Dad stared at Eleanor.
“That's impossible.”
Eleanor didn't argue.
She simply looked at him.
“Is it?”
“You're saying Margaret took it?”
“I am saying your grandmother believed she had.”
Dad shook his head.
“Margaret never came into this house without me.”
“She didn't need to.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“Then how?”
“Your mother had a key.”
Dad went pale.
“To the house?”
“To several rooms.”
“Why?”
“Your grandmother gave them to her.”
I felt a strange disappointment.
Even after everything, there always seemed to be another hidden door.
Another key.
Another secret.
“Why would Grandma give Mom access?”
“Because she was testing her.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“How many tests did she run?”
Eleanor gave me a tired smile.
“Enough to learn that people often reveal themselves when they think no one is watching.”
Dad walked to the window.
“I don't understand.”
Eleanor folded the floor plan.
“Your grandmother discovered that someone had entered the study after Edward disappeared.”
“Who?”
“We never proved it.”
“But she suspected Mom.”
“She suspected several people.”
I looked at the floor plan.
“What happened twelve years ago?”
Eleanor answered quietly.
“Your grandmother became ill.”
“I know.”
“She realized she might not live long enough to finish the investigation.”
“So she created the trust.”
“Yes.”
“And hid the second ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the wall.”
Dad turned.
“What wall?”
Eleanor pointed toward the floor plan.
“The wall behind Claire's old bedroom.”
I stared.
“That room was renovated.”
“I know.”
“By whom?”
“Robert.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I hired contractors.”
“Did you supervise them?”
“Of course.”
“Were they family?”
“No.”
“Did they work alone?”
“I don't remember.”
Eleanor's gaze remained fixed on him.
“You should.”
Dad looked ashamed.
“I was dealing with your grandmother's illness.”
Eleanor softened.
“I know.”
I stood.
“Let's go.”
Dad grabbed his coat.
Eleanor shook her head.
“You shouldn't take the ledger if you find it.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know whether the original documents are evidence of criminal conduct.”
I paused.
“So what do I do?”
“Photograph everything. Leave the originals where they are until Harold advises you.”
I nodded.
We drove to my house.
The front door was locked.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Inside, everything looked normal.
Noah's shoes sat beside the stairs.
A school backpack lay on the sofa.
A half-finished drawing rested on the coffee table.
Ordinary things.
Comforting things.
I suddenly wanted to protect that ordinary life more fiercely than anything else.
Dad noticed.
“You can still stop.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“I mean from here.”
“I know what you mean.”
He nodded.
“But I'm not stopping.”
We went upstairs.
The room had been mine before I moved away.
After Noah was born, I had turned it into a guest room.
I stood in the doorway.
The wall Eleanor had marked looked completely ordinary.
Fresh paint.
A bookshelf.
Two framed photographs.
I ran my hand over the plaster.
Nothing.
Dad entered behind me.
“I remember the renovation.”
“Who did it?”
“A company called Miller Construction.”
“Do you have the paperwork?”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“In the basement.”
We went downstairs.
The basement storage shelves were crowded with old boxes.
Dad found a folder labeled HOUSE RENOVATION.
Inside were invoices.
Permit copies.
Contractor information.
Then he stopped.
“What?”
He held up the final invoice.
The date was twelve years ago.
The work had been completed three days after Grandma died.
I stared at the paper.
“Who paid?”
Dad looked at the signature.
“I did.”
“With what?”
“My account.”
I took the invoice.
The contractor's name was not Miller Construction.
It was Taylor Restoration.
Eleanor stepped closer.
Her face changed.
“That was Edward's company.”
Dad looked at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Edward never owned a restoration company.”
“Not publicly.”
I stared at the invoice.
“Why would his company renovate my father's house?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“It wasn't his company.”
“Then whose?”
She looked at Dad.
“Your grandfather's.”
Dad sat down.
I felt the room tighten around us.
“So the people who built the wall knew what they were doing.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Probably.”
Dad looked at the invoice.
“I never noticed.”
I believed him.
That was the worst part.
He had been surrounded by evidence and had missed it because he trusted the wrong people.
I called Harold.
He answered quickly.
“Claire?”
“I found something.”
I explained.
