Chapter 4 - The House That Was Never EmptyWe escaped through the hotel kitchen.
Rain hit us as we ran into the alley.
Sienna had arranged a car.
Margaret drove.
I sat in the back with Micah.
Nobody spoke for several minutes.
Then Micah asked the question none of us wanted to answer.
“Why does Dad want me?”
Sienna looked at me through the mirror.
“Because you have the recordings.”
“He thinks I have everything?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn't.”
I looked down.
The black envelope was empty.
The flash drive had been removed.
Micah looked confused.
I smiled faintly.
“You copied it.”
His eyes widened.
“You knew?”
“I’m your mother.”
He smiled.
For the first time that night, he looked like a child again.
Then Sienna spoke.
“The warehouse is compromised.”
“Then we're going to Grandma's.”
I hadn't been inside that house since she died.
The old farmhouse sat fifty minutes outside the city.
When we arrived, the gate was open.
My heart dropped.
Nobody was supposed to have the key.
The front door stood slightly ajar.
Margaret whispered, “Stay in the car.”
“No.”
Sienna looked at me.
“Claire.”
“I know this house better than anyone.”
I stepped out.
Micah followed.
“Absolutely not.”
He stared at me.
“You told me to trust you.”
“I did not tell you to walk into danger.”
“I know where Grandma kept the flashlight.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
We went inside.
The house smelled like dust, cedar and old paper.
The electricity was off.
Moonlight spilled through the windows.
Every room looked exactly as I remembered.
The kitchen table.
The blue curtains.
The ceramic wheat bowl.
The staircase.
I walked toward my grandmother's study.
The door was locked.
I tried the handle.
Nothing.
Sienna stepped forward.
“Move.”
She produced a small tool.
Margaret stared.
“You break into many rooms?”
“Only the ones where my father hides things.”
The lock clicked.
We entered.
My grandmother's desk sat beneath the window.
The chair was still there.
Her glasses rested beside a dried ink bottle.
My throat tightened.
Micah went toward the bookshelf.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“There are books missing.”
I looked closer.
He was right.
Three books had been removed from the shelf.
“Which ones?”
Micah read the titles.
“Business law.”
“Property trusts.”
“Old family records.”
Margaret touched the empty space.
“This isn't random.”
I remembered the video.
The man you think is your husband's financial partner is his partner in the theft.
Victor Dane.
Sienna walked to the desk.
“I know where to look.”
She pulled open the bottom drawer.
Nothing.
Then she knocked twice against the wood.
Hollow.
We looked at each other.
Margaret found a screwdriver.
The false bottom lifted.
Inside was a leather ledger.
Old.
Heavy.
Bound by brass corners.
My grandmother's handwriting covered the first page.
Harvest.
I opened it.
Names.
Dates.
Bank accounts.
Property transfers.
And one column labeled:
Protected.
There were six names.
Five were crossed out.
One remained.
Claire Holloway.
My hands shook.
“What is this?”
Margaret flipped through the pages.
“This predates Holloway House Hospitality.”
“How far?”
“Twenty years.”
Sienna looked at the ledger.
“My father's name is everywhere.”
So was Brett's.
But not as partners.
As beneficiaries.
My grandmother had been tracking them.
Then Micah found something.
A photograph tucked into the back.
It showed my grandmother standing outside our first restaurant.
Brett stood beside her.
I stood on the other side.
But there was another person in the picture.
A younger Victor Dane.
I stared.
“When was this taken?”
Margaret read the date.
“April seventeenth, 2009.”
The same date as the key.
Micah turned the photograph over.
Something had been written on the back.
They think the restaurant is the beginning. It isn't.
Beneath the sentence was an address.
My old apartment.
“Why would Grandma have this?”
Sienna went still.
“Because that's where she first met my father.”
“Why?”
“Because my father didn't approach Brett first.”
“What do you mean?”
“He approached your grandmother.”
I stared at her.
“And she refused him.”
Sienna nodded.
“She refused to sell him the property.”
“Which property?”
“The land where your first restaurant was built.”
Silence.
That restaurant had been the foundation of everything.
Brett had always told the story differently.
He had said we found the place by accident.
That he negotiated the lease.
That he brought the opportunity to me.
I had believed him.
My grandmother's ledger suggested something else.
The property had belonged to her.
Not Brett.
Not me.
Her.
And she had transferred it to me privately.
I looked at Margaret.
“Then why is Brett listed?”
Margaret's face hardened.
“Because he may have forged the transfer.”
Before I could answer, we heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
Someone was inside the house.
Sienna grabbed the ledger.
Micah whispered, “There's somebody here.”
Then a man's voice came from the hallway.
“Claire.”
I knew it instantly.
Brett.
“Come out.”
I tightened my grip on the desk lamp.
He continued.
“You've made this much harder than it needed to be.”
Another voice answered from behind him.
Daniel Price.
“We need the ledger.”
My blood turned cold.
Then Brett said something that made my stomach drop.
“Forget the woman.”
May you like
A pause.
“Take the boy.”
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