Chapter 6
I drove to the ancestral hall the next morning.
Nia came with me.
Grandpa had asked to meet privately.
No elders.
No extended family.
No ceremonies.
Just the three of us.
When we entered, he was sitting beside the fireplace.
His royal-blue robe had been replaced by a simple gray cardigan.
Without the ceremonial clothing, he looked smaller.
Older.
More human.
He smiled sadly.
"Isaiah."
I nodded.
"Grandpa."
Nia hugged him.
He held her hand for a moment.
Then looked at me.
"Thank you for coming."
I sat across from him.
"You said someone else helped Raymond."
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
I waited.
Then he whispered, "Solomon."
My stomach tightened.
Uncle Solomon.
One of the elders who'd restrained Malik during the ceremony.
He'd been my grandfather's closest adviser for decades.
I stared at Arthur.
"Solomon?"
He nodded.
"Your father's cousin."
I felt cold.
"How?"
Grandpa sighed.
"Solomon handled property approvals."
I looked toward Nia.
She seemed shocked too.
Grandpa continued.
"Daniel believed Solomon had approved certain transfers without proper review."
I frowned.
"Did he know the funds were being misused?"
Grandpa shook his head.
"I don't know."
I stared.
"Then why did you say he helped?"
Arthur looked ashamed.
"Because I later found records showing his authorization on several disputed transactions."
I took a slow breath.
"That doesn't necessarily prove he knew."
Grandpa nodded.
"You're right."
I appreciated that.
For weeks, I'd felt surrounded by accusations.
I wanted facts.
Not family rumors.
Grandpa opened a folder.
Inside were old correspondence records.
I examined them carefully.
Several letters showed Solomon approving property transactions requested by Raymond.
Some included warnings from Daniel.
I looked up.
"Dad questioned these approvals?"
Grandpa nodded.
"Yes."
I turned another page.
There was a letter from my father.
"Solomon, I cannot approve these transfers until the missing funds are explained."
My throat tightened.
The next page contained Solomon's reply.
"Daniel, you're creating unnecessary conflict. Raymond has always acted in the family's interest."
I stared at the words.
Again.
The same pattern.
Someone raised concerns.
Someone else dismissed them.
And the family chose silence.
I looked at Grandpa.
"Did Solomon know Dad was meeting Eleanor?"
He hesitated.
"Possibly."
My stomach tightened.
"Did he know about the blue ledger?"
Grandpa shook his head.
"I don't know."
I nodded slowly.
We needed the investigation to answer those questions.
Then I asked the hardest one.
"Grandpa, did you ever suspect Raymond had something to do with Dad's death?"
Arthur's face crumpled.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, "I was afraid to ask."
Tears filled my eyes.
I looked down.
He continued.
"After Daniel died, Raymond told me they'd argued that evening."
I stared at him.
"What about?"
"The accounts."
I swallowed.
Grandpa's voice broke.
"Raymond said Daniel was angry and drove away too fast."
I closed my eyes.
For years, that explanation had become family history.
My father was reckless.
My father was emotional.
My father caused his own death.
I looked at Grandpa.
"Did you believe him?"
He began crying.
"I wanted to."
My chest tightened.
I understood something painful.
Grandpa hadn't necessarily believed Raymond because the story made sense.
He believed him because the alternative was unbearable.
One son was dead.
He couldn't face the possibility that the other had been involved in something terrible.
But avoiding the question didn't protect anyone.
It only delayed the truth.
I stood.
For a moment, I walked toward the window.
Then turned back.
"Grandpa, we're going to have the records reviewed."
He nodded.
"I know."
"And if the evidence supports reopening questions about Dad's death, we'll take it to the authorities."
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
I looked at him.
"Even if Raymond is implicated."
Arthur's voice broke.
"Even then."
For the first time, I believed he understood what was at stake.
The following week, the document examiner completed a preliminary report.
Several later entries in the blue ledger appeared inconsistent with my father's handwriting.
The older entries were preserved.
But the newer additions required further investigation.
Carla Mitchell's employment records were also examined.
She had worked at Eleanor's office during a period when some files were reorganized.
Later, she became associated with Malik's business.
That connection was suspicious.
But it didn't establish that she'd altered anything.
Raymond Price advised us to preserve all evidence and avoid public accusations.
I agreed.
Meanwhile, the forensic accountant identified more questionable payments.
Some were connected to the old family accounts.
Others were linked to the Willow Creek lease.
The combined financial issues were complicated.
Different time periods.
Different legal entities.
Different people with different responsibilities.
But one thing was becoming clear.
The family had spent decades allowing too much power to remain in too few hands.
And that lack of oversight had created opportunities for abuse.
I began working with the trustees to establish stronger protections.
Independent audits.
Clear approval requirements.
Separate accounts for beneficiaries.
And written consent for major transactions.
I didn't know whether I'd accept the ceremonial stewardship role.
But I knew the family needed change.
Then one afternoon, Malik called.
I stared at the screen.
For several seconds, I considered ignoring it.
Then I answered.
"Hello?"
"Isaiah."
His voice sounded exhausted.
"What do you want?"
He hesitated.
"Can we talk?"
I took a breath.
"About what?"
"The lease."
My chest tightened.
"Malik."
He interrupted.
"I know I messed up."
I went quiet.
For years, he'd blamed everyone else.
Now he sounded different.
He continued.
"I didn't think it would go this far."
I looked toward Nia.
She was sitting nearby.
I placed the phone on speaker.
"Then tell me what happened."
Malik took a shaky breath.
He admitted that he'd negotiated the lease without my authorization.
He claimed he believed Grandpa would eventually approve it.
He also acknowledged receiving the advance.
I felt anger rise.
"Did you sign my name?"
There was a long silence.
Then he whispered, "I used a scanned signature."
My blood ran cold.
I closed my eyes.
Malik began crying.
"I was desperate."
I swallowed.
"Desperate for what?"
He hesitated.
"My business was failing."
I stared at the wall.
He continued.
"I owed money. Investors were threatening to pull out."
My voice cracked.
"So you used my mother's land?"
He sobbed.
"I thought I could repay it."
I shook my head.
"You never told me."
"I know."
"You never asked."
"I know."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then Malik whispered, "I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to believe him.
But an apology couldn't undo what he'd done.
I took a slow breath.
"If you want to make things right, tell your attorney everything and cooperate with the investigation."
He nodded through the phone.
"I will."
Then his voice changed.
"Isaiah, there's something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Dad knows you're investigating Uncle Daniel's death."
I froze.
"How?"
Malik whispered, "Solomon told him."
My heart pounded.
Then he added something that made me stand up.
"Raymond is planning to leave the country."
I stared at Nia.
She looked terrified.
May you like
And suddenly, the past wasn't just something we were investigating.
It was something someone might still be trying to escape.
