PART 7 — THE WOMAN MY FATHER ACCUSED OF KILLING GRANDPA !!
“The person responsible for your grandfather’s death is standing in this room.”
Deputy Reed’s words seemed to stop time.
I looked at Grandma Evelyn lying in her hospital bed.
Then at Catherine Bell, standing beside the window with tears on her cheeks.
Finally, I turned toward Samuel Whitmore.
The attorney’s face had gone completely pale.
Three people.
Three different secrets.
And somewhere between them was the truth about the morning my grandfather died.
“What exactly did my father say?” I asked.
Deputy Reed hesitated.
“Richard claims someone in this room deliberately withheld information that could have saved Walter’s life.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
The deputy looked toward Catherine.
“Ms. Bell.”
Catherine’s expression changed instantly.
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“No, that’s not true.”
I stared at her.
“Catherine?”
She shook her head.
“Richard is lying.”
Deputy Reed remained calm.
“Ms. Bell, you’ll have an opportunity to respond during your formal interview.”
But Catherine was already crying.
“You don’t understand. Richard has been using the same accusation against me for nine years.”
I stepped closer.
“What accusation?”
She looked at me.
“That I caused Walter’s death.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Catherine flinched.
For several seconds, she didn’t answer.
Then she whispered, “I made mistakes, Daniel. Terrible mistakes. But I did not kill your grandfather.”
Grandma slowly raised her hand.
“Daniel.”
I turned.
Her expression was serious.
“Sit beside me.”
I pulled the chair closer.
She took my hand.
“There is something I should have told you years ago.”
My throat tightened.
“Grandma, please. No more secrets.”
She nodded.
“No more secrets.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“The morning Walter died, Catherine called me.”
I looked over my shoulder.
Catherine lowered her head.
“What did she say?”
Grandma swallowed.
“She told me Richard had discovered the investigation. She warned me that Walter was going to confront him.”
My pulse quickened.
“Before Grandpa went to the factory?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you stop him?”
The moment those words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Grandma’s face crumpled.
“I tried.”
Her voice broke.
“I called him three times. He didn’t answer. I left a message begging him to come home.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“That was the last message I ever left my husband.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t apologize for wanting the truth.”
I looked at Catherine.
“And what did you do?”
Catherine wiped her eyes.
“I went to the factory.”
My heart stopped.
“You were there?”
She nodded.
“I arrived shortly after nine.”
“Was Grandpa alive?”
Her hands began shaking.
“Yes.”
The hospital room became silent.
I stared at her.
“You saw him?”
“From the hallway. Richard was inside Walter’s office. They were arguing.”
“About the missing money?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“I heard Walter shout that he was going to call the authorities.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Then I heard something fall.”
My stomach twisted.
“What happened?”
“I ran toward the office. Martin was already at the doorway.”
“Uncle Martin?”
“Yes.”
“And Grandpa?”
Her voice cracked.
“He was on the floor.”
I couldn’t breathe.
I pictured Grandpa lying beside his desk.
His gray hair.
His flannel shirt.
His gentle eyes.
Calling for help.
And my father searching through his documents.
“Did you help him?”
Catherine nodded.
“I tried. Martin was kneeling beside him. I told Richard to call an ambulance.”
“And Dad?”
She looked at the floor.
“He said Walter was pretending.”
My blood turned cold.
“Pretending?”
“He said Walter was trying to manipulate him.”
I clenched my fists.
“Grandpa was having a medical emergency!”
“I know.”
Catherine began sobbing.
“I knew something was terribly wrong.”
I looked at Deputy Reed.
“Is any of this in the official report?”
“That’s what investigators will need to determine.”
Catherine wiped her face.
“Richard finally called emergency services, but only after Martin threatened to call himself.”
My jaw tightened.
“And you?”
“I left the office to look for the first-aid kit and ask the receptionist to bring help.”
She hesitated.
“By the time I returned, Richard was holding Walter’s prescription bottle.”
My pulse spiked.
“The medication.”
She nodded.
“He slipped it into his coat.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Catherine swallowed.
“He told me it was none of my business.”
I looked toward Grandma.
She had covered her mouth with one trembling hand.
For nine years, she’d believed her son had done everything possible to save her husband.
Now she was hearing that he’d allegedly stood over Walter and dismissed his suffering.
I felt physically sick.
“Did you tell the police?”
Catherine looked away.
