a deep voice, cold, and familiar cut through the silence. 

"I warned you, Richard. You should've stayed in line."

Racheal's breath hitched in her throat, her fingers digging into the fabric of her jeans as she leaned closer to the screen.

A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a black suit, a hood covering his face. The sight sent a chill down her spine. Tears welled in her eyes as she forced herself to continue watching, Richard struggled against the ropes binding him to the chair, his face twisted with defiance. "I'm not afraid of you," he spat, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "You destroy lives, and I won't let you keep doing this."

The hooded man let out a slow, almost pitying sigh. "You think you can threaten me? Expose my business? You think you're untouchable?"

Then, with deliberate slowness, the man reached up and pulled the hood back.

Racheal's heart stopped. Her stomach lurched violently, bile rising to her throat.

The face on the screen,the man standing over Richard was her father.

Anthony George.

Anthony sighed, rubbing his temples. "I wish things didn't end this way."

A strangled cry tore from her lips. "No, no, no…" She shook her head, willing herself to wake up, for this to be some sick nightmare. But the video continued, cruelly proving her worst fears.

Then, without hesitation, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, a single gunshot echoed in the room as Anthony pulled the trigger

Richard's body jerked violently before slumping forward. A pool of blood spread beneath him,

Anthony stood over him, eyes cold, the gun still smoking in his hand. 

Racheal gasped, her body trembling. "No"

The video ended abruptly.

David quickly shut the laptop, pulling her into a tight embrace as she trembled violently.

"I don't understand," she sobbed. "My own father? He killed Richard?"

Spencer's jaw tightened. "It makes sense now. Richard must've discovered what Anthony was really up to. That's why he wanted to escape. And when Anthony realized he was a threat… he silenced him."

"Wait… that means Andrew didn't kill Richard?" Racheal's voice trembled as she tried to process the revelation.

Spencer nodded grimly. "From the video, no he didn't. But then why did he confess?"

David exhaled sharply. "Your father must have threatened him with something that he had no choice but to take the blame for a crime he didn't commit."

A sickening realization dawned on Racheal. "My dad… so he's the Man in Black. The one Andrew and Richard worked for without even knowing his true identity." Her breath hitched. "When Richard finally met the Man in Black, he must have been shocked to realize it was his own father."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his mind racing. "According to the video, Richard must have threatened to expose him, that's why he was killed. And Andrew? He was probably forced into confessing under the same kind of threat."

Racheal shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "No… no, this can't be happening."

Her father had betrayed her. The man she had loved and trusted all her life had murdered her brother.

Her world shattered.

Spencer placed a hand on her shoulder, steady but urgent. "Racheal, we have to go to the police. Now."

Racheal sat in stunned silence as Spencer drove to the station, her mind replaying the horrific truth. Her father was a murderer. Her brother, Richard, was dead because he uncovered the truth about their father's illicit dealings.

At the police station, Inspector Jones studied the footage, his expression darkening. "Racheal, we need you to cooperate with us. You have to go home and pretend you didn't see anything. I know it's hard, but that's the only way we can get justice."

Racheal nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of her father's secrets. "What do I need to do?"

"Just act normal, update us if your father is home or not, and then we'll move in," Inspector Jones instructed.

Racheal nodded, took a deep breath, and booked an Uber to take her home. As she opened the door, her parents' voices welcomed her.

"Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you," her mother asked, concern etched on her face.

"I'm fine, and I'm old enough to look after myself," Racheal replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Her father looked up from his newspaper he was reading. "Not after someone threatened you, Racheal. Now, go to your room."

Racheal locked eyes with her father, a spark of defiance igniting within her. "Dad," she said softly, "you've been a bad guy and now everybody knows what you did."

Antony's expression faltered, and he looked lost. "What are you talking about, Racheal?"

Racheal's voice was barely above a whisper. "You'll know very soon." 

With that, she turned and walked to her room, locking the door behind her. She finally allowed herself to unleash the tears she had been holding back, her body shaking with sobs. With trembling hands, she grabbed her phone and sent an urgent text to Inspector Jones: "He's home. Move in NOW."

Seconds later, flashing lights bathed the house in red and blue. But Anthony was nowhere to be found. "Search the house!" Inspector Jones commanded.

The police swarmed the very big compound, searching every corner. The tension was suffocating. Harriet gasped, clutching the wall for support. "Anthony!" Her voice cracked with each desperate cry.

But there was no response.

One of the officers rushed back inside, his face pale. "Sir," he panted. "You need to see this."

Inspector Jones, Racheal and Harriet followed as the officers moved toward the wine cellar at the back of the house.

They rushed inside, their footsteps echoing through the silence. As they entered the wine cellar, they were met with a chilling sight. Anthony George's lifeless body hung from the wooden beams, his limbs limp and motionless. The dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls as his body swayed gently, a haunting testament to his desperate final act. 

Racheal couldn't move. The sight before her felt surreal, like a twisted nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

Inspector Jones sighed, rubbing his temples. "Guess he decided to take the coward's way out."

Racheal's vision blurred with tears. For weeks, she had sought justice for Richard. And now, she had it. But why did it feel so hollow?

The officers moved in, securing the scene, taking photographs, and documenting the final moments of Anthony George.

Racheal took one last glance at her father's lifeless body and whispered, "You ran from the truth, Dad. But it still caught up to you."

And with that, she turned away. 

She dialed David. "My Dad hung himself but we need to go to the station tomorrow and find out why Andrew lied."

"Alright. I'll pick you up," David replied. "Rachel, I'm sorry for what happened to you. You didn't deserve this."

"Thank you, David. If not for you, we wouldn't have discovered the truth. See you tomorrow."