My stomach dropped. “How do you know that?”

“I know all of you.”

The air seemed to thin.

“What do you want?” I asked.

He stepped fully into the hallway. “Closure.”

The word hit harder than anything else he’d said.

“Closure?” I repeated.

“For your father,” he said.

My chest tightened. “My father is dead.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I know.”

Another step forward.

My instincts screamed at me to run, to grab my mother and bolt—but my feet stayed rooted.

“What does that have to do with us?” I demanded.

“Everything,” he said.

He reached into his pocket.

I tensed—

—but he didn’t pull out a weapon.

He pulled out a folded photograph.

He held it out.

“Take it.”

I hesitated.

“Take it,” he repeated, more firmly.

Slowly, I stepped forward and took the photo.

It was old.

Faded.

A man stood in it with my father.

They were younger—maybe in their thirties.

Smiling.

Arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

Friends.

I looked up.

The man in front of me watched my face carefully.

“That’s you,” I said.

He nodded.

“My name is Victor.”

The name meant nothing—and everything at the same time.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Your father and I worked together,” he said. “A long time ago.”

“Doing what?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“That depends on how honest you want me to be.”

“Try me.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Your father wasn’t the man you think he was.”

Something inside me recoiled.

“No,” I said immediately. “That’s not—”

“He stole from me,” Victor said, cutting me off. “From all of us.”

My grip tightened on the photo.

“That’s not true,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“He disappeared with everything,” Victor continued. “Money. Documents. Left us to take the fall.”

My mind spun.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “He worked in insurance.”

Victor let out a hollow laugh.

“That’s what he told you.”

Behind me, my mother made a small, broken sound.

I turned sharply.

She was staring at Victor like she’d seen a ghost.

“Margaret,” Victor said quietly. “You remember me.”

My heart stopped.

Mom shook her head weakly. “No… no…”

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

I looked between them, panic rising. “Mom? What is he talking about?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mom,” I pressed.

Tears spilled down her face.

“Tell her,” Victor said.

“Stop,” she whispered.

“Tell her.”

“I said stop!”

The sudden force in her voice shocked all of us into silence.

Her shoulders shook as she looked at me.

“Claire… your father… he… he wasn’t just an insurance agent.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“He got involved with the wrong people,” she said. “Before you were born. He said it was temporary. Just one job. But it wasn’t.”

Victor nodded slowly.

“He took something that didn’t belong to him,” Mom continued. “And when he realized what it would cost… he ran.”