Chapter 3: Grandfather's Last Secret
Nobody moved.
My grandfather, Robert Carter, had been dead for six years.
He was the kind of man who kept his shoes polished and his