I read this phrase several times.
Then I turned the photograph.
She represented Clara in front of a car.
Next to her stood a man.
I didn’t know him.
But something in his face told me that I had seen him before.
I took the photograph and went home.
I turned on my computer.
I did research on the old companies mentioned in the documents.
And suddenly, I get it.
The man in photography was now the director of a major law firm.
The same office that represented our father after the accident.
The same firm that had managed part of Clara’s legacy.
And above all…
The same firm that had sent, a few weeks after his death, a document requesting that certain information about the accident remain confidential.
I felt my stomach tie.
At that moment, my phone rang.
Masked number.
I picked up.
No one spoke.
Then a voice murmured:
“You found the box. »
I got up suddenly.
“Who are you? »
The person remained silent.
Then she says:
“Your sister wanted to protect you. »
“Where is she? »
Long silence.
“She is not dead. »
I’m trying to breathe.
“What? »
The line cut itself.
I immediately called back.
Unavailable number.
I looked at the photograph.
Impossible.
I attended his funeral.
I had seen his coffin.
I signed the documents.
For ten years, I had been crying a sister that I thought was dead.
And now someone just told me that she might be alive.
An hour later, I received an address.
An old hotel located several kilometers from the city.
I went there.
The receptionist asked my name.
When I pronounced it, it pales.
“She’s been waiting for you for a long time. »
“Who? »
The woman pointed to the hallway.
