Chapter 9 - The Man in the PhotographNobody spoke for several seconds.
Finally, I asked:
“Where is he?”
Claire shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You just told me he was alive.”
“I know.”
“Then how can you not know where he is?”
“Because your grandmother was the only person who knew.”
I looked at Christopher.
He said:
“Evelyn made a contingency file.”
“For what?”
“For the possibility that your father survived.”
“Where is it?”
Christopher hesitated.
“Probably somewhere in the bank vault.”
The brass key suddenly felt heavy in my hand.
“The vault.”
“Yes.”
“We're going tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the moment that account became active, the people who were watching it would know.”
“Who?”
Christopher looked at the ledger.
“Several of the names in here are still alive.”
Ben picked up the page.
“Three of them work for the county.”
The detective took the ledger.
“Which three?”
Ben pointed.
The detective's face tightened.
“These aren't ordinary employees.”
“Who are they?”
“People close to the property records.”
My stomach dropped.
“The deed.”
“Yes.”
“So Ben's deed…”
“Could have been pushed through by someone inside.”
Ben looked sick.
“That means the transfer was never legitimate.”
“Not necessarily,” Christopher said.
“Then why were the records expedited?”
Christopher stared at the ledger.
“Because someone wanted the house transferred before the trust could stop them.”
I asked:
“Who?”
A sound came from upstairs.
Everyone froze.
One floorboard creaked.
Then another.
The detective drew his weapon.
We moved toward the staircase.
“Stay behind me.”
He climbed slowly.
Nothing.
Then a bedroom door slammed.
We rushed forward.
The room was empty.
The window was open.
Curtains blowing.
A chair overturned.
On the bed was a note.
I picked it up.
Five words.
YOU HAVE WHAT HE WANTS.
Ben looked at me.
“What?”
A second line was written underneath.
BRING THE LEDGER TO THE CEMETERY.
Claire stepped back.
“No.”
“What?”
“That handwriting.”
She touched the paper.
Her fingers trembled.
“That's your father.”
The detective immediately ordered everyone out.
But before we could leave, I heard something outside.
A car engine.
I ran to the window.
A black sedan pulled away from the curb.
I couldn't see the driver.
But I saw the license plate.
I wrote it down.
Then I turned.
Claire was staring at my mother.
“You know that car.”
Mom's face was white.
“Yes.”
“Whose is it?”
She didn't answer.
I grabbed her shoulders.
“Mom.”
May you like
She finally whispered:
“It belongs to your father.”