“No.”
The word hit me like a slap.
“Why not?”
“Richard threatened me.”
I stared.
“With what?”
She began crying harder.
“He said he’d make sure I never saw Olivia again.”
My anger faltered.
Olivia.
The daughter Catherine had left behind.
The child who had grown up inside our family without knowing the truth.
Catherine wiped her face.
“He told me Martin and Diane would deny everything. He said the financial records would make me look like the thief.”
She swallowed.
“And he said that if I accused him of hurting Walter, he’d make sure I went to prison.”
I shook my head.
“So you disappeared?”
“Not immediately.”
She looked at Grandma.
“I tried to find someone who would believe me.”
Grandma’s eyes filled with tears.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
Catherine began trembling.
“Because I thought you would choose your son.”
The room went silent.
Grandma looked wounded.
But she didn’t deny it.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then she whispered, “You should have given me the chance.”
Catherine lowered her head.
“I know.”
I turned toward Deputy Reed.
“Can the recording tell us what actually happened?”
He nodded.
“It may help establish the sequence of events. Investigators will need to authenticate it and examine whether it’s complete.”
I looked at Catherine.
“Then I want the truth. Every second of it.”
She nodded slowly.
“So do I.”
An hour later, after Grandma had been examined again and the investigators had begun interviewing Catherine, I sat in a private hospital consultation room with Mr. Whitmore.
A detective had taken custody of the recorder.
The original files would be preserved and analyzed before anyone drew conclusions.
But Catherine had already given a preliminary account of what she’d heard.
And it was worse than I imagined.
According to her, the final conversation between Grandpa and my father began with an argument about missing money.
Then Grandpa demanded that Dad return the funds and cooperate with an outside investigation.
Dad refused.
Grandpa threatened to remove him from the company.
And then, at some point, Grandpa began struggling to speak.
My father allegedly believed he was exaggerating.
He delayed calling for help.
And several minutes passed before the emergency call was made.
I sat staring at the wall.
Several minutes.
Such a small amount of time.
Such an enormous cost.
Mr. Whitmore sat beside me.
“Daniel, I know what you’re thinking.”
I didn’t look at him.
“Do you?”
“You’re wondering whether Walter would still be alive if someone had called sooner.”
My eyes filled.
“Would he?”
The attorney sighed.
“We can’t know that.”
I covered my face.
“Grandpa was a good man.”
“I know.”
“He was kind to everyone.”
“I know, Daniel.”
“He never gave up on Dad.”
My voice broke.
“Even after everything, he still wanted to forgive him.”
Mr. Whitmore put a hand on my shoulder.
“That’s the kind of man Walter was.”
I stared at the floor.
“And Dad let him suffer.”
The attorney was silent.
I wiped my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell Grandma about the phone call?”
He looked down.
“I was afraid of destroying what remained of the family.”
I gave a bitter laugh.
“Look at us now.”
His face tightened.
“You’re right.”
I looked at him.
“Grandpa trusted you.”
“I know.”
“And you kept quiet.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I failed him.”
For the first time, I didn’t see a confident attorney.
I saw an old man carrying nine years of regret.
“I’m going to cooperate fully with the investigation,” he whispered. “Whatever questions they ask, I’ll answer.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Then my phone rang.
Olivia.
I answered immediately.
“Olivia?”
“Daniel?”
Her voice was shaky.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital.”
She inhaled.
“Is Grandma okay?”
“She’s resting.”
A pause.
“Can I come see her?”
“Of course.”
Then Olivia began crying.
“Daniel, something terrible happened at our house.”
My stomach tightened.
“Tell me.”
“Richard came back after arguing with Martin. He started searching through Dad’s desk.”
She hesitated.
“He kept asking about the adoption papers.”
I closed my eyes.
“What happened next?”
“Martin tried to stop him.”
“And?”
“Richard pushed him away. Dad fell against the kitchen counter.”
My hands tightened.
“Is Martin okay?”
“He’s in the emergency department. They think he has a broken rib.”
I swallowed.
“And Richard?”
“The police took him away.”
Relief washed over me.
For the first time that night, I felt like Grandma might actually be safe.
Olivia continued.
“Daniel, the police asked me questions about my adoption.”
My chest tightened.
“What did they ask?”
“Whether I knew my birth mother’s name.”
I closed my eyes.
“And what did you tell them?”
