Chapter 7 - The Safe Deposit BoxThe safe deposit box was in a bank thirty miles from Franklin.

My mother drove.

Margot followed in a separate car.

Nobody spoke much.

The rain had stopped, but the sky remained dark.

Inside the bank, Mom gave the employee her identification.

Then mine.

I didn't understand why I needed to be there.

Until the clerk looked at me and said:

"You're one of the authorized parties."

I stared at my mother.

"Why?"

She didn't answer.

We entered the vault.

The box was small.

Mom inserted her key.

I inserted mine.

The door opened.

Inside were documents wrapped in plastic.

A flash drive.

Three photographs.

And a handwritten letter.

I picked up the letter.

The handwriting belonged to my grandmother.

She had died six years earlier.

I hadn't seen that handwriting in years.

The letter was addressed to me.

Hazel,

If you're reading this, something has gone wrong.

My breath caught.

Mom closed her eyes.

I continued.

Your father will tell you the family business belongs to Grant. He will tell you that you chose another path. He will tell you that you don't need what your siblings have.

Do not believe him.

My hands began shaking.

I did not leave my assets to your father. I placed them in a structure that would protect them from him.

Margot leaned closer.

"What assets?"

I kept reading.

Harbor Eight Properties was originally purchased with funds from my estate. Hazel became the beneficial owner when she turned twenty-five. The LLC is hers. The properties are hers.

I looked up.

"My grandmother funded Harbor Eight."

Mom nodded.

"You knew."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Your father threatened to cut me off."

I looked back at the letter.

Your father knows the properties exist. He does not know their complete structure. That is intentional.

Then the next line stopped me.

Grant has been trying to gain control of them.

I read it again.

Then the flash drive.

Margot inserted it into her laptop.

There were photographs of documents.

Emails.

Bank records.

Messages.

And one video.

We opened it.

My grandmother appeared on screen.

She looked older than I remembered.

But her voice was clear.

"I am recording this because I no longer trust Frank with my financial affairs."

Mom covered her mouth.

Grandma continued.

"Frank believes the properties belong to him. They do not."

She paused.

"Hazel must understand that the company is hers. Not because she is my favorite. Not because she is the most deserving. Because she is the only one who did not ask me for it."

My eyes filled.

Grandma looked directly into the camera.

"Your father has been taking money from the catering business."

Mom whispered, "No."

The video continued.

"He calls it temporary borrowing."

Then Grandma said the words that changed everything.

"He is using company revenue to maintain a lifestyle the business cannot afford."

Margot paused the video.

"How long?"

"Years," Mom whispered.

We continued.

Grandma revealed account numbers.

Transfers.

Luxury purchases.

Private loans.

And then one final document appeared.

A handwritten ledger.

At the top:

Amounts Owed to Hazel.

The total was over $1.4 million.

I stared at the number.

"What is this?"

Mom whispered:

"Your father used your childhood trust."

My heart cracked.

"My college fund?"

Mom nodded.

"He said he'd replace it."

"Did he?"

"No."

I closed the laptop.

For years, I had believed I chose the trades because I wasn't academically inclined enough for college.

I had believed I simply wanted independence.

Now I realized my father had spent the money that could have paid for it.

He had taken my future.

And then told me the future I built myself wasn't good enough.

Margot looked at the documents.

"There's one thing missing."

"What?"

"The original trust agreement."

We searched the box.

Nothing.

Then I noticed a photograph.

It showed my grandmother standing outside the old family home.

Written on the back was a date.

Six months before her death.

Underneath:

Ask Hazel's father where he hid the original.

I looked at Mom.

"Where did Dad keep Grandma's files?"

She swallowed.

"In his office."

"At the catering headquarters?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Then where?"

She looked at me.

"In your parents' bedroom."

Margot stood.

"Let's go."

Mom grabbed her arm.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because Frank is there."

I stared at her.

"So?"

Mom whispered:

"Because he knows about the safe deposit box."

My phone buzzed.

A message from Grant.

You should have stayed away from the bank.

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