The car sped down the empty Port Haven road, the headlights slicing through the thick coastal fog. Maya gripped her seatbelt tightly, her pulse still unsteady from the encounter inside the house.
Jackson kept his eyes on the road, jaw tense.
Finally, Maya spoke.
"What exactly do you know about my mother?"
Jackson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly.
"Your mother wasn't just a missing person case, Maya. She was investigating something… something dangerous."
Maya frowned.
"My mother wasn't a detective."
"No," Jackson replied. "But she was trying to protect you."
Maya stared at him.
"From what?"
Jackson glanced at her briefly.
"Your own bloodline."
Before she could respond, he pulled into an empty parking spot beside an old, abandoned pier. Waves crashed violently below, the air smelling of salt and decay.
Jackson turned off the engine.
"We need to talk somewhere safe."
Maya folded her arms.
"I'm not leaving this car until you tell me the truth."
Jackson leaned back, running a hand through his hair.
"Fine. You deserve answers."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small file—thin, worn, clearly old.
He passed it to her.
Inside were copies of her mother's notes.
Newspaper clippings.
Old police reports.
A map of Port Haven with red circles around certain locations.
Maya skimmed through the pages, confusion turning into fear.
These were investigations.
Her mother's investigations.
"What is all this?" Maya whispered.
Jackson pointed at one page—a blurry picture of the Collins mansion from twenty years ago.
"That house has been connected to disappearances before."
Maya froze.
"What do you mean 'before'?"
Jackson turned to her, his eyes dark with something she couldn't read.
"Your family covered up three cases in the last thirty years. All linked to the Collins property."
Maya felt her breath catch.
"That's impossible. My family is… normal."
Jackson simply looked at her.
And for the first time, Maya realized something:
He wasn't lying.
She looked down at the old photograph again—the one from the wooden box.
Her mother standing beside an unknown man. The man's face scratched out.
"Who scratched his face?" Maya asked softly.
Jackson hesitated.
"That isn't scratched."
He pointed closer.
"That is burned."
Maya swallowed hard.
"Burned? Why?"
Jackson's voice dropped.
"Because the man in that photograph was the last person your mother contacted before she vanished."
Maya's hands trembled slightly.
"Do you know who he is?"
Jackson nodded slowly.
"He was your mother's friend. A journalist. He was investigating the Collins family too."
Maya stared at him, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"What happened to him?"
Jackson didn't blink.
"He disappeared. Two weeks before your mother did."
Silence filled the car—heavy, suffocating.
Maya felt something twist inside her.
A deep, cold realization.
"Are you saying someone in my family killed them?"
Jackson leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm saying someone in your family is willing to do anything to keep their secrets buried."
Before Maya could process the words, something slammed into the back of the car.
Hard.
The entire vehicle jerked forward.
Maya gasped, gripping the seat.
"Jackson—!"
He spun around, looking through the rear window.
A pair of headlights glowed behind them.
The engine roared.
The car behind them accelerated.
Straight toward them.
"Hold on!" Jackson shouted as he started the car.
The second vehicle hit them again—harder, this time with intent.
Maya's scream caught in her throat.
Jackson slammed his foot on the gas.
"We're not alone anymore," he said, voice ice-cold.
The other car's headlights flashed once.
Warning them.
Or threatening them.
Someone didn't want Maya learning the truth.
Someone wanted her gone before she could uncover the next piece.