“That my parents told me she died when I was a baby.”
Silence.
Then Olivia whispered, “Daniel, was that a lie?”
I couldn’t answer immediately.
Because the truth wasn’t mine to reveal carelessly.
But she deserved honesty.
“Olivia, I think some things you were told about your birth may not be accurate.”
She started crying harder.
“Do you know who she is?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Is she alive?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
I heard her gasp.
For several seconds, she didn’t speak.
Then she whispered, “Oh my God.”
“Olivia—”
“My whole life…”
Her voice broke.
“My whole life, I thought she was dead.”
I felt tears gathering.
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s here in Sheridan.”
A long silence.
Then Olivia whispered, “Does she want to see me?”
I looked toward the hallway where Catherine was speaking with investigators.
“Yes.”
Olivia began sobbing.
I held the phone quietly while she cried.
Then she asked the question I had been dreading.
“Daniel, do you know who my biological father is?”
My throat tightened.
I closed my eyes.
“We have a reason to suspect someone, Olivia. But I don’t want to tell you something as fact without proof.”
She sniffled.
“Is it someone I know?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
Another long silence.
Then she asked:
“Is it Richard?”
My heart stopped.
“Olivia…”
“Oh my God.”
She began crying harder.
“That’s why he always treated me differently.”
I swallowed.
“We need to confirm the truth before making assumptions.”
She whispered, “Daniel, I remember something.”
“What?”
“When I was sixteen, I found an old photograph of him holding me as a baby.”
My pulse quickened.
“Okay.”
“I asked Aunt Diane why he was holding me.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me Richard helped bring me home after the adoption.”
I closed my eyes.
Olivia continued.
“But there was writing on the back.”
My stomach tightened.
“What writing?”
Her voice dropped.
“It said, ‘Richard and his little girl.’”
I stopped breathing.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the photograph?”
“Aunt Diane took it from me. She said it was a mistake.”
A mistake.
Another excuse.
Another secret.
Another adult deciding what Olivia deserved to know about her own life.
I stared toward Grandma’s hospital room.
“Olivia, listen to me.”
“Okay.”
“Whatever we find out, none of this changes your worth.”
She cried quietly.
“And none of it means Martin and Diane didn’t love you.”
“I know.”
“Would you like me to help arrange a meeting with your birth mother, when you’re ready?”
A long pause.
Then she whispered, “Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
“And Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t leave me alone with this.”
My chest broke.
“I won’t.”
After the call, I sat motionless for several minutes.
Then I went back to Grandma’s room.
She was awake.
Watching the doorway.
The moment she saw me, she smiled.
“Daniel.”
I took her hand.
“Olivia knows Catherine is alive.”
Grandma’s eyes widened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“She wants to meet her.”
Tears slipped down Grandma’s cheeks.
“Then perhaps something good can finally come from all of this.”
I nodded.
For a moment, we sat quietly.
Then Grandma asked, “Did you speak to your father?”
“Yes.”
Her expression changed.
“What did he say?”
I hesitated.
“He’s still blaming everyone else.”
She closed her eyes.
A deep sadness settled across her face.
“I kept hoping…”
Her voice broke.
“I kept hoping he would become the boy I raised.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Grandma…”
“When Richard was little, he used to bring injured birds into the house.”
I looked at her.
“He couldn’t stand seeing anything suffer.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I don’t know when that kindness disappeared.”
I swallowed.
“Maybe it’s still somewhere inside him.”
She looked at me.
“Maybe.”
Then she whispered, “But we cannot keep allowing him to hurt people while we wait for it to return.”
I nodded.
She was right.
Love didn’t require pretending.
Forgiveness didn’t require surrender.
And being family didn’t give someone the right to destroy everyone around them.
Grandma reached toward her bedside table.
“Daniel, there’s something else.”
My stomach tightened.
Another secret?
I almost couldn’t bear it.
She opened her handbag and removed a small envelope.
But this one wasn’t blue.
It was white.
Plain.
Addressed to me in her handwriting.
“Grandma?”
She placed it in my hand.
“I wrote this after my diagnosis.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“A letter.”
“About the trust?”
She shook her head.
“No, sweetheart.”
Her voice softened.
“It’s about you.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“You don’t have to give me anything else.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“But there are things I want you to remember when I’m no longer here to tell you.”
Tears filled my eyes immediately.
