Chapter 16 - The Real LedgerWe had one problem.
We didn't have the real ledger.
The police did.
But Michael had somehow known about it.
Christopher called Detective Harris.
Within minutes, the ledger arrived under armed escort.
The detective placed it on the table.
“This is a copy.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The original was switched.”
“By whom?”
He looked at Christopher.
Christopher shook his head.
“Not me.”
The detective opened the cover.
Empty.
“No pages.”
Inside was another note.
HE WILL BRING YOU THE WRONG BOOK.
I looked at everyone.
“Then who has the original?”
Sophia whispered:
“Grandma.”
I laughed.
“She’s dead.”
“Maybe.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Sophia pointed toward the photograph of Grandma.
“Look at her hand.”
It was an old photograph.
Grandma was holding a pen.
On the table beside her was a small black notebook.
“The real ledger wasn't a book,” Sophia said.
“It was divided.”
“How?”
“Into pieces.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Daniel's face changed.
“Seven?”
Sophia nodded.
“Your grandmother gave one piece to each person she trusted.”
“Who?”
“Claire.”
“Daniel.”
“My mother.”
“Christopher.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Sophia looked at me.
“You.”
I froze.
“I have a piece?”
“You've had it for years.”
I thought about the envelope.
The brass key.
The strange photograph.
Then I remembered something.
A birthday gift from Grandma when I was eighteen.
A cheap leather wallet.
I had never used it.
It was still in a drawer.
We rushed to my apartment.
I tore through the drawer.
The wallet was there.
Inside the lining was a tiny folded strip of paper.
Numbers.
Account codes.
Names.
And a sentence.
THE MONEY IS NOT IN THE BANK.
“What?”
Christopher took the strip.
His eyes widened.
“It's a routing structure.”
“For what?”
Daniel answered:
“Shell companies.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
I stared at the codes.
Then I saw something familiar.
A company name.
Miller Development Holdings.
Ben's company.
I called Detective Harris.
“Investigate Ben's company.”
“We already are.”
“No.”
I gave him the name.
“Check the warehouse.”
There was silence.
Then:
“Which warehouse?”
I looked at the ledger.
“Warehouse 17.”
The detective's voice changed.
“We're thirty seconds away.”
Five minutes later, he called.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“Your mother.”
My heart stopped.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
I sagged with relief.
“She's alone?”
“No.”
“Who is with her?”
The detective hesitated.
“Ben.”
I frowned.
“Ben is helping her.”
“What?”
Then the detective said:
“Ryan, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The warehouse contains twenty-seven boxes of cash.”
“How much?”
“We haven't counted it.”
“Then what?”
“We found passports.”
“Whose?”
May you like
The detective whispered:
“Yours.”
