Chapter 2
My father pressed play.
I heard my mother's voice again.
"Maya will take the blame. She's been arguing with me all week."
My stomach dropped.
Then another voice answered.
A man.
"Are you sure Marcus won't notice?"
Dad's face changed.
The recording continued.
"Marcus always believes his little girl," Mom said. "That's why we need him angry enough to stop asking questions."
I stared at her.
My own mother had planned to make my father distrust me.
But why?
The man's voice returned.
"And the journal?"
"Ruined. Just like we discussed."
Grandma gasped.
Dad stopped the recording.
"Claire."
His voice was barely audible.
"Who is that man?"
Mom pressed her lips together.
"Marcus, please."
"Who?"
"I can explain."
"Then explain."
She looked at me.
Not with love.
Not with regret.
With resentment.
"This wouldn't have happened if Maya had stayed out of grown folks' business."
I felt as though she'd slapped me.
"What business?"
Mom turned away.
Dad stepped closer.
"Claire, answer our daughter."
She shook her head.
"You don't understand."
Grandma suddenly spoke.
"Is that Daniel?"
My mother went completely still.
Dad looked toward Grandma.
"Who is Daniel?"
Grandma didn't answer immediately.
She was staring at Mom.
"Claire, tell me you haven't brought Daniel back into this family."
I looked between them.
"Who is Daniel?"
My mother whispered, "Evelyn, stop."
Grandma ignored her.
"Daniel Price."
Dad frowned.
"The estate attorney?"
I remembered that name.
Daniel had visited our house several times after Grandpa died.
He was a handsome man in his early forties with expensive suits and a smile that always made me uncomfortable.
He'd handled some of Grandma's legal papers.
Mom had said he was a family friend.
Dad stared at her.
"Why was Daniel here?"
Mom crossed her arms.
"He was helping me."
"Helping you destroy my mother's journal?"
"That's not what happened."
I looked at the stained pages.
"Then what happened?"
My voice cracked.
"Why did you say I'd take the blame?"
Mom stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might finally apologize.
Instead, she said, "Because you should've minded your own business."
Grandma slammed her cane against the floor.
"Enough!"
We all turned.
I had never heard Grandma shout like that.
She pointed toward Mom.
"That journal belonged to my husband. You had no right!"
Mom's face reddened.
"You always treated that book like it was more important than the people living in this house!"
Grandma shook her head.
"No, Claire. I treated it like the last piece of my marriage I could still hold."
My heart broke.
Grandpa had died four years earlier.
Grandma still kept his favorite chair beside the living room window.
Sometimes she talked to it when she thought nobody was listening.
Mom knew how much that journal meant.
She knew.
And she'd destroyed it anyway.
Dad placed the phone on the counter.
"Nobody is leaving this kitchen until I understand what happened."
Mom laughed bitterly.
"You can't keep me here."
"Then you can leave. But don't expect me to pretend this is normal."
She grabbed her purse.
Grandma spoke quietly.
"If you walk out now, Claire, I'll tell Marcus everything."
Mom stopped.
Her hand remained on the purse strap.
Dad looked toward Grandma.
"Tell me what?"
Grandma lowered herself into a chair.
I hurried to help her.
She touched my hand.
"Thank you, baby."
Then she looked at Dad.
"Your father left more than memories in that journal."
Dad frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Grandma opened the damaged book.
She carefully separated two wet pages.
Most of the ink had blurred.
But beneath the back cover was a small leather pocket.
Grandma reached inside.
It was empty.
Her expression hardened.
"Just as I thought."
Dad leaned forward.
"What's missing?"
Grandma looked at Mom.
"The letter."
My mother closed her eyes.
Dad stared at them.
"What letter?"
Grandma's voice trembled.
"The last letter your father wrote before he died."
I felt a chill.
Grandpa had passed away suddenly from a heart attack.
I'd been fifteen.
I remembered sitting beside his hospital bed, listening to machines beep while he squeezed my hand.
He'd told me to keep drawing.
To keep asking questions.
To never let anyone make me feel small.
I still had the last birthday card he'd given me.
Grandma continued.
"Your father wrote that letter because he discovered something troubling about the family trust."
Dad looked confused.
"What trust?"
"The trust he created for Maya."
My heart skipped.
"For me?"
Grandma nodded.
"He wanted to help pay for your education and give you a secure start in life."
I stared at her.
Nobody had ever mentioned a trust.
Dad looked equally shocked.
"Mom, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your father wanted the money protected until Maya turned twenty-one."
I was nineteen.
Two more years.
Grandma looked at Mom.
"And because we were afraid someone might try to take it."
Mom's face drained of color.
Dad noticed.
"Claire?"
She shook her head.
"This is insane."
Grandma continued.
"Daniel Price helped prepare some of the paperwork. But your father eventually discovered changes he hadn't authorized."
Dad stood straighter.
"What changes?"
"Beneficiary information. Distribution instructions. Documents that didn't match the originals."
I stared at Mom.
She was gripping the edge of the island.
Grandma looked down at the empty pocket.
"Your father wrote down what he found. He wanted to confront Daniel after recovering from his illness."
"But he never got the chance," Dad whispered.
Grandma nodded.
"He died three days later."
Silence filled the kitchen.
I felt sick.
Not because I believed Grandpa had been murdered.
There was no reason to think that.
But because someone might have used his death to steal from the people he loved.
Dad turned toward Mom.
"Did you know about this?"
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
"Claire."
She finally whispered, "I knew there was money."
Dad stared at her.
"How much?"
Mom swallowed.
"Two million dollars."
I nearly fell backward.
Two million.
I couldn't even imagine that amount.
Dad gripped the counter.
"And Daniel?"
Mom began crying.
"He said we could access some of it early."
Grandma closed her eyes.
"Oh, Claire."
My mother shook her head desperately.
"He told me it was legal!"
Dad looked devastated.
"How much did you take?"
Mom didn't answer.
"Claire!"
"Eight hundred thousand."
I covered my mouth.
Dad stepped backward.
Grandma whispered, "Lord, have mercy."
Mom began sobbing.
"I was going to put it back!"
Dad stared at her.
"How?"
She couldn't answer.
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, I'd heard Mom arguing on the phone.
She'd said, "The girl is getting too curious."
At the time, I'd assumed she meant me asking about college costs.
Now I understood.
They were afraid I'd discover the trust.
And the ruined journal wasn't an accident.
It was an attempt to destroy evidence.
Dad looked toward Grandma.
"Do you have copies of the original documents?"
She nodded.
"Your father made arrangements."
Mom's head snapped up.
"What arrangements?"
Grandma looked directly at her.
"The kind that make sure thieves don't get away with stealing from children."
Dad's phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
He opened it.
His expression changed.
I stepped closer.
The message contained a photograph.
It showed me walking across my college campus earlier that morning.
Beneath it were five words.
STOP DIGGING OR SHE PAYS.
Dad immediately turned the screen away.
But I'd already seen it.
May you like
Someone had been following me.
And I knew the nightmare was far from over.
