Margaret arrived twenty minutes later.
She read the transfer agreement twice.
Then she looked at Victor.
“Where is Edward?”
“Gone.”
“Where is the case?”
“Gone with him.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He took the originals.”
I placed the transfer on the table.
“He also left this.”
She studied it.
“This is not a completed transfer.”
“What?”
“The signature is real, but the notarization isn't.”
Victor leaned closer.
“Then why create it?”
“To frighten Daniel.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed to the bottom.
“Look at the date.”
I did.
The document had been dated three weeks earlier.
Before my father had even come to the house.
My stomach tightened.
“He prepared this in advance.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked at me.
“To establish a paper trail.”
Victor nodded.
“If the debt ever surfaces, Edward can claim Daniel voluntarily accepted it.”
I stared at the signature.
“But I never signed.”
“You don't need to,” Margaret said.
“Someone intends to produce a second document later.”
A second document.
One with my forged signature.
My mother sat down.
“This is insane.”
“No,” Victor said.
“It is organized.”
Margaret agreed.
“Someone has been building a case against Daniel for years.”
Ruth looked at me.
“Why you?”
I thought about Grandma.
The trust.
The house.
The old factory.
The hidden room.
“Because I'm the person the house was supposed to go to.”
Victor shook his head.
“Not only that.”
He pointed toward the transfer.
“Your name gives the debt somewhere to land.”
Margaret gathered the papers.
“We need to secure the property immediately.”
“How?”
“Court order.”
“How long?”
“Possibly days.”
I laughed.
“Days?”
“If Pike has the originals, he may move faster.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
My father's SUV.
It was parked outside an old warehouse.
The same warehouse shown in one of the property documents.
Beneath the image was a message.
*Your father wants to meet. Alone.**
Victor looked at the screen.
“Don't go.”
“I have to.”
“No.”
“He has the originals.”
Margaret stepped between us.
“If you go, you give them leverage.”
“If I don't, they may destroy the evidence.”
Ruth spoke quietly.
“I'll go with you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because this concerns you too.”
“That is exactly why I'm going.”
Victor looked at both of us.
“Then nobody goes alone.”
We left together.
The warehouse stood near the river, surrounded by abandoned industrial buildings.
My father's SUV was outside.
The driver's door was open.
No one was inside.
I called his name.
Nothing.
We entered.
The interior smelled of rust and old oil.
A single light hung from the ceiling.
Then my father stepped out from behind a concrete column.
He looked exhausted.
“You came.”
“You have the case.”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
He shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Ruth stepped forward.
“You lied about my mother.”
My father looked at her.
“I know.”
“You knew where she was.”
“I knew where Samuel had taken you.”
“You could have told her.”
“I was afraid.”
Ruth's voice broke.
“You were afraid for yourself.”
“Yes.”
He didn't deny it.
That honesty hurt more than another lie.
My father looked at me.
“Pike has the originals.”
“What?”
“I never had them.”
I remembered the basement.
“You took the case.”
“I took copies.”
“Why?”
“To make him believe I had the originals.”
Victor stepped forward.
“Where are they?”
My father pointed toward a storage room.
“In there.”
We opened the door.
Nothing.
Just empty shelves.
My father swore.
“He moved them.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Victor stared at him.
“You've been working with him.”
“I was.”
“When did you stop?”
“When he threatened Daniel.”
My father pulled a small notebook from his pocket.
“I wrote everything down.”
He handed it to me.
Names.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Meeting locations.
Payments.
One entry stopped me.
*September 3 — Pike receives final trust documents from Bell.**
Margaret.
I looked at Victor.
He immediately understood.
“Margaret would never.”
“Maybe not willingly.”
I turned the page.
Another entry.
*September 4 — Pike meets Thomas Vale.**
“Thomas Vale is Pike,” Victor said.
I nodded.
“So Gerald Pike has been operating under another name.”
My father swallowed.
“There is more.”
“What?”
“Pike isn't alone.”
He looked at Ruth.
“Samuel's son is helping him.”
Ruth froze.
“My brother?”
“You have a brother?”
She nodded slowly.
“Daniel.”
I looked at her.
She had never mentioned one.
“I thought he was dead.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
Victor asked, “Who is he?”
My father said the name.
“Michael Marlowe.”
Ruth's face drained of color.
“I know that name.”
“How?”
“He was the man who contacted me six months ago.”
Silence.
“He told me he wanted to reconnect.”
My father looked at me.
“He wanted to know what Eleanor left you.”
Ruth covered her mouth.
“I trusted him.”
My father nodded.
“That was the point.”
A sound came from outside.
Tires.
We rushed toward the warehouse entrance.
A black sedan stopped.
A man stepped out.
He was tall, perhaps forty-five, with dark hair and a gray coat.
Ruth stared.
“Michael.”
He looked directly at her.
Then he smiled.
“Hello, Ruth.”
Victor moved in front of us.
Michael stopped.
“I'm not here to hurt anyone.”
“You followed us,” Victor said.
“I followed Edward.”
My father stepped forward.
“What do you want?”
“The originals.”
“I don't have them.”
Michael smiled.
“You never did.”
He looked at me.
“Daniel, you have something I need.”
“What?”
“The ledger.”
I said nothing.
Michael's expression hardened.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
He reached into his coat.
Victor raised a hand.
“Don't.”
Michael stopped.
Then he laughed.
“You still think this is about money.”
He looked at Ruth.
“Ask your brother what our father left behind.”
Ruth stared.
“What?”
Michael turned away.
“The tunnel.”
He walked back toward the car.
Before getting inside, he called over his shoulder.
“Your grandmother knew.”
Then he drove away.
We stood in silence.
My father looked at me.
“Now you understand.”
“No.”
I held up the ledger.
“I understand that everyone keeps telling me Grandma knew something.”
I looked toward the warehouse.
“What I don't understand is what she knew about the tunnel.”
Victor's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then hung up.
“Margaret found something.”
“What?”
“The old factory records.”
He looked at me.
“The tunnel wasn't built for storage.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Old Factory Records Explained Why Everyone Wanted the Tunnel, and the Missing Pages Pointed Directly Toward My Grandfather
The Day My Parents Arrived With a Lawyer, a Moving Truck, and a Demand I Never Expected to Hear
Part 10 of 25
