Double Star

15 : What My Father Hides.

PoV Sarah:

"You sure you don't need anything?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I smiled, trying to sound convincing. For the past five minutes, my aunt had been repeating the same question like a broken record. She never left for shopping without offering to bring me something, even when I told her I didn't need a thing.

Today, school ended earlier than usual—our History teacher got sick. It was perfect timing, actually, since Wednesdays were my aunt's grocery day. I nudged her gently toward the door, subtly hinting she should finally go. But just as she was about to step out, she paused and turned around.

"By the way, have you seen a key lying around?"

I stiffened, panic fluttering in my chest. Did she suspect me?

"No, I haven't seen anything. Maybe it's in your car?" I forced a smile, masking the anxiety bubbling beneath.

She nodded, seeming to accept the answer without further questions. "Okay then. I'll be back soon."

I waited for her to close the door, then bolted up the stairs and into my room. Pulling the curtains aside, I checked to make sure her car had left the driveway. Only then did I rummage through my bag, heart racing, until my fingers brushed against cold metal.

The key.

I had taken it with me to school, too scared she'd find it during a random sweep of my room. Clutching it tightly, I left and walked down the quiet hallway. At the very end, on the left, stood a heavy door I had never dared approach before.

"So this is it... the room where Dad kept all his files."

I tried inserting the key, but no matter how many times I twisted it, the lock wouldn't budge.

"Why isn't this working?!"

After several frustrating attempts, I stepped back, not wanting to force it. Just as I was about to give up, something caught my eye: a nameplate bolted above the door—my father's name engraved in bold. Two of the screws were missing. I lifted the metal plate carefully... and froze.

A four-digit code lock.

I stared at it, stunned. Why had Dad installed something like this in our home? Who was he trying to keep out? Me? I never cared about his office. Mom? But he told her everything... or did he?

My uncle's words echoed in my head: "Your dad had a mistress."
No. That was a lie.

Still, I jotted down every date that came to mind: Dad's birth year, Mom's, mine, my aunt's, even my uncle's. Nothing worked. I tried their birthdays, the date my parents met, their wedding anniversary...

"What's with this damn door?" I leaned my forehead against the cool wood, mentally exhausted. "I don't remember anything else..."

And then—like a whisper in the dark—something surfaced.

"The first red diamond known to public record was acquired in 1956."
My uncle's words.

Without hesitating, I typed: 1-9-5-6.

A soft click echoed. The lock released, and the door creaked open.

The air was stale. Dust particles floated through rays of sunlight streaming in from a high window. I stepped inside. A wide desk sat at the center, cluttered with papers. Art paintings leaned against the walls, and an expansive bookcase was crammed with old volumes. Mounted on the wall, a large, black screen stared back at me.

"Have I... ever been here before?" I murmured to myself.

Dad had spent hours in this room. No one was ever allowed inside. And now, after his death, I was the one standing here, searching for something—answers, maybe. Something to fill the gap he left behind.

I coughed, waving away dust as I flipped through the nearest pile of papers—boring charts and tables, nothing suspicious. Nothing meaningful.

"Why am I even here?" I muttered. "To find answers..."

My eyes drifted to the key again. Still unused.

"There has to be something it opens..."

As I scanned the room again, a golden cat statue on the desk caught my attention. One paw raised, the other holding a coin—Dad had brought it back from Japan, claiming it was a "Lucky Cat" meant to bring wealth and success. Some luck, I thought bitterly. Three months after buying it, he was dead.

I reached for the cat, intending to move it, but it wouldn't budge.

I pulled harder.

Suddenly, the books on the second shelf tumbled to the floor. A hidden panel behind them clicked open, revealing a drawer embedded in the wall.

I gasped.

"A drawer?! The books were hiding this the whole time?"

This wasn't just a quirky decoration. It was a full-on system. My father planned this.

Heart racing, I tried opening the drawer. Locked.

"Not again..."

I glanced down at the key still clutched in my hand. "Wait—this has to be it."

I inserted the key and turned.

Click.

Inside was a sleek, black remote. Just one button. No labels.

"A remote?" I muttered, baffled. "With only one button?"

Without thinking, I pressed it.

The big screen flickered to life.

"Welcome, Sarah."

I jumped, dropping the remote. It clattered to the floor, louder than thunder. My breath caught in my throat.

There he was.

My father.

On the screen.

Looking straight at me.

Calling me by name.

And somehow—I don't know where the strength came from—I found the courage to sit down and listen to what would become the most devastating truth my father had ever left behind...