Chapter 12 — Swept into the Wave of Love

The small room Lam Khue rented at a modest homestay far from the athlete's main resort, a deliberate choice to keep her distance from media attention. Viet Khoi sat in a rattan chair next to the window, watching Lam Khue kneel in front of an old suitcase, pulling out from the bottom a small wooden box carefully wrapped in velvet fabric that had faded over the years.

"This is the box my father left behind," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she placed the box on the table in the middle of the room. "He made it from a piece of wood left over from the first surfboard of his career, the board that followed him from his early days of training until he won his first championship title."

Viet Khoi looked at the box, the wood grain still retained the characteristic matte look of a processed surfboard, a precious vestige of a glorious youth that was buried by a false accusation. "You never opened it?"

"Yes, once, right after my father died," Lam Khue replied, his trembling hand placed on the lid of the box. "But at that time I didn't have the courage to look at everything inside. I just skimmed a few lines and then closed it and kept it in my suitcase for the past four years. I was afraid that if I read it all, I would have to face the pain that I had never really allowed myself to fully feel."

She took a deep breath, then opened the lid of the box. Inside was a worn leather-bound notebook, a few black-and-white photos recording glorious competition moments of Vu Dinh Trac in his youth, and a small cassette recorder and several carefully numbered tapes. Viet Khoi picked up a photo and saw the image of a young man standing on the podium receiving an award, a beaming smile full of pride, bright eyes sparkling with the joy of living fully with his passion.

"He looks a lot like you," Viet Khoi commented softly, pointing to the eyes in the photo, a familiar smile curling one corner of his lips.

Lam Khue smiled sadly, picked up the notebook, turning each page carefully. The first pages record his normal competition diary, his emotions, and the strategies he has applied through each season. But as time went on, the handwriting became more urgent, in some places blurred by smeared ink, clearly reflecting the panic and suffering of a person who was witnessing his career and honor collapsing day by day.

"Here it is," Lam Khue exclaimed softly, her voice trembling as she stopped at a page written at the exact moment the scandal broke out. She read it out loud for Viet Khoi to hear, her voice choking through each word. "I don't understand why they did that to me. That recording is not a conversation I ever had, even though the voice sounded very similar to mine. I suspect someone used voice splicing technology to create fake conversations, but I have no way to prove it at this point. The only person I believe has the technical ability and motivation to do this is B., who has been jealous of my position all these years."

"B.?" Viet Khoi repeated, his heart beating faster. "Do you think that stands for Bon?"

Lam Khue did not answer immediately, continuing to flip a few more pages, looking for any clues that could confirm that suspicion. Finally, she found another passage, written a few days before the previous one. "B. used to be an ambitious young referee, always showing resentment whenever I was nominated for important positions in the federation. I once heard rumors that he wanted to take the head coaching position that I was about to be appointed to, but I never thought he could go this far."

Viet Khoi felt cold all over his body. "So that's right. Lu Khac Bon, who is currently holding the position of Chairman of the Organizing Committee, is the one who orchestrated the murder of your father in the past to pave the way for his own advancement."

Lam Khue trembled, holding the notebook with both hands as if hugging her own father after many years of separation. "For the past sixteen years, my father has carried this injustice, knowing clearly who harmed him but having no way to prove it, so he had to live quietly, suffering in silence until he died."

She put down the notebook, picked up the cassette player and the tapes, inserted a reel into the machine with trembling hands, and pressed the play button. The characteristic crackling sound of old cassette tapes echoed in the small room, then the voice of a middle-aged man, deep but full of fatigue, spoke from the small speaker.

"This is a recording I made myself, in case anything happens to me," said the voice, which was Vu Dinh Trac's voice recorded before his death. "If you are listening to this tape, it means you were brave enough to open the box I left behind. I'm sorry for not being able to clear my name while I was alive. But I believe, one day, the truth will be exposed, and you, Lam Khue, are the one who can do it, not with hatred, but with your own talent and honesty on the wave."

The voice continued, recounting in more detail his suspicions about Lu Khac Bon, how he had accidentally overheard a conversation between Bon and a sound technician a few weeks before the scandal broke out, not clear enough to be used as legal evidence, but enough to arouse deep suspicion in his heart throughout the last years of his life.

"I still remember the name of that sound technician," his voice rang out in the tape, slowly as if trying to remember every detail even though it had been many years. "A young person, then new to the profession, seemed scared every time he encountered me after the incident. I'm not sure if that person still works in the surfing world, but if you find it, perhaps he will be the most important witness to clarify everything."

The tape continued with several minutes of silence mixed with heavy sighs, before his voice spoke one last time, choked but full of love. "Lam Khue, my daughter, if you are listening to these words, remember that, even if the world calls me a fraud, you will always be the greatest pride in my life. Don't let my injustice become a burden that prevents you from living fully with your own passion. If you choose to surf, surf for yourself, not for me."

Lam Khue burst into tears when she heard the last part. Her late father's last words of advice seemed to tear apart the resilient shell she had tried to build over the years. She hugged the cassette player tightly to her chest, as if embracing her father's last remaining warmth.

When the recording ended, the room fell into a heavy silence. Lam Khue hugged her face, the tears that she had held back for so many years finally flowed out, she couldn't hold back anymore. Viet Khoi quietly approached, hugged her, let her cry completely on his shoulder, without saying any empty words of comfort, simply being present, being the strong support she needed in this moment of pain but also full of relief.

"We have found the most important clue," he whispered in her ear, his voice both emotional and determined. "Now we need to find a way to turn it into evidence convincing enough before public opinion and before the law, so that your father can finally be exonerated."

Lam Khue raised her head, her eyes were red but shone with an unprecedentedly strong determination. "I will not let my father's efforts be in vain. No matter what I face, I will bring this truth to light, even if it costs me my career."

Viet Khoi squeezed her hand, his eyes equally determined. "You don't have to face it alone anymore. I will be here, with you to the end of this path, no matter how many storms lie ahead."

Before leaving that night, Viet Khoi helped Lam Khue carefully put the notebook, old photos and cassette player back in the right place in the wooden box, as if he were storing a sacred treasure that had just been opened after many years of being sealed. He held her hand, his voice was warm but firm. "Tomorrow, we'll start looking for that sound technician your father mentioned. If that person is still involved in the surfing world, even a little bit, we'll find out."

"Thank you," Lam Khue said, his voice still choked but much calmer than before. "I don't think I have the courage to open this box alone, even though I've been carrying it around for the past four years. With you here, everything becomes a lot less scary."

Outside the window, the Mui Ne night was still as quiet as ever, the moonlight spread a silver streak on the sea in the distance, but inside that small room, a silent battle for justice and honor had officially been initiated, there was no turning back.