PART 7
Then Harold cleared his throat.
“There’s one more thing.”
He opened the black folder.
Inside were bank records.
Transfer records.
Emails.
Property inquiries.
And one document dated six weeks earlier.
I read the amount.
My breath caught.
“What’s this?”
Dad didn’t answer.
Harold did.
“Your sister has been taking money from your father’s account.”
I stared at the page.
“How much?”
Harold gave me a grim look.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars.”
I looked at Dad.
His eyes were closed.
For the first time that morning, he looked old.
Not seventy-four.
Older.
Tired.
Heartbroken.
“Did you know?” I whispered.
“Not all of it.”
He opened his eyes.
“I knew some money was missing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted to believe there was an explanation.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I wanted to believe my daughter hadn’t stolen from me.”
The room went silent.
Then Harold’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Who is it?”
Dad asked.
Harold didn’t answer immediately.
Then he put the call on speaker.
It was the sheriff.
He had been called to my father’s house.
Apparently Vanessa and Grant were demanding proof that Dad was alive.
Dad laughed softly.
“Well.”
He looked at me.
“I suppose the funeral is canceled.”
But the sheriff’s next words wiped the humor from his face.
“Harold, you need to get here.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve found something in the garage.”
Dad stood.
“What?”
The sheriff hesitated.
“A second set of property documents.”
Harold frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It gets worse.”
“What do you mean?”
The sheriff’s voice became quieter.
“The documents appear to contain your father’s signature.”
Dad looked at me.
“But I didn’t sign them.”
Nobody moved.
The sheriff continued.
“And according to the date on the papers…”
He paused. “They were signed three weeks ago.”
Dad’s face went pale.
Three weeks ago.
That was long before yesterday.
Long before Dad changed his will.
Long before Vanessa called me that morning.
Someone had been preparing to take control of my father’s life long before we knew anything was wrong.
Dad reached for the back of the chair.
For the first time since I’d known him, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
“Harold,” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Call the bank.”
Harold reached for his phone.
Dad looked at me.
“And Natalie?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens next…”
He swallowed.
“Don’t trust anyone who says they were trying to help me.”
Before I could answer, Harold’s phone rang again.
This time, the caller ID showed a number none of us recognized.
Harold answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice came through the speaker.
Calm.
Cold.
And completely unfamiliar.
“Mr. Pike?”
“Yes.”
“I believe you have documents that belong to my client.”
Harold frowned.
“Who is your client?”
The man paused.
Then he said a name that made Dad’s entire body stiffen.
“Vanessa Cole.”
Dad looked at me.
And I knew immediately that the story was nowhere near over.
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