Chapter 5
Eleanor unlocked the cabinet and removed a thick blue ledger.
It was worn around the edges.
The pages were yellowed.
A small brass clasp held it closed.
She placed it on the desk.
My heart pounded.
"What is this?"
She took a breath.
"Your father's private record of certain family transactions."
I stared at the cover.
Daniel Bennett.
His name was written in gold letters.
Eleanor continued.
"He began keeping independent notes because he didn't trust the accounting reports."
I opened the ledger.
Inside were dates.
Names.
Amounts.
And handwritten explanations.
Some entries were ordinary.
Equipment purchases.
Property taxes.
Employee bonuses.
Others were marked with red ink.
UNVERIFIED.
I felt sick.
Eleanor pointed toward a page.
"Daniel noticed funds moving between related companies without proper documentation."
I nodded.
"Companies controlled by Raymond?"
"Some of them."
I looked down.
Several entries listed R. Bennett Management.
Then another name caught my attention.
MALIK DEVELOPMENT GROUP.
I froze.
"What?"
Eleanor leaned closer.
I pointed.
"Malik was two years old when Dad died."
She nodded.
"That company name may have been reused or registered later. We need to verify the dates."
I turned the page.
The original entry referred to a company called Bennett Development Group.
The word Malik had been added in different ink beside it.
I looked up.
"Someone updated this?"
Eleanor frowned.
"That's possible."
My stomach tightened.
I looked at the ledger more carefully.
The pages near the back appeared newer.
Different paper.
Different handwriting.
I stared at Eleanor.
"Has anyone else had access to this?"
She looked surprised.
"Not to my knowledge."
Then she hesitated.
"My former assistant helped organize the files several years ago."
I frowned.
"Who?"
"Carla Mitchell."
The name meant nothing to me.
But Nia suddenly looked up.
"Wait."
I turned.
"What?"
She frowned.
"Isn't Carla Mitchell the accountant who worked for Malik's development company?"
My stomach dropped.
I stared at her.
"How do you know that?"
Nia took out her phone.
She searched through an old email.
Then showed me.
Three years earlier, when I was investigating a possible engineering contract, Malik had sent me a business proposal.
Carla Mitchell was listed as his financial manager.
I felt cold.
Eleanor stared at the screen.
"That's the same woman."
The room went silent.
I looked at the ledger.
Someone connected to Malik had apparently worked in Eleanor's office.
Someone who may have had access to old records.
And now the ledger contained additions in different handwriting.
I took a slow breath.
"We need to preserve this."
Eleanor nodded.
"I agree."
She contacted Raymond Price, a current attorney recommended by her former firm, to help arrange an independent examination.
I didn't want to make accusations based on handwriting alone.
But I wasn't willing to ignore the possibility that someone had altered evidence.
Over the following days, we assembled a team to review the records.
A forensic accountant named Olivia Harris examined the financial transactions.
An attorney reviewed the trust documents.
And a document examiner assessed the ledger.
I spent hours answering questions.
Sometimes I felt overwhelmed.
But Nia stayed beside me.
When I became exhausted, she reminded me to eat.
When I became angry, she reminded me to breathe.
And when I started blaming myself for not discovering the truth sooner, she reminded me I had been five years old when my father died.
One evening, I sat at our kitchen table surrounded by papers.
Nia brought me tea.
"Isaiah."
I looked up.
"Yeah?"
"You need sleep."
I rubbed my face.
"I'm close."
She smiled sadly.
"You said that yesterday."
I looked down.
Then whispered, "I feel like Dad is waiting for me to finish what he started."
Nia sat beside me.
Her expression softened.
"Maybe."
I looked at her.
"But I don't think he'd want you destroying yourself to do it."
My eyes filled.
She touched the letter from my father.
"He told you to protect your peace."
I nodded.
"Yes."
She smiled gently.
"Then honor that too."
I closed the folder.
For the first time in days, I went to bed before midnight.
The next morning, Olivia called.
She had identified additional transfers connected to the Willow Creek lease.
Some money had been used for legitimate development expenses.
But a substantial portion had moved into accounts associated with Malik's hospitality venture.
I felt sick.
"How much?"
Olivia hesitated.
"More than eighty thousand dollars appears to require further explanation."
I closed my eyes.
My mother's land.
Her gift to me.
Used to support Malik's business.
I looked toward Nia.
She squeezed my hand.
Olivia continued.
"There's another issue."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"The lease document appears to contain a signature purporting to be yours."
I stared at the phone.
"What?"
She repeated the information.
I sat down slowly.
"I never signed a lease."
Olivia nodded.
"Then we'll document that and have the signature examined."
I felt anger rising.
Malik hadn't simply made a bad investment.
Someone had apparently used my name.
Without permission.
Without asking.
Without telling me.
I remembered our confrontation in the ancestral hall.
The way he'd jabbed his finger against my chest.
The way he'd insisted everything should belong to him.
Now I wondered how long he'd been treating my future as something he could take.
That afternoon, Grandpa called.
His voice sounded weak.
"Isaiah."
I closed my eyes.
"Grandpa."
He took a shaky breath.
"I heard about the lease."
I stared at the wall.
"You knew three years ago."
He went quiet.
I continued.
"You could've told me."
"I know."
My voice cracked.
"Why didn't you?"
He began crying.
"I thought I could make Malik repay the money quietly."
I shook my head.
"And did he?"
"No."
I closed my eyes.
Grandpa whispered, "I failed you."
For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything was okay.
That he hadn't meant to hurt me.
That I understood.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
I took a slow breath.
"Grandpa, I love you."
His voice broke.
"I love you too."
"But love doesn't make what happened acceptable."
He began sobbing.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"I need you to stop protecting people from the consequences of their choices."
He was silent.
Then whispered, "You're right."
For the first time, my grandfather wasn't arguing.
He was listening.
I looked toward my father's journal.
Then said quietly, "If we're going to rebuild this family, it has to start with the truth."
Grandpa nodded.
"Then I'll tell you everything I know."
My heart pounded.
There was a long silence.
Then he whispered something I hadn't expected.
"Isaiah, Raymond wasn't the only person your father was afraid of."
I froze.
"What?"
Grandpa's voice shook.
"Daniel discovered that someone else had been helping move the money."
I stared at the wall.
"Who?"
He hesitated.
Then whispered, "Someone who still attends every family ceremony."
May you like
My stomach dropped.
And suddenly, I realized the person who'd helped destroy my father's peace might have been standing in the ancestral hall beside us all along.
