Chapter 3 - Three KnocksNobody moved.
Three knocks.
Then silence.
My heart pounded.
Jenna took a step backward.
Margaret whispered, “Derek…”
He didn't answer.
I reached for the doorknob.
Derek grabbed my arm.
“No.”
His grip tightened.
I pulled away.
“Let go of me.”
“Claire, you don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
He looked at Margaret.
She looked at him.
Whatever passed between them was enough.
I walked to the kitchen drawer.
I knew exactly where the spare keys were kept.
Derek had always joked that I labeled everything like a librarian.
I found the small key ring.
Then I returned to the basement.
Derek stepped in front of me.
“Please.”
That word stopped me.
Derek had never said please to me.
Not sincerely.
I looked at him.
“What is in there?”
His lips trembled.
“A problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A problem I was trying to fix.”
“By locking it in my house?”
He closed his eyes.
I inserted the key.
The lock turned.
The door creaked open.
The basement smelled like dust and damp concrete.
At first, I saw boxes.
Old furniture.
Paint cans.
Then my flashlight moved deeper.
There was a room beyond the storage area.
A wall had been built across part of the basement.
And in that wall was a steel door.
The knocking came again.
Three times.
I stepped forward.
Margaret whispered, “Don't.”
I turned.
“Why?”
She was crying.
I had never seen Margaret cry.
Not at funerals.
Not when she was sick.
Not even when her husband died.
But now tears were rolling down her face.
“Because if you open that door,” she whispered, “everything changes.”
Derek grabbed my shoulder.
“Claire.”
I turned.
“Who is in there?”
He stared at me.
Then he said something that shattered the room.
“My father.”
I laughed.
It was an involuntary laugh.
A confused, frightened sound.
“Your father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then who is in that room?”
Derek didn't answer.
I opened the steel door.
The first thing I saw was a chair.
Then a man.
He was sitting against the wall.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
His hands were trembling.
His eyes were sunken.
He looked older than any photograph I had seen of Harold Voss.
But there was no mistaking his face.
Derek's father.
Alive.
He looked directly at me.
Then whispered,
“Claire.”
Derek stepped into the room.
“Dad.”
Harold's eyes moved to his son.
“You finally brought her.”
“What?”
I turned toward Derek.
Harold continued.
“She deserves to know.”
Derek shook his head.
“No.”
Harold laughed weakly.
“You've already lost her.”
Derek's face twisted.
“Dad, stop.”
Harold looked at me.
“Your husband didn't steal eighteen thousand dollars from the account.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“He stole much more.”
Derek froze.
Harold coughed.
“Ask him where the money really went.”
I turned to Derek.
His face had gone completely white.
“Derek?”
He didn't answer.
Harold smiled sadly.
“Ask him about the company.”
“What company?”
Derek whispered, “Dad…”
“The company your grandmother used to own.”
My breath caught.
My grandmother?
I stared at Harold.
“What does my grandmother have to do with this?”
He looked at me.
Then at the house above us.
“This house wasn't given to you to protect your marriage.”
He paused.
“It was given to you to protect something much bigger.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
Harold reached under his chair.
He pulled out a brown envelope.
Then held it toward me.
“Your grandmother knew Derek's father couldn't be trusted.”
Derek lunged forward.
I stepped back.
Harold dropped the envelope.
It landed at my feet.
The paper inside had one name printed across the top.
Not mine.
Not Derek's.
My grandmother's.
And underneath it was a corporate seal I recognized.
Voss Holdings.
I looked up.
“Why does my grandmother's name appear on your company documents?”
Nobody answered.
May you like
Then Harold whispered,
“Because she owned half of it.”
