Chapter 6 - The BasementWe reached Hocking Hills Monday morning.
The lodge stood among dark trees coated with frost.
Beautiful.
Expensive.
Silent.
No family cars.
No laughing relatives.
No Thanksgiving decorations.
Just an empty driveway and a locked door.
Daniel met me outside.
He looked older than he had in the photograph.
"Your father trusted very few people."
"Did he trust you?"
"Enough."
Noah held Lily's hand.
Daniel crouched.
"Your dad used to say you two had his eyes."
I frowned.
"You knew us?"
"I met you once."
"I was twelve."
He smiled sadly.
"I remember."
I didn't.
We entered through the side door.
The lodge smelled like cedar and old smoke.
Daniel led us downstairs.
At the bottom was the basement door.
The broken lock hung from the frame.
"Someone was here recently."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Mom?"
"She came two days ago."
My jaw tightened.
"Did she take anything?"
"I couldn't tell."
He opened the door.
Inside were old shelves.
Furniture.
Boxes.
A metal cabinet.
And a workbench covered in dust.
Noah moved toward it.
"Mom."
I turned.
He pointed beneath the bench.
Something was scratched into the floor.
Three lines inside a circle.
My father's symbol.
I crouched.
"Move the bench."
Daniel helped.
Underneath was a trapdoor.
The hinges had been recently disturbed.
Daniel lifted it.
A narrow stairway descended.
Lily whispered, "Is that safe?"
I took her hand.
"Stay beside me."
At the bottom was another room.
And inside it sat a metal safe.
My father's initials were engraved on the front.
D.C.
My heart pounded.
Daniel handed me a key.
"I found this years ago."
"Why didn't you open it?"
"Your father told me not to."
"Did he tell you why?"
"He said only you should open it."
The key turned.
Inside were boxes.
Photographs.
Bank ledgers.
A tape recorder.
And a thick folder labeled:
PROJECT HARBOR.
I had never heard those words.
Noah picked up the tape recorder.
"What's this?"
Before I could stop him, he pressed play.
Static.
Then my father's voice.
My knees nearly gave out.
"Claire, if you are hearing this, I failed to keep you outside of this."
I couldn't breathe.
The recording continued.
"Your mother will tell you I was paranoid."
Static.
"She will tell you Amanda made mistakes."
More static.
"But the person you need to fear is neither of them."
Daniel looked at me.
The tape crackled.
My father's voice became clearer.
"Someone inside our family has been selling information."
The recording stopped.
I hit play again.
Nothing.
The tape had ended.
"That's it?"
Daniel shook his head.
"No."
"What?"
"That's the introduction."
He pointed at the folder.
I opened it.
Inside was a list of names.
Every relative coming to Thanksgiving.
All twenty-three.
Beside each name were dollar amounts.
Transfers.
Loans.
Payments.
And beside several names was a single word.
PAID.
I turned the page.
Then froze.
My own name was there.
But next to mine were three words.
NOT YET TOLD.
Underneath was a date.
Thanksgiving.
I looked at Daniel.
"What was supposed to happen Thanksgiving?"
He didn't answer.
Then the sound of a car engine echoed from upstairs.
Someone had arrived.
Daniel's face changed.
"Lock the door."
"Who is it?"
He whispered:
"Your mother."
A second engine followed.
Then a third.
Amanda wasn't alone.
The family was coming.
And I finally understood why.
May you like
They weren't coming for Thanksgiving.
They were coming for whatever was inside that safe.