“Grandma, don’t say that.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Death isn’t something we can prevent by refusing to speak about it.”
I looked away.
She continued gently.
“I don’t know how much time I have, Daniel. But I know what I want to do with it.”
I looked back.
“What?”
“Tell the truth. Make peace where peace is possible. And spend time with the people who actually want to be with me.”
My chest ached.
“I want to be with you.”
Her smile trembled.
“I know, darling.”
I leaned forward and hugged her carefully.
We stayed like that for a long time.
Then she whispered, “Open the letter when you’re alone.”
I nodded.
“I will.”
But before we could say anything else, Mr. Whitmore entered.
His expression was serious.
“Daniel. Evelyn.”
I turned.
“What happened?”
He closed the door.
“I’ve just received an update from the investigators.”
My stomach tightened.
“About Dad?”
“Partly.”
Grandma sat a little straighter.
“What is it, Samuel?”
He looked at her.
“Richard’s attorneys have been contacted, and the investigators are examining the records recovered from the workshop.”
I nodded.
“And?”
Mr. Whitmore hesitated.
“There’s been another discovery.”
My pulse quickened.
“What discovery?”
“The investigators located a sealed company archive connected to Project Silver Pine.”
I froze.
“The project Grandpa was working on?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
He took a slow breath.
“Financial records, ownership documents, and correspondence dating back more than twenty years.”
Grandma’s expression changed.
“Samuel…”
The attorney looked at her.
“Evelyn, it appears Walter preserved more evidence than any of us realized.”
I swallowed.
“Evidence of Dad stealing?”
“Potentially. But also evidence that certain transactions were carried out through identities belonging to people who never authorized them.”
I frowned.
“What people?”
Mr. Whitmore looked directly at me.
“You.”
The room went silent.
“Me?”
He nodded.
“And Eric.”
My heart stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your names appear in several old company account records.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“I was a college student when Grandpa died!”
“These arrangements began earlier than that.”
My stomach twisted.
“Are you saying Dad used our names?”
“That is one possibility investigators are examining.”
I sat down.
My hands were shaking.
For years, I’d believed my father simply looked down on my teaching career.
But now I was hearing that he might have used my identity in financial arrangements I knew nothing about.
“Why would he do that?”
Mr. Whitmore’s expression darkened.
“Because using family members as nominal owners can conceal who actually controls certain accounts or business entities.”
I stared at the floor.
Then something occurred to me.
“The six-million-dollar checks.”
Grandma looked at me.
“What about them?”
“Did you give us those checks because you wanted us to come to the bank?”
Her expression changed.
A long silence followed.
Then she nodded.
“That was one reason.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“What do you mean?”
She looked toward Mr. Whitmore.
Then back at me.
“Daniel, each check required the recipient’s identity to be verified through the trust’s distribution process.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“We had reason to believe someone had used family identities in unauthorized financial transactions. Samuel and the independent trustees were trying to determine whether the true beneficiaries could be contacted safely.”
I stared at her.
“So the checks were part of that?”
“They were genuine gifts, sweetheart. But they also gave everyone an opportunity to establish their own identity and speak directly with the administrators rather than through Richard.”
My mind raced.
Grandma had known something was wrong.
She’d known Dad might be trying to control money that wasn’t his.
And she’d quietly created a way for everyone to step outside his influence.
“Why didn’t you explain it at Christmas?”
She looked down.
“Because I wanted everyone to accept the gifts freely, not because they feared what Richard might say.”
I swallowed.
“And Dad destroyed his.”
“Yes.”
“But Eric kept his.”
“Yes.”
“And Olivia?”
Grandma sighed.
“I don’t know what she did with hers.”
I stared at the floor.
Suddenly, those Christmas checks seemed even more important.
Not just because of the money.
But because Grandma had been trying to restore something Dad had taken from us.
The right to make our own decisions.
I looked at Mr. Whitmore.
“What happens now?”
“The investigators will examine the account records. The trust administrators will verify the beneficiaries. And anyone whose identity was misused may need independent legal representation.”
I nodded.
Then he said something that made me freeze.
“Daniel, there’s one more name.”
My stomach tightened.
“What name?”
He hesitated.
“An account linked to the same group of transactions was established under the name of a child.”
I looked at Grandma.
Her face went pale.
“What child?”
Mr. Whitmore swallowed.
“Olivia Grace Bell.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Olivia?”
