When Masato supported Dad's allegations, Kenji threatened to withdraw that assistance and accuse Masato of participating in the transactions.
I felt anger rise.
"So you lied."
He nodded.
"You let my father lose everything."
His eyes filled.
I stood.
For a moment, I wanted to walk out.
My hands were shaking.
I thought about Mom working overnight shifts.
About Dad staring silently at documents.
About the funeral.
The empty chair at our kitchen table.
The birthdays he never saw.
I looked at Masato.
"You knew he was innocent."
Tears slid down his face.
"I did."
"Then why didn't you tell the truth after he died?"
He lowered his head.
"I was ashamed. And I was afraid."
I laughed bitterly.
"My father was afraid, too."
"Did that stop him from telling the truth?"
For years, I had wanted answers.
Now I had one.
Cowardice.
A frightened man had chosen to protect himself while my father carried the blame.
Masato wiped his eyes.
"I cannot change what I did."
I looked away.
"No. You can't."
Rachel allowed me a moment.
Then she asked Masato whether he had evidence supporting his account.
He opened a folder containing internal emails.
Several showed senior executives discussing unauthorized transfers.
Others referred to efforts to limit my father's access to company records.
One message from Kenji instructed Masato to withdraw his earlier statement.
Another warned that anyone who continued supporting Hiroshi would face severe consequences.
I stared at the documents.
"Why did you keep these?"
Masato looked at me.
"Because I knew one day I would need to tell the truth."
"You should have told it fifteen years ago."
He accepted the words.
For the first time, he didn't make another excuse.
Rachel reviewed the documents carefully.
She explained that the records would need authentication.
Masato agreed to cooperate with investigators.
He also agreed to provide a sworn statement about what he knew.
I sat down slowly.
The anger hadn't disappeared.
But something had shifted.
The truth was no longer just my father's word against Kenji's.
There were documents.
Witnesses.
Financial records.
And people willing to examine them.
"Your father was a good man."
"He believed that financial integrity mattered because ordinary people trusted institutions with their savings."
"He used to tell me that."
Masato continued.
"He said money represented people's work, dreams, and futures. He believed losing a dollar through dishonesty was different from losing it through ordinary business risk."
That sounded exactly like Dad.
He used to explain complicated financial ideas using simple examples.
When I was little, he gave me three jars.
Save.
Spend.
Share.
He told me money wasn't just numbers.
It was choices.
Now I understood why he cared so deeply.
"Will you testify?"
"If I'm required, yes."
"Even if Kenji threatens you again?"
Masato looked down.
Then he raised his eyes.
I studied him.
I didn't forgive him.
Not that day.
But I believed he was finally prepared to accept responsibility.
After the meeting, Rachel contacted the appropriate authorities with the evidence.
The financial regulators were already examining concerns surrounding the proposed partnership.
Masato's documents added historical context.
Richard's accountants provided their findings.
My father's archived records were reviewed.
The investigation expanded.
For several weeks, Kenji remained publicly confident.
He appeared at business events.
He gave interviews.
He dismissed the allegations as misunderstandings created by disgruntled individuals.
He never mentioned my father's name.
Then something changed.
A major investor announced it was suspending its relationship with Takahashi Global pending a review.
Another requested an independent audit.
Richard's firm confirmed that it would not proceed with the proposed partnership.
Kenji's carefully constructed reputation began to weaken.
One evening, I received a message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of my father.
The same photograph Olivia had given me.
Underneath was a single sentence.
You think you know why Hiroshi died. You don't.
I showed Rachel immediately.
She advised me not to respond.
Then another message appeared.
Ask your mother what happened the night before his heart attack.
Mom had told me about Dad's final days.
But she had never described the night before he died.
I suddenly realized there was still something she hadn't shared.
Chapter 7
I went to Mom's apartment that evening.
She opened the door wearing her nursing scrubs.
She looked tired.
But when she saw my face, she immediately knew something was wrong.
I stepped inside.
"Mom, I need to ask you something."
"Of course."
I showed her the messages.
She read them slowly.
Then her face changed.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Finally, she whispered, "I hoped this would stay in the past."
My heart dropped.
"What happened the night before Dad died?"