Chapter 6 - The accountant's name was Daniel Reeves.According to every record we could find, Daniel had died in a boating accident fourteen years ago.
But the photograph was dated twelve years ago.
Two years after his supposed death.
That meant one of two things.
The photograph was fake.
Or Daniel was alive.
We chose the second possibility because everything else about our parents had stopped making sense.
We took the ledger home.
Every page was filled with coded entries.
The first column had names.
The second had amounts.
The third had dates.
The fourth contained initials.
Some entries had a red circle around them.
Others had been crossed out.
Whitney noticed something.
“The initials repeat.”
“How?”
“Look.”
She pointed.
D.R.
M.H.
J.B.
A few others.
We searched the family business records online.
Daniel Reeves.
Marcus Hale.
James Bennett.
One of those names made me stop.
James Bennett.
Dad's full name.
I flipped through the ledger.
Payments made by Dad.
Payments to Dad.
Payments approved by Dad.
Some were enormous.
Hundreds of thousands.
Maybe millions.
“What is he doing?”
Whitney looked sick.
“I don't know.”
We kept reading.
Then we found an entry dated two weeks before Grandpa died.
Transfer 8.7M. Purpose: concealment.
The next line:
Secondary transfer 3.2M. Recipient protected.
And then:
Girls must remain separated.
My stomach twisted.
“Protected from what?”
Whitney shook her head.
The back of the ledger contained a handwritten index.
One section was marked:
FAMILY
Another:
BUSINESS
The final section:
CHILDREN
Under it were only two names.
Clara.
Whitney.
Beside each name was a date.
Not birth dates.
Dates from the future.
I stared.
“These haven't happened yet.”
Whitney checked the calendar.
The first date was next month.
The second was three months later.
“What are they?”
“I don't know.”
We found one final page.
At the top:
CONTINGENCY PLAN
Below:
If either daughter discovers the truth before the transfer, proceed with separation strategy.
Whitney stepped away from the table.
“Separation strategy?”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
The same man as before.
I answered.
“You found the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Burn it.”
“No.”
“You don't understand what you're holding.”
“Then explain.”
Silence.
“Daniel Reeves.”
The line went quiet.
Then the man said:
“Who told you that name?”
“You did.”
“I never gave you my name.”
My skin prickled.
“You're Daniel.”
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
A long pause.
Finally:
“I was Daniel's lawyer.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where is he?”
“He is alive.”
Whitney covered her mouth.
“Where?”
“Somewhere your father can't reach him.”
“Why are you helping us?”
“Because your grandfather asked me to protect you.”
My voice shook.
“How?”
“He gave me instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“To make sure you reached thirty.”
I looked at Whitney.
“We're both thirty.”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven't you contacted us before?”
“Because I was waiting for you to find the evidence yourself.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if I handed it to you, your parents could claim you were manipulated.”
I hated how logical it sounded.
“What happens now?”
“You need to meet me.”
“Where?”
“Tomorrow. Noon.”
He gave us an address.
An abandoned train station thirty miles outside town.
Then he added:
“Come separately.”
“Why?”
“Because your father is watching you.”
The call ended.
Whitney stared at me.
“You think Dad is watching us?”
I looked out the window.
A dark sedan was parked across the street.
It hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
“Whitney.”
“What?”
“Don't move.”
She turned slowly.
The sedan's engine was running.
A man sat behind the wheel.
He looked directly at our window.
Then the car pulled away.
Whitney whispered, “We need to leave.”
I grabbed the ledger.
But before we could move, someone knocked on the front door.
Three times.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Whitney stepped closer to me.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
Another knock.
I looked through the peephole.
No one.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new photograph.
Our apartment door.
Taken from the hallway.
Under it:
YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO RETURN THE LEDGER.
Whitney's face went white.
“It's four in the afternoon.”
I looked at the door.
Then at the ledger.
May you like
Someone had followed us home.
And they knew exactly what we had found.
Related Stories
