Chapter 8 - The PianoWe returned to Grandma's house under police escort.
Ben was silent the entire way.
The house had become a crime scene, but Detective Harris agreed to let us retrieve the ledger.
Claire led us into the living room.
The old piano sat against the far wall.
Dust covered the top.
Grandma's framed photograph sat above it.
I moved the bench.
Ben watched.
“You really think there's something behind it?”
Claire nodded.
“We hid it there twenty years ago.”
“Who is we?”
“Your grandmother and me.”
I pressed my shoulder against the piano.
It didn't move.
“There's a locking mechanism,” Claire said.
“Where?”
She pointed to the underside.
I ran my fingers along the wood.
Found a metal latch.
Click.
A narrow panel opened.
Inside was a black ledger.
And a flash drive.
Ben stepped forward.
“I want a lawyer.”
“You already have one,” Christopher said.
“No.”
Ben pointed at the ledger.
“I want a criminal lawyer.”
The detective took the ledger.
“We'll process this as evidence.”
Before he could open it, my mother spoke.
“Don't.”
Everyone turned.
“Why?”
She looked terrified.
“Because you're not ready.”
I stared at her.
“What do you know?”
She whispered:
“Your name is in it.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Your grandmother put your name there.”
“Why?”
“Because your father tried to use you.”
“How?”
“Insurance.”
I stared.
“What insurance?”
“Your father took out policies in your name.”
My stomach turned.
“And the money?”
“Was supposed to go to him.”
“Why would he insure his own son?”
My mother couldn't answer.
Claire did.
“Because your father planned to fake your death.”
Silence.
The detective looked stunned.
“You're saying he intended to kill Ryan?”
“No.”
Claire shook her head.
“He intended to make everyone believe Ryan was dead.”
“Why?”
“To trigger the trust.”
I felt sick.
“What trust?”
“The one protecting the money.”
Christopher stepped forward.
“Evelyn suspected that.”
“So she changed it?”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
Christopher looked at me.
“You.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“If your father had succeeded, the assets would have gone to the person named in the original plan.”
“Who?”
“My father?”
“No.”
Christopher paused.
“Ben.”
Ben closed his eyes.
“What?”
“Your father used you,” Christopher said.
“But someone else was supposed to inherit.”
Ben looked at me.
“Who?”
Christopher nodded toward my mother.
“Her.”
Mom's face collapsed.
“I never wanted it.”
“Then why were you named?”
“Because your father trusted me.”
Claire corrected her.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because he knew you would do anything to protect him.”
My mother shook her head.
“He said he loved me.”
Claire's voice hardened.
“He loved power.”
The detective opened the ledger.
Pages of names filled the book.
Bank accounts.
Transfers.
Dates.
Signatures.
Then he reached the last page.
His expression changed.
“Detective?” I asked.
He turned the ledger around.
At the bottom was one name.
Mine.
Next to it was a bank account.
And a balance.
$28,400,000.
I stared.
“I don't have twenty-eight million dollars.”
“No,” Christopher said.
“But your grandmother did.”
He pointed to the page.
“This account was transferred into your name three days before Evelyn died.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Ben whispered:
“Then I've been fighting over the wrong house.”
I looked at Christopher.
“What happens to the money?”
He looked toward the door.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether the person who controls it is still alive.”
I frowned.
“Who controls it?”
Christopher looked at Claire.
Claire looked at me.
May you like
Then she said:
“Your father.”
