Chapter 7
I stared at my phone long after Howard disconnected.
My father's name echoed in my head.
Walter made the same mistake.
I felt anger surge through me.
For a moment, I wanted to drive straight to Howard's office.
I wanted to confront him.
Demand answers.
Make him look me in the eye and explain what he'd done.
But then I remembered Caleb.
Nia.
Lena.
My father had spent his final days trying to protect us.
I wasn't going to let anger destroy the chance to finish what he'd started.
I went back into Camille's office.
She looked up.
“Marcus?”
I showed her the call record.
Then repeated Howard's words.
Her expression changed.
“Did you record the conversation?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Don't contact him again. Preserve the call details and tell Detective Brooks exactly what happened.”
I did.
The detective listened carefully.
Then warned me not to confront Howard.
“We're investigating him,” he said.
“I know.”
“Mr. Carter, I understand how personal this is.”
I closed my eyes.
“Do you?”
He paused.
Then answered quietly.
“I understand that you want justice for your family.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then let us build the strongest case we can.”
I took a breath.
He was right.
Again.
Justice wasn't going to come from shouting at Howard.
It would come from evidence.
Documents.
Witnesses.
The truth.
That afternoon, Camille showed me the preliminary financial analysis.
The numbers were staggering.
Properties had been sold through questionable transactions.
Trust accounts had been drained.
Investments had been transferred into companies connected to Howard.
Some money had moved through businesses associated with Evelyn.
I stared at the report.
“How much?”
Camille looked serious.
“The potential losses exceed four million dollars.”
My chest tightened.
Four million.
Money my father had worked decades to earn.
Money he'd intended for his children.
Money that could have helped Lena rebuild her life.
Money that could have supported Caleb's future.
Instead, it had apparently funded someone else's lifestyle.
I looked at Camille.
“Can we recover it?”
“Some assets may still be traceable. But recovery will depend on the legal process and what's available.”
I nodded.
Then I asked the question that frightened me most.
“What about Dad?”
Camille's expression softened.
“The medical investigation is continuing.”
I looked down.
“I need to know what happened.”
“I understand.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Camille slid another document across the table.
“There's one thing you should see.”
It was a property record.
Our house.
The same house where Caleb had found Lena.
The document showed that the property had once been owned by Carter Development Holdings.
Then it was transferred into another company.
Several years later, Nia and I purchased it.
I frowned.
“Why would Evelyn recommend this house?”
Camille studied the records.
“That's one of the questions investigators are examining.”
I looked at the address.
Then remembered Evelyn's warnings about the cellar.
The locked door.
The photographs in her suitcase.
Suddenly, I realized something.
“What if she wanted us living there?”
Camille looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“What if she encouraged the purchase because she needed access to the property?”
She paused.
“It's possible. But we need evidence.”
I nodded.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling.
Our home hadn't been chosen by accident.
Evelyn had insisted it was perfect.
She'd helped with the paperwork.
She'd visited constantly.
And she'd fought every suggestion that we renovate the cellar.
Something about that place mattered to her.
Something more than an old storage room.
That evening, I visited Lena.
She was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Hey, little brother.”
I sat beside her.
“Hey.”
She studied my face.
“What's wrong?”
I hesitated.
Then told her about Howard's call.
Her expression changed immediately.
“He contacted you?”
I nodded.
She gripped the blanket.
“Marcus, be careful.”
“I am.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand him.”
I leaned closer.
“Then help me understand.”
Lena looked toward the door.
“He doesn't threaten people unless he believes he's losing control.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he's scared.”
I stared at her.
“Of us?”
“Of what we might find.”
I took a breath.
“Lena, do you remember anything else about the cellar?”
She frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Did Evelyn say why the documents were hidden there?”
Lena looked thoughtful.
“She mentioned an old storage compartment.”
My heart raced.
“Where?”
“Under the stairs.”
I leaned closer.
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“It was dark. And I was frightened.”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“Evelyn kept saying Howard couldn't find the ledger.”
I froze.
“What ledger?”
Lena looked at me.
“She said your father had kept records of every property transaction.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“She claimed it was hidden in the cellar.”
I sat back.
A ledger.
My father had always kept handwritten records.
Even after his business grew, he preferred notebooks.
He trusted paper more than computers.
I remembered him sitting at the kitchen table, writing down expenses.
Every receipt.
Every payment.
Every contract.
If he'd discovered suspicious transfers, he might have recorded them.
And if that ledger still existed, it could help explain what happened.
I called Detective Brooks.
He said investigators would inspect the cellar carefully.
The next morning, they did.
I wasn't allowed inside.
But I stood behind the police tape while technicians examined the old structure.
They photographed the walls.
Checked the damaged stairs.
And searched the storage compartments.
After nearly two hours, Detective Brooks approached me.
“Marcus.”
My heart raced.
“Did you find it?”
He nodded.
“We found a concealed compartment beneath the staircase.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“Inside was a metal box.”
My hands began shaking.
“What was in it?”
“Documents. Notebooks. And a small digital storage device.”
I covered my mouth.
My father.
He'd hidden evidence in the very place Evelyn had tried to keep us from opening.
The detective continued.
“We need to authenticate everything.”
I nodded.
“But the records appear relevant to the estate investigation.”
For the first time, I felt hope.
Real hope.
Not just suspicion.
Evidence.
Something my father had left behind.
Something that might finally expose the truth.
That evening, Nia and I sat together on the sofa.
Caleb was asleep upstairs.
She rested her head against my shoulder.
“Do you think we're getting close?”
I looked at her.
“I hope so.”
She took my hand.
“I spoke with Mom's attorney.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“Mom wants to talk to me.”
I stared at her.
“Do you want to?”
Nia looked down.
“I don't know.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
She began crying.
“I love her, Marcus.”
“I know.”
“But I can't understand how she could do this.”
I held her.
“Neither can I.”
Then Nia whispered something that broke my heart.
“I keep thinking about Caleb.”
I looked at her.
“What about him?”
“He heard someone asking for help.”
Her voice shook.
“And he tried to help.”
I nodded.
“Our little boy did what the adults wouldn't.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I kissed her forehead.
“He's a good kid.”
“He is.”
We sat quietly.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Brooks.
I answered immediately.
His voice was serious.
“Marcus, we completed an initial examination of the ledger.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you find?”
“There are handwritten entries documenting payments involving Howard Grant.”
I swallowed.
“And Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
The detective paused.
“There's also a note your father wrote shortly before his death.”
I gripped the phone.
“What does it say?”
He hesitated.
Then spoke carefully.
“Your father wrote that he feared someone was interfering with his medical care.”
I stopped breathing.
“And he identified a person he believed was involved.”
My voice barely worked.
“Who?”
May you like
The detective answered.
“Evelyn.”
