"Lock the door."
Silence.
Then she asked, "What happened?"
I closed my eyes.
"I saw Kenji Takahashi tonight."
The line went quiet.
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
Then my mother whispered, "Where are you?"
"Outside work."
"Come home immediately."
"Mom, do you know him?"
She didn't answer.
I felt my stomach twist.
"Mom?"
Her voice broke.
"Don't speak to him again."
Then she ended the call.
I stared at my phone.
Olivia looked frightened.
"Is everything okay?"
She arranged for a trusted driver to take me to Brooklyn.
During the ride, I kept looking at the photograph.
My father's face.
Kenji standing beside him.
The Japanese message on the back.
I had spent half my life believing my father's reputation was permanently damaged.
Now someone was telling me he had been innocent.
I wanted to believe it.
But I was terrified of hoping.
When I reached Mom's apartment, she opened the door before I knocked.
She pulled me inside and locked it.
Then she hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.
"Are you hurt?"
"Did Kenji touch you?"
She stepped back.
Her eyes searched my face.
"What happened?"
I told her about the dinner.
The insults.
The recording.
The executives.
Kenji's threat.
Then I showed her the photograph.
Mom's hand flew to her mouth.
She sat down heavily.
For a moment, I thought she might faint.
She touched my father's face in the photograph.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Where did you get this?"
"Someone sent it to the restaurant."
She turned it over.
When she read the message, she began crying.
I sat beside her.
"Mom, please tell me what happened to Dad."
She closed her eyes.
"I promised myself I wouldn't drag you into that nightmare."
"I'm already in it."
She looked at me.
"Kenji knows who I am. He knows where you work. He requested me for that dinner."
Her face changed.
"He requested you?"
She whispered something under her breath.
Then she stood and walked toward the hallway closet.
From the top shelf, she removed an old metal box.
I recognized it.
Mom had kept it since Dad died.
She always said it contained family papers.
She placed it on the table.
Then she opened it.
Inside were photographs, letters, and documents.
At the bottom was a blue folder.
She handed it to me.
"Your father worked for Takahashi International Finance for eleven years."
"He was a senior analyst. He believed the company was helping American businesses access international investments."
"Then he discovered money was being moved through accounts that didn't match the company's official reports."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What kind of money?"
"Investor funds. Pension money. Business deposits."
"He reported it?"
She looked down.
"The company accused him of stealing confidential documents and manipulating financial records."
"He didn't do that?"
Her voice became fierce.
"Your father was an honest man."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Then why didn't he prove it?"
"He tried."
She opened another folder.
Inside were copies of letters from attorneys.
There were notices of termination.
Requests for records.
And a document stating that my father had been barred from entering the company's offices.
Mom continued.
"Kenji told everyone your father had fabricated the allegations because he was angry about losing a promotion."
I looked at her.
"Did people believe him?"
"Most did."
She wiped her cheeks.
"Your father lost his career. Friends stopped calling. People treated him like a criminal."
I remembered how quiet Dad became during his final year.
How he stopped smiling.
How he spent hours looking through papers at the kitchen table.
I had been fourteen.
I thought he was simply tired.
I hadn't understood that his entire life was collapsing.
Mom reached for my hand.
"He never stopped trying to clear his name."
I swallowed.
"What happened to the evidence?"
Her expression changed.
"Some disappeared. Some records were sealed in legal proceedings. And one witness changed his story."
I looked at the photograph.
"Who?"
She pointed to the man standing beside Kenji.
His name was Masato Fujimoto.
He had been my father's supervisor.
According to Mom, he initially supported Dad's concerns.
Then he withdrew his statement.
After that, the company dismissed the allegations.
I felt anger rising.
"Why would he change his story?"
Mom shook her head.
"We never found out."
I stared at the photograph.
Then I noticed something.
The man beside Kenji was holding a folder.
Its cover had a distinctive gold symbol.
The same symbol appeared on the business documents Richard's group had been reviewing at dinner.
"Mom, I think Kenji is doing it again."
I explained the recorded conversation.
The proposed American partnership.
The references to transferring losses.
The way Kenji laughed about the executives signing agreements they didn't understand.