He nodded.
“The account was created when she was less than a year old.”
My mind raced.
A baby.
Her identity.
Used in company financial arrangements.
Before she was old enough to walk.
Before she could speak.
Before she even knew who her parents were.
I stared at the attorney.
“How much money passed through it?”
He looked down at the preliminary summary.
“Several million dollars over a period of years.”
My stomach turned.
“Did Olivia ever receive any of it?”
“We haven’t found evidence that she controlled the account.”
I covered my mouth.
Grandma began crying.
“Oh, that poor girl.”
Mr. Whitmore continued.
“What’s especially concerning is that one document appears to contain a signature authorizing transfers on Olivia’s behalf.”
I frowned.
“Whose signature?”
The attorney looked directly at me.
“Richard Harper.”
My blood ran cold.
My father.
Again.
I couldn’t understand how many lives he had been willing to use to protect his secrets.
First Grandpa.
Then Grandma.
Then Mom.
Then Catherine.
Then Olivia.
And possibly Eric and me.
I stood slowly.
“Mr. Whitmore, I want copies of everything I’m legally entitled to see.”
He nodded.
“We’ll arrange that through the proper process.”
“And I want Olivia protected.”
“Of course.”
“Whatever happens to Dad, she doesn’t deserve to lose her future because of his choices.”
Grandma smiled through her tears.
“That’s my Daniel.”
I turned toward her.
She held out her hand.
I took it.
And for the first time since Christmas, I felt like there might be a way forward.
Not an easy way.
Not a painless way.
But a way built on the truth.
Then my phone rang.
Eric.
Again.
I hesitated.
Then answered.
“Eric?”
His breathing was rapid.
“Daniel, I need you to listen.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“I found my check.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
“And I took it to the bank.”
My pulse quickened.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“And?”
He swallowed.
“They told me it was real.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Daniel…”
His voice broke.
“Six million dollars.”
I said nothing.
Then he whispered, “But something else happened.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“The bank manager asked me whether I’d ever authorized business transactions through a company called Harper Capital Services.”
I froze.
“Harper Capital Services?”
“Yes.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’d never heard of it.”
“And?”
Eric started breathing harder.
“He showed me an account document from years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“Eric…”
“Daniel, it had my name on it.”
My stomach twisted.
“And a signature?”
“Yes.”
“Was it yours?”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“Daniel, it looked like mine, but it wasn’t.”
I stared at Mr. Whitmore.
He could tell something was wrong.
Eric continued.
“The manager said they couldn’t give me everything immediately, but they advised me to contact their fraud department.”
I swallowed.
“Do that. And get a lawyer who doesn’t work for Dad.”
A long silence.
Then Eric whispered, “Daniel, I think Dad has been lying to us.”
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
After years of defending him.
After Christmas.
After mocking Grandma.
Eric was beginning to understand.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I think he has.”
Then Eric said something that made every muscle in my body tighten.
“Daniel, there’s another reason I called.”
“What?”
“I went to Dad’s office after the bank.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted answers.”
“And?”
“I found a locked filing cabinet.”
I frowned.
“Eric, don’t start breaking into things.”
“I didn’t. Dad left it open.”
“What was inside?”
He hesitated.
“Old files.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of files?”
“Company records. Copies of bank statements. And a folder with your name.”
I froze.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
His voice dropped.
“A life insurance policy.”
I stared at the wall.
“What?”
“Daniel, there was a policy with your name on it.”
My chest tightened.
“Whose policy?”
“Yours.”
I stopped breathing.
Eric continued.
“It was issued years ago. Dad was listed as the policy owner and beneficiary.”
My mind went blank.
Life insurance.
On me.
Without my knowledge.
“Eric, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“How much?”
He didn’t answer.
“Eric?”
His voice was barely audible.
“Ten million dollars.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Ten million dollars.
A policy I knew nothing about.
With my father named as beneficiary.
I stared at Grandma.
Then at Mr. Whitmore.
And suddenly, the entire story took on a darker meaning.
Grandpa’s mysterious death.
The missing medication.
The stolen company money.
The forged financial records.
And now a life insurance policy on me.
“Eric,” I whispered, “did you find anything else?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
His voice began shaking.
“There was a second policy.”
My blood ran cold.
“On who?”
A long pause.
Then Eric whispered:
“Grandma.”
I turned toward her hospital bed.
