Chapter 4
The Man I Called Uncle
I had never been afraid to enter my grandmother's house.
Until that night.
The porch light glowed above the front door.
The garden looked peaceful.
The old rocking chair sat beside the window.
Everything was exactly as it had been since childhood.
But I knew something terrible was waiting inside.
Arthur stood beside me.
Two police officers had accompanied us with Grandma's permission.
She was being evaluated at the hospital.
Thankfully, doctors had found no major injuries.
But they wanted to monitor her overnight.
I had promised to bring her the blue folder.
And I intended to keep that promise.
Arthur unlocked the door using Grandma's spare key.
We stepped inside.
The house smelled faintly of lavender.
Grandma always kept dried flowers near the staircase.
For a moment, I remembered being twelve years old.
My parents had just died.
I'd spent my first night in this house crying under the blankets.
Grandma had sat beside me until sunrise.
She'd held my hand.
And promised I would never face the world alone.
Now someone had tried to kill her.
And the person she suspected was family.
I swallowed.
"Upstairs."
Arthur nodded.
We entered Grandma's bedroom.
Everything was neat.
Her slippers sat beside the bed.
A Bible rested on the nightstand.
A framed photograph of Grandpa leaned against the closet wall.
I lifted it carefully.
Behind it was a small locked cabinet.
Arthur looked at me.
"Do you have the key?"
I shook my head.
Then I remembered.
Grandma always wore a silver locket.
She'd given it to me at the hospital.
I pulled it from my pocket.
Inside was a tiny key.
My hands trembled.
I inserted it into the lock.
The cabinet opened.
Inside was a thick blue folder.
I stared at it.
My name was written across the front.
MARCUS — IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME.
My chest tightened.
I carried it to the bed.
Then opened it.
The first page contained bank statements.
The second held copies of trust documents.
Then photographs.
Emails.
Handwritten notes.
And a signed statement from Grandma.
I began reading.
Three months earlier, Uncle Raymond had approached her about restructuring the family trust.
He claimed the changes would protect our assets.
Grandma had refused.
She didn't trust the proposal.
Then Nia became involved.
I felt sick.
According to Grandma's notes, Nia had repeatedly visited her without telling me.
She asked questions about property ownership.
Account access.
Trustees.
And inheritance.
I remembered those conversations.
Nia had often told me Grandma was becoming forgetful.
She suggested we should take over her finances.
At the time, I thought she was worried about Grandma's health.
Now I understood.
They were laying groundwork to remove her authority.
Arthur leaned over my shoulder.
"Marcus, look at this."
He pointed toward a document.
A proposed trust amendment.
Grandma's signature appeared at the bottom.
But something was wrong.
The handwriting looked uneven.
I recognized it immediately.
"That's not her signature."
Arthur frowned.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
I had seen Grandma sign thousands of documents.
She always made the final letter of her surname curl upward.
This signature ended abruptly.
I turned the page.
Another forged signature.
Then another.
My stomach twisted.
"They've been preparing this for months."
Arthur nodded.
"We need to give these to investigators."
I kept reading.
Then I found an email exchange.
FROM: RAYMOND WILLIAMS
TO: NIA CARTER
SUBJECT: FINAL ARRANGEMENTS.
My heart pounded.
I opened it.
Raymond wrote that Grandma was becoming a problem.
Nia replied that she would handle her.
I stared at the words.
Then I reached the final message.
It was dated four days before the wedding.
Raymond had written:
Once Evelyn is out of the way, Marcus will be too emotional to question the documents. Make sure the paperwork is ready.
I felt physically sick.
Arthur placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Marcus."
I shook my head.
"No."
My voice broke.
"No, he wouldn't."
Arthur said nothing.
I stared at the email again.
Uncle Raymond.
The man who'd taught me to drive.
The man who'd attended every graduation.
The man who'd stood beside me at my parents' funeral.
He had planned to use my grandmother's death to steal our family trust.
Tears blurred my vision.
I lowered myself onto the bed.
"Why?"
Arthur sat beside me.
"We'll find out."
I shook my head.
"He doesn't need money."
Raymond owned several businesses.
He drove expensive cars.
He lived in a beautiful house.
But Arthur looked toward the financial statements.
"Maybe he needs more than you think."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Arthur pointed toward several transfers.
Large withdrawals.
Loans.
Payments to unfamiliar companies.
I studied the figures.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Then millions.
All connected to Raymond's business accounts.
My stomach tightened.
"He's losing money."
Arthur nodded.
"Or hiding losses."
I looked at the documents again.
Grandma had discovered something.
Something Raymond couldn't allow me to learn.
I stood.
"We need to take this to Detective Grant."
Arthur nodded.
"We will."
Then a floorboard creaked behind us.
I turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing an expensive gray suit.
Uncle Raymond.
My blood turned cold.
He looked at the folder in my hands.
Then smiled.
"Marcus."
I stepped backward.
"Uncle Ray?"
He glanced at Arthur.
Then the officers.
His smile faltered.
"I heard about the accident."
I stared at him.
"Accident?"
He nodded.
"Your grandmother's fall."
I felt anger rising.
"She didn't fall."
Raymond's expression changed.
"What?"
"Nia pushed her."
He stared at me.
Then shook his head.
"That can't be right."
I held up the folder.
"Neither can this."
His eyes dropped to the documents.
For the first time, I saw real fear.
"Where did you get that?"
I stepped closer.
"Grandma kept it."
He swallowed.
"Marcus, listen—"
I held up the email.
"Did you write this?"
His face went pale.
I read the words aloud.
"Once Evelyn is out of the way..."
My voice broke.
I looked at him.
"How could you?"
Raymond stared at the floor.
Then whispered, "You don't understand."
I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Then explain."
He looked toward Arthur.
Then back at me.
His voice dropped.
"I never told Nia to kill her."
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
He had just admitted something.
Something far worse than I expected.
May you like
And before anyone could speak, Raymond added five words that made my stomach turn.
"Your father started this mess."
