Dad moved before I could answer the voice on the phone. He crossed the study in three quick steps, took the handset from my fingers, and pressed the call against his ear.
“Adrian,” he said.
The man outside gave a soft laugh. “I was beginning to wonder whether you still remembered me.”
“I remember everything.”
“Then you understand why this needs to end tonight.”
Dad glanced at me. “My daughter has nothing to do with this.”
“She has your wife's notebook.”
“She doesn't know what it means.”
“I think she knows enough.”
The line went dead.
For several seconds, neither of us moved. Rain whispered against the windows, and somewhere downstairs a faucet dripped at regular intervals. Dad returned the phone to me as if it were something fragile.
“Back door,” he said.
“You're coming with me?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You just told me to leave.”
“I want you out of the house.”
“Without you?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“If Adrian sees you leave with me, he'll follow.”
“And if I leave alone?”
“He'll think I stayed.”
“You're asking me to trust you.”
“No.” Dad's voice was tired. “I'm asking you to survive long enough to decide whether you ever can.”
He went downstairs.
I remained in the study, listening.
The front door opened.
Dad spoke to someone outside.
I couldn't make out the words.
Then a man's voice answered.
I slipped the notebook beneath my coat and took the letters. The brass key went into my pocket. I left the study through the narrow service corridor that led toward the kitchen.
At the back door, I stopped.
Mom had always kept an emergency key taped beneath the third shelf.
The tape was still there.
The key wasn't.
I felt a cold knot form beneath my ribs.
Someone had searched the kitchen.
I opened the drawer beneath the sink.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a line of wet footprints on the tile.
They came from the back door.
They ended beside the pantry.
I crouched.
The footprints were fresh.
Whoever had entered the house had come through here.
I heard Dad shout from the front room.
“She's not here!”
A second voice replied.
“You're lying.”
I opened the back door.
Cold rain struck my face.
I ran.
The alley behind the house was dark, slick, and empty. I kept my head down until I reached the corner, then cut through the narrow lane behind the pharmacy.
My car was parked two blocks away.
I had no idea whether anyone had seen me.
I drove without turning on the radio.
Marlene's address for the next morning sat folded in my wallet. The old railway depot was on the opposite side of town.
I almost went there immediately.
Then I remembered her warning.
Eight o'clock.
Not before.
I pulled into a twenty-four-hour café and parked where I could see the entrance. Inside, the air smelled of burnt coffee and fryer oil. A television mounted above the counter showed a weather forecast with the sound muted.
I ordered tea.
The waitress brought coffee anyway.
I didn't correct her.
My phone buzzed.
Dad.
I let it ring.
Then another message appeared.
DON'T GO TO THE DEPOT.
This time there was no number.
I stared at it.
A second message followed.
YOUR AUNT ISN'T WHO YOU THINK.
I deleted neither.
At 7:43 the next morning, I drove toward the railway depot.
The building had been abandoned for years. Weeds pushed through the platform cracks, and rust covered the old iron canopy. A faded timetable still hung behind the glass.
Marlene stood beside the ticket office.
She looked as though she hadn't slept.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where's your father?”
“I don't know.”
She looked relieved and frightened at the same time.
“Show me the notebook.”
I handed it over.
She opened to the page marked R-17.
Her face changed.
“You found this?”
“It was in Mom's compartment.”
“Then she wanted you to know.”
“Know what?”
Marlene turned toward the tracks.
“The company wasn't created to hide the house.”
“What was it for?”
“To move ownership between people without anyone seeing the connection.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather wasn't the real owner of several properties.”
I frowned.
“Then who was?”
She handed the notebook back.
“The families who originally lost them.”
I didn't understand.
Marlene continued.
“Your grandfather bought properties from people who were desperate. Then he transferred them through companies and eventually sold them again. Your mother discovered that some of those original owners had never legally agreed to the transactions.”
“That sounds like fraud.”
“It was.”
“Then why didn't Mom expose it?”
“Because your father was involved.”
I looked at her.
“Dad told me he only signed papers.”
“He did more than that.”
I wanted to reject the statement.
But I remembered the photograph.
Dad standing beside my grandfather and Victor.
“What did he do?”
“He helped identify which properties were vulnerable.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“He believed your grandfather was building something legitimate.”
“And when he learned the truth?”
“He tried to undo it.”
“That's why Mom said he failed.”
Marlene nodded.
A train horn sounded in the distance.
She opened her purse and removed a sealed envelope.
“This is the original transfer.”
I reached for it.
She didn't let go.
“Before you open it, understand something. Your mother didn't leave this because she wanted revenge.”
“Then why?”
“She wanted you to have a choice.”
Marlene released the envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a legal document naming the original owner of the Alder Street property.
The name wasn't Bennett.
It wasn't Cole.
It was Ellis.
I read the name again.
“Who was this?”
Marlene looked at me.
“Your grandmother's family.”
I felt the world tilt.
“That can't be.”
“It can.”
“But Mom inherited the house.”
“Yes.”
“Then how?”
“Because your mother spent years proving the transfer had been fraudulent.”
I stared at the paper.
At the bottom was a handwritten notation.
RESTORE TITLE AFTER THOMAS CONFESSES.
I looked up.
“Mom planned to make Dad confess.”
“She did.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I heard footsteps behind us.
Marlene's face drained of color.
“Don't turn around.”
I did anyway.
Adrian Cole stood at the end of the platform.
He wasn't holding a weapon.
He didn't need one.
He simply looked at me with the exhausted patience of someone who believed the outcome had already been decided.
“You opened it,” he said.
I folded the document.
“You're Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“You worked for my grandfather.”
“I did.”
“And now you work for whoever wants this property.”
He shook his head.
“No. I work for the people your grandfather stole from.”
Marlene looked at him sharply.
“That isn't what you told me.”
“I told you what you were ready to hear.”
I felt my grip tighten around the paper.
“Then tell me the truth.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Your mother wasn't trying to save the house.”
“Then what was she trying to save?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your father's life.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Adrian’s Version of My Mother’s Plan Changed What I Thought I Knew, but One Missing Signature Made His Story Impossible to Trust
The Number on the Screen Was Almost Perfect, Yet One Lie About It Could Cost Me My Home
Part 5 of 14
