Chapter 4
We drove to Savannah the next morning.
I wore jeans, a cream sweater, and flat shoes.
My wedding dress hung untouched in its garment bag.
My engagement ring remained on my finger.
But I no longer knew what that ring meant.
Marcus sat behind the wheel.
Arthur occupied the passenger seat.
I sat in the back, holding my mother's letter.
For three hours, nobody spoke much.
I watched the highway stretch ahead of us.
Then I finally asked Arthur a question.
"How did Mom die?"
He turned slightly.
"Her heart stopped after a severe infection."
I nodded.
That was what Vivian had always told me.
But I needed to hear it from him.
"Was anyone responsible?"
Arthur's expression softened.
"Nia, your mother was very sick."
I looked down.
"She was trying to uncover the financial fraud when her condition worsened."
My stomach tightened.
"So she knew?"
He nodded.
"She knew money was disappearing."
"From her company?"
"From the business and a trust established by her parents."
I stared at him.
"Why didn't she go to the police?"
"She tried."
Arthur looked toward Marcus.
"Conrad and Bernard convinced her they could investigate internally."
Marcus gripped the steering wheel.
"My father?"
Arthur nodded.
"Bernard told us he had found irregularities. He promised to help."
I looked at Marcus.
He looked devastated.
Arthur continued.
"Then the records vanished. And I was accused of authorizing the transfers."
I felt sick.
"Who testified against you?"
"Conrad."
"And Bernard?"
Arthur hesitated.
"He provided documents supporting the prosecution's timeline."
Marcus looked as though he might be ill.
For years, he'd told me stories about his father.
A respected lawyer.
A generous mentor.
A man who helped struggling families.
Now we were discovering that his name appeared on documents used to convict an innocent man.
But I didn't want to assume Bernard had known everything.
Not yet.
I had already lost fifteen years because people accepted stories without asking questions.
I wouldn't repeat that mistake.
We reached Savannah shortly after noon.
The address in my mother's letter led us to a narrow street lined with old oak trees.
At the end stood a two-story house with pale-blue shutters.
I recognized it immediately.
I had been there as a child.
My grandmother used to make lemonade on the porch.
My mother taught me to bake biscuits in the kitchen.
And somewhere upstairs was a room painted blue.
I stepped out of the car.
My chest tightened.
The house looked neglected.
The garden was overgrown.
Several windows were covered.
A faded sign warned against unauthorized entry.
Marcus approached.
"Nia, are you okay?"
I nodded.
But my hands were trembling.
Arthur stood beside me.
"Your mother loved this place."
I looked at him.
"Why wasn't it sold?"
"Your grandmother left it to your mother. After Elise died, it became part of the disputed estate."
I stared at the house.
"And Vivian controlled it?"
Arthur nodded.
"Until the trust review."
Marcus checked the property information he'd obtained through a legitimate public-record search.
Then he looked at me.
"The house is still registered to the trust."
I took a breath.
"Then let's find someone authorized to let us in."
We contacted the local property manager listed in the trust correspondence.
Her name was Grace Holloway.
She arrived forty minutes later carrying a folder of old keys.
She was in her sixties, with warm eyes and silver braids.
The moment she saw me, she stopped.
"Elise?"
My throat tightened.
"No. I'm Nia."
Grace covered her mouth.
"Oh, my goodness."
She stepped closer.
"You look exactly like your mother."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Did you know her?"
Grace nodded.
"Since we were girls."
I swallowed.
"She left me a letter about the blue room."
Grace's expression changed.
Then she looked at Arthur.
"You're finally here."
He nodded.
"I am."
Grace opened the front door.
Inside, the house smelled of old wood and dust.
Furniture stood beneath white sheets.
A grandfather clock rested silently beside the staircase.
And on the wall hung a photograph of my mother at twenty-five.
I stopped.
She was smiling.
Beautiful.
Alive.
I touched the frame.
"Hi, Mom."
My voice broke.
Arthur placed a hand on my shoulder.
I didn't pull away.
We climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway stood a pale-blue door.
Grace handed me a key.
"Your mother asked that this room remain locked."
I stared at it.
"Why?"
"She said one day you would need what was inside."
I turned the key.
The lock clicked.
I opened the door.
The room was small.
Blue walls.
White curtains.
A wooden desk.
And a large metal cabinet against the far wall.
On the desk sat a photograph of me as a baby.
I began crying.
My mother had preserved this room for me.
Fifteen years.
And nobody had told me.
Marcus opened the curtains.
Sunlight filled the room.
Arthur approached the cabinet.
"It's locked."
Grace handed him another key.
"Elise gave me this before she died."
I stared at her.
"You had it all these years?"
She nodded.
"She told me not to open the cabinet unless you came with Arthur or reached the age specified in the trust instructions."
My heart pounded.
Arthur unlocked it.
Inside were three boxes.
One contained photographs.
Another held business records.
The third was a small wooden chest.
My name was carved into its lid.
I opened it.
Inside were birthday cards.
Fifteen of them.
One for every birthday from thirteen through twenty-seven.
I stared at the envelopes.
Each was addressed in my mother's handwriting.
I picked up the first.
"For Nia, on your thirteenth birthday."
My tears fell onto the paper.
I couldn't open it.
Not yet.
Then I noticed another envelope beneath the cards.
It was marked:
"Evidence for the trust investigation."
Marcus leaned closer.
Inside was a small storage drive and copies of financial statements.
Arthur examined them.
His expression changed.
"These are the original ledgers."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"The records Conrad said were destroyed."
Marcus stepped forward.
He studied the pages.
Then he stopped.
His face went pale.
"What is it?" I asked.
He pointed toward a handwritten authorization.
I recognized Bernard Cole's signature.
But beside it was a second mark.
A notation in blue ink.
Marcus whispered, "My father used this mark whenever he suspected a document had been altered."
Arthur stared at him.
"What?"
Marcus looked at me.
"He taught me about it when I was younger."
I felt my heart race.
"Then what does it mean here?"
Marcus swallowed.
"It means he may have known the transfer was fraudulent."
I looked at Arthur.
He seemed unable to breathe.
For fifteen years, Bernard had appeared to be part of the conspiracy.
But what if he had been trying to expose it?
Then Grace spoke from the doorway.
"Your mother left another instruction."
I turned.
She held a small sealed envelope.
"She said you should read this only after finding the ledgers."
I took it.
Inside was a single page.
My mother's handwriting.
I read the first sentence aloud.
"Bernard is not the man you should fear."
Marcus stopped breathing.
I continued.
"The person who betrayed us is someone Arthur still trusts."
My heart pounded.
I looked at my father.
His face changed.
Then I heard a voice from the hallway.
"Well, isn't this a touching family reunion?"
I turned.
May you like
Aunt Vivian stood in the doorway.
And behind her was Conrad Vale.