He told me not to disturb the wall until he could send someone qualified to document it.
“I can come tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't know whether someone else is coming first.”
There was a pause.
“Lock the house.”
“I already have.”
“Don't confront anyone.”
“I won't.”
“Especially Eric.”
“I understand.”
I ended the call.
Then I noticed something on the floor.
A small piece of plaster.
It hadn't been there earlier.
I picked it up.
Fresh.
Dad saw it.
“That's new.”
Eleanor knelt beside the wall.
She touched the exposed edge.
“This wasn't caused by age.”
I looked at the bookshelf.
One of the framed photographs was crooked.
I moved it.
Behind it was a small rectangular hole.
Not large enough for a person.
Large enough for a hand.
My pulse quickened.
I removed the frame.
Inside the cavity was a metal box.
No lock.
I pulled it out.
Dust covered the top.
There was writing.
E.T.
Eleanor whispered, “Edward.”
I opened it.
Inside were documents wrapped in plastic.
A passport.
A photograph.
A bankbook.
And a folded sheet of paper.
I unfolded it.
It contained a list of property parcels.
Beside several names were numbers.
At the bottom:
These properties were transferred under false ownership.
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at the document.
“That's it.”
“What?”
“The original list.”
I photographed each page.
Then I found a letter.
It was addressed to Grandma.
Evelyn,
If you are reading this, then I have either left voluntarily or someone has made that decision for me.
I have copied the names and parcel numbers.
The original ledger is safer with you.
Do not trust Robert with the whole truth.
He is not the worst of them, but he is frightened enough to become useful to people who are.
I looked at Dad.
He closed his eyes.
“He knew.”
I read the next paragraph.
Margaret has asked questions about the trust.
She believes Claire is the intended beneficiary.
She does not know the conditions.
I stopped.
Eleanor leaned over my shoulder.
“She knew before you did.”
I continued.
If Margaret ever discovers the second ledger, she may try to destroy it.
I turned the page.
The final line was handwritten in darker ink.
If Edward disappears, protect Claire first.
My throat tightened.
“Why me?”
Eleanor answered.
“Because your grandmother believed you were the only person in the family who hadn't benefited from the deception.”
I stared at the papers.
Then I saw something tucked beneath them.
A second photograph.
Edward stood beside a car.
A woman was visible in the driver's seat.
Her face was turned away.
But the coat was unmistakable.
My mother's.
I looked at Dad.
“Is this Mom?”
He took the photograph.
His hands began to shake.
“I don't know.”
Eleanor did.
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“When was this taken?”
“Three days before Edward disappeared.”
The room went silent.
“Did Mom know where he went?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“She knew something.”
I felt anger rising.
“What?”
“She was the last person besides me to speak to him.”
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“I did.”
“What did they say?”
“That they couldn't prove anything.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The car.
My mother.
Edward.
Three days before he disappeared.
Then another thought occurred to me.
“Where did he go?”
Eleanor looked toward the basement door.
“That is the question your grandmother never answered.”
“Why?”
“Because Edward came back.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“Years later.”
Dad stared at her.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
“When?”
“Six years after he disappeared.”
“Where?”
Eleanor looked directly at me.
“Here.”
I felt the hairs rise along my arms.
“In this house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see your grandmother.”
“Did she meet him?”
“She did.”
“Then what happened?”
Eleanor's expression darkened.
“He told her someone was still looking for the ledger.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
Then said, “Your brother.”
I felt the room go cold.
“Eric?”
“Yes.”
Dad stood abruptly.
“He would have been a child.”
“Old enough to hear things,” Eleanor said.
I looked at the photograph.
The woman in the car.
The missing ledger.
Eric's knowledge.
The family account.
The trust.
Suddenly, a possibility I didn't want to consider formed in my mind.
Maybe Eric's desperation wasn't only about money.
Maybe he had known about the hidden assets long before I did.
And maybe he had been searching for the ledger because someone had taught him what it could reveal.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Second Ledger Contained More Than Property Records, and One Entry Connected Eric to a Secret He Had Carried Since Childhood
My Son Watched His Cousins Eat Steak While My Brother Served Him a Hotdog, and I Finally Decided to Stop Pretending Nothing Was Wrong
Part 10 of 20
