Chapter 10 - The Night Someone Entered Grandpa's StudyThat night, I locked the doors.
I checked the windows twice and put the cabinet key around my neck.
The house had always felt safe to me.
It was where Grandpa taught me to ride a bicycle, where he held my hand during thunderstorms, and where he waited on the porch whenever I came home late from a school event.
Now every creak seemed suspicious.
I barely slept.
At 2:13 a.m., I heard a soft click from downstairs.
I sat up.
Then came the sound of a drawer sliding open.
Someone was in Grandpa's study.
I picked up my phone and called the deputy whose number Rebecca had given me. While the phone rang, I stepped into the hallway and looked down the staircase.
A narrow beam of light moved across the study door.
Then I saw a shadow.
Someone was searching the desk.
I retreated into my room and closed the door quietly.
The deputy answered.
I whispered my address and explained what I had heard.
He told me to stay where I was.
I listened to footsteps crossing the hall.
A moment later, my bedroom door handle turned.
I held my breath.
The handle stopped.
Then a voice whispered through the wood.
“Clara?”
It was Chloe.
I opened the door.
She stood in the darkness wearing a sweatshirt and carrying a flashlight.
“What are you doing?”
“I heard someone downstairs.”
“Then why were you trying to open my door?”
“Because I thought it was you.”
I stared at her.
“Were you downstairs?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I reached for my phone.
“Clara, wait.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Let go.”
She did.
Then she began speaking so quickly that I struggled to follow.
“Dad has been calling Victor all night. They think Grandpa hid the original authorization somewhere in the house. Victor told Dad he has until tomorrow evening to produce it.”
“And you came looking for it?”
“No!”
“Then why are you here?”
She looked toward the stairs.
“Because I heard Dad say that if he couldn't find it, he'd make you sign another document.”
My stomach tightened.
“Another forged document?”
“I don't know.”
“Chloe.”
She covered her face.
“He said you'd have no choice once Victor explained what would happen to our family.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Our family?”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
She began to cry.
I didn't have time to comfort her.
A door slammed downstairs.
We both turned.
The flashlight beam swung toward the study.
Then a man's voice shouted, “Who's there?”
A heavy thud followed.
I ran to the staircase.
A figure in dark clothing was rushing toward the rear entrance.
The deputy's siren sounded outside.
“Stop!” someone yelled.
The figure shoved through the back door and disappeared into the garden.
The deputy raced past us.
“Stay inside!”
Chloe clutched my arm.
For several minutes, the house filled with noise: radio chatter, heavy footsteps, doors opening and closing.
Then the deputy returned.
“We've secured the perimeter,” he said. “Whoever entered the study is gone.”
I hurried into the room.
Drawers had been pulled out. Papers covered the floor. The locked desk compartment stood open.
The brass keyhole was damaged.
Someone had broken into the desk, not the basement cabinet.
I checked the folders.
The forged contract was still there.
The financial records were still there.
The recorder was gone.
I turned toward Chloe.
Her face crumpled.
“I'm sorry.”
“You took it?”
“No!”
“Then who did?”
She shook her head.
I wanted to believe her.
But I had learned that morning how little a person could know about someone who shared her blood.
Rebecca arrived shortly afterward. She examined the desk, then called the deputy aside.
When she returned, she held a tiny piece of plastic between her fingers.
It was part of a keycard.
“Someone used an electronic bypass to access the study's alarm system,” she explained. “The security company will review the logs.”
I looked at the broken drawer.
“Can they identify who entered?”
“Possibly.”
She studied my face.
“Clara, is the original authorization in this house?”
“I don't know what it looks like.”
“Neither do we. But your grandfather believed it was the one document your father needed.”
I told her about the email.
Her expression darkened.
“Then we need to find it before they do.”
Chloe looked toward the stairs.
“There's something else,” she whispered.
We turned to her.
“Yesterday, when Mom gave Clara the garbage bags, Dad told me to check the study after everyone left. He said Grandpa always hid important things in obvious places because he thought nobody would dare look.”
My stomach tightened.
“What obvious places?”
Chloe swallowed.
“The old family portrait. The one above the fireplace.”
We rushed back into the study.
The portrait hung exactly where it had hung for twenty years.
Grandpa stood in the center, one arm resting on my five-year-old shoulder.
Dad and Mom stood on his right.
Chloe stood on his left.
Behind the frame, the plaster looked freshly scratched.
Rebecca carefully lifted the painting from its hooks.
A small envelope had been taped to the back.
My name was written across it.
But before I could reach for it, Dad appeared in the doorway.
His expression was terrifyingly calm.
“Don't open that,” he said.
May you like
Then he looked at Rebecca.
“Because whatever is inside will destroy more than me.”
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