Before I could process the full weight of what I was seeing, the phone vibrated again.

“Because your father was right.”

The words landed heavy.

“He wasn’t sick the way they said,” Andrew continued. “His records—there were inconsistencies. Medications that didn’t match his condition. Timing that doesn’t line up.”

I felt my breath shorten.

“You’re saying… he was killed?”

“I’m saying,” Andrew replied carefully, “that someone made sure he didn’t live long enough to talk.”

The world seemed to tilt.

I looked at the grave behind me.

Fresh soil.

Fresh loss.

And now—

Doubt.

My hands trembled.

“Why bring me here?” I asked.

Andrew nodded toward the phone.

“Check the last video.”

I hesitated.

Then, slowly, I unlocked it.

My father’s familiar background filled the screen—a photo of me and him from years ago.

My chest tightened.

I opened the gallery.