Chapter 7 - My FatherMy father had supposedly died when I was twelve.
Heart attack.
That's what I had been told.
I remembered the funeral.
The coffin.
The flowers.
My mother's black dress.
But I didn't remember seeing his face.
I suddenly understood why.
The coffin had been closed.
My hands began to shake.
“That isn't possible.”
Claire looked at me.
“It is.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
Ben stared at the photograph.
“Then who was buried?”
Claire looked at him.
“Someone who wanted to disappear.”
The detective finally spoke.
“Everyone in this room is withholding information.”
Claire nodded.
“Because everyone in this family was trying to survive.”
My mother whispered:
“I thought he was dead.”
Claire turned to her.
“You knew he was alive.”
“I knew he was gone.”
“You helped him leave.”
“I had no choice.”
I stepped between them.
“What happened?”
Claire looked at me.
“Your father stole money from your grandmother.”
“How much?”
“Three million.”
“That much?”
“He wasn't alone.”
I stared at her.
“Who helped him?”
Claire hesitated.
Then:
“Ben's father.”
Ben froze.
“My dad?”
Claire nodded.
“They built a network using your grandmother's investments.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandmother discovered it.”
“What did she do?”
“She created the trust.”
“For what?”
“To trap them.”
I frowned.
“Trap them how?”
Claire explained.
“Your grandmother moved the legitimate assets into a structure that could only be accessed if the family behaved honestly.”
“And the house?”
“A bait.”
“The house was bait?”
“Yes.”
“Then Ben claiming it…”
“Triggered the first layer.”
I looked at Christopher.
“You knew.”
He nodded.
“I knew enough.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your grandmother demanded it.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted your decision to be yours.”
“What decision?”
Claire interrupted.
“The decision to protect your mother.”
I looked at Mom.
She was trembling.
“What did Grandma know about her?”
Claire's expression changed.
“She knew your mother had helped your father.”
Mom covered her face.
“I was twenty-eight.”
“No,” Claire said softly.
“You were thirty-one.”
Silence.
My mother slowly looked up.
“I thought you were dead.”
Claire's eyes hardened.
“You didn't even come to look.”
“I couldn't.”
“You chose him.”
“No.”
“You chose fear.”
Mom started crying.
I turned toward her.
“Mom.”
She whispered:
“There was something your father had.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Every payment. Every account. Every person involved.”
“Where is it?”
She looked at me.
“Your grandmother had it.”
“Where?”
Mom's eyes drifted toward the window.
“Inside the house.”
Ben suddenly stepped forward.
“I searched that house.”
“You searched like a thief,” Claire said.
“Where?”
Claire smiled.
“You never checked the piano.”
Ben went pale.
“The piano?”
“The old upright in the living room.”
I remembered it.
Grandma never let anyone move it.
Claire looked at me.
“Behind the piano is a panel.”
I understood immediately.
“And behind the panel?”
Claire's smile disappeared.
“A second ledger.”
I felt a chill.
“What makes it different?”
Claire whispered:
“It contains names.”
“Whose names?”
“Everyone who helped your father.”
She looked at Ben.
“Everyone.”
Ben's face drained of color.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then slowly hung up.
I asked:
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“Someone just withdrew nine hundred thousand dollars from an account I didn't know existed.”
“Whose account?”
May you like
Ben swallowed.
“Mine.”
