Chapter 5 - The Study Had Been SearchedWe drove to Grandpa's house before midnight.
The marsh was black under the moon.
Wind moved through the reeds.
The house stood at the end of a narrow road, exactly as I remembered it.
White porch.
Blue shutters.
Old oak trees.
The rocking chair where Grandpa used to sit every evening.
Nothing looked different.
That made the broken lock on the back door even more frightening.
Evelyn opened it carefully.
We stepped inside.
The house smelled like old paper and cedar.
I hadn't been there since the funeral.
My chest tightened.
Grandpa had lived simply.
No flashy furniture.
No expensive art.
He'd once told me that rich people became prisoners of possessions when they stopped knowing why they owned them.
I walked down the hallway.
His study door was open.
Inside, every drawer had been pulled out.
Books lay scattered across the floor.
The desk had been emptied.
The filing cabinets were open.
Someone had searched the room.
Not robbed it.
Searched it.
Looking for one thing.
I knelt beside the desk.
A photograph lay face down.
I picked it up.
Grandpa.
Me.
I was twelve.
I remembered that day.
I had lost a debate tournament.
I'd been furious.
Grandpa had driven two hours to see me.
He'd brought ice cream.
He told me, "Losing isn't the opposite of winning. It's information."
I smiled despite myself.
Evelyn watched me.
"He loved you."
"I know."
"That's why he trusted you."
I looked around the room.
"What were they looking for?"
"We don't know."
"Was anything stolen?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly?"
Evelyn pointed toward the bookshelf.
"The blue ledger."
I stood.
"What blue ledger?"
"Bernard kept handwritten financial records."
I scanned the shelves.
There was a gap.
A narrow rectangle of dust.
"Was it important?"
"Very."
"What was in it?"
"Transfers."
"Which transfers?"
"The ones nobody wanted discovered."
I turned.
"How many copies?"
"Two."
"Where's the second?"
"Safe deposit box."
"Whose?"
"Yours."
I froze.
"I don't have a safe deposit box."
Evelyn smiled sadly.
"You do."
She reached into her purse.
Then handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a key.
My name was written across the front.
I looked at her.
"When?"
"Your grandfather opened it eleven months before he died."
"Without telling me?"
"He wanted to minimize risk."
I stared at the key.
"What was he afraid of?"
Evelyn looked toward the doorway.
"Your family."
I almost laughed.
"That's becoming a theme."
"It should."
We searched the study carefully.
Under the desk.
Behind books.
Inside drawers.
Nothing.
Then I remembered Grandpa's habit.
He never kept important things in obvious places.
When I was sixteen, I'd once asked where he stored his jewelry.
He'd laughed.
"I don't own jewelry."
"Everybody owns something."
He had tapped his chest.
"I keep valuables where people don't think to look."
I stared at the fireplace.
"Where?"
Evelyn followed my gaze.
"What?"
"The fireplace."
I walked over.
There was a brass screen.
Behind it, old wood.
I ran my hand along the mantel.
Nothing.
Then I remembered a crack.
A small crack behind the third decorative tile.
I pressed it.
The tile moved.
Inside was a hollow cavity.
Empty.
My heartbeat quickened.
"They already found it."
Evelyn nodded.
"Apparently."
I pulled out my phone.
"What did he keep there?"
"A flash drive."
"Of course."
"And something else."
"What?"
"An audio recorder."
I stared into the cavity.
Gone.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Nobody spoke.
Then I heard breathing.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A man's voice.
"You should have stayed out of this."
I froze.
"Who is this?"
"You have ten minutes."
The line went dead.
Evelyn's face tightened.
"What did they say?"
I didn't answer.
Ten minutes.
Then a second message arrived.
A photograph.
I opened it.
It showed my mother's kitchen.
Taken from outside.
Then another photo.
My parents' bedroom.
Then one of Cole.
Sitting alone in his car.
Head in his hands.
The third photograph had no people.
It showed Grandpa's grave.
Across the stone, someone had written in black marker:
HE CHOSE WRONG.
Evelyn took the phone from my hand.
"Don't respond."
"Who could have access to these places?"
"Someone close."
My stomach sank.
The front porch creaked.
We both looked toward the hallway.
Another creak.
Then the doorknob moved.
I reached for the nearest object.
A heavy brass lamp.
Evelyn whispered, "Megan."
The door began opening.
A figure stepped into the hallway.
It was my father.
He looked at us.
Then at the phone.
Then at the open study.
His face told me he already knew.
"You found it."
I stared at him.
"Found what?"
He closed the door behind him.
"The reason your grandfather was killed."
I stopped breathing.
"What did you just say?"
He looked at Evelyn.
"I didn't mean it literally."
"You said killed."
"I meant..."
"You said it."
He sat down.
His hands were shaking.
"Bernard knew too much."
I stared at him.
"About what?"
He looked at me.
"About the person who was stealing from him."
I waited.
He whispered the name.
And I felt my entire body go cold.
Because the person he named wasn't Cole.
It wasn't Tiffany.
May you like
It wasn't my mother.
It was someone none of us had been looking at.
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