She was watching me with concern.
“How much?”
Eric swallowed.
“Twenty-five million dollars.”
My legs felt weak.
“Who’s the beneficiary?”
Eric began crying.
“Daniel…”
“WHO?”
His voice cracked.
“Dad.”
I stood motionless.
Twenty-five million dollars.
A policy on an elderly woman with advanced cancer.
A son who had tried to gain control of her trust.
A man who had allegedly delayed helping his own father during a medical emergency.
I couldn’t prove what it meant.
But I knew the investigators needed to see those documents immediately.
“Eric, don’t touch anything else. Keep any copies you already have safe, and tell the police exactly where you found them.”
“Daniel, I’m scared.”
For the first time in years, I heard my younger brother sounding like a frightened little boy.
And despite everything, my heart broke for him.
“I know.”
“What if Dad finds out I looked?”
I swallowed.
“Then don’t confront him. Go somewhere safe.”
A long silence.
Then Eric whispered:
“Daniel, I think he already knows.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I just got a message from him.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did it say?”
Eric’s breathing quickened.
Then he read the words aloud.
“You should have left my files alone. Now you’re going to learn what happens to people who betray this family.”
I felt cold all over.
“Eric, where are you?”
“At my apartment.”
“Lock your door. Call the police.”
A sudden noise came through the speaker.
Three heavy knocks.
Eric stopped breathing.
“Daniel…”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Someone’s at my door.”
I looked toward Deputy Reed.
He immediately reached for his radio.
“Don’t open it!” I shouted.
Another knock.
Louder.
Then a voice came through the phone.
A man’s voice.
Low.
Familiar.
“Eric? It’s Dad.”
My blood froze.
Impossible.
Dad was supposed to be with the police.
I looked at Deputy Reed.
“Where is Richard?”
The deputy frowned.
“He was being interviewed.”
“Is he still there?”
Reed immediately called the officer handling Dad’s interview.
I listened to Eric breathing on the other end.
Then Dad’s voice came again.
“Open the door, son.”
Eric whispered, “Daniel, what do I do?”
I swallowed.
“Stay away from the door.”
The handle rattled.
Then my father spoke again.
And this time, he wasn’t pretending to be kind.
“I know you found the insurance policies, Eric.”
My heart pounded.
“Open the door before you make this worse.”
A loud crash came through the phone.
Eric screamed.
The call disconnected.
I stared at the screen.
“ERIC?”
No answer.
I called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
No answer.
Deputy Reed was already speaking urgently into his radio.
Then he turned toward me.
His face had gone pale.
“Daniel.”
I could barely breathe.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“Richard was released from the interview after requesting counsel. We had no legal basis to hold him at that time.”
My heart stopped.
“He left?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
I stared at my phone.
Forty minutes.
Enough time to reach Eric.
Enough time to confront him.
Enough time for something terrible to happen.
I looked at Grandma lying helplessly in her hospital bed.
Then at the white envelope she’d given me.
Then toward the dark hallway.
For the first time, I understood why Grandpa had been so frightened.
Because this wasn’t just about greed.
It was about a man who couldn’t tolerate anyone standing between him and what he believed he deserved.
And now my younger brother had become another obstacle.
I looked at Deputy Reed.
“Please.”
My voice broke.
“Don’t let him hurt Eric.”
The deputy grabbed his radio.
“We’re sending units now.”
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
From Eric’s number.
Only seven words.
“Come alone if you want your brother.”
And beneath the message was a photograph.
Eric sitting on the floor.
His hands bound in front of him.
Blood on his forehead.
His eyes filled with terror.
Behind him stood my father.
Holding the same black notebook we had recovered from Grandpa’s workshop.
I stared at the photograph.
That notebook was supposed to be secured with the investigators.
How could Dad have it?
Then I noticed something that made my stomach drop.
The notebook in his hands wasn’t the original.
It was a copy.
And on its cover, written in Grandpa’s familiar handwriting, were four words.
THE SECOND ACCOUNTING RECORD
I looked at Mr. Whitmore.
His face went white.
Then he whispered:
“Daniel, Walter kept two sets of records.”
I couldn’t speak.
Mr. Whitmore continued.
“The first recorded the stolen money.”
He stared at the photograph.
“The second recorded where it went.”
And suddenly, I realized that the biggest secret in Grandpa’s empire hadn’t been discovered yet.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 8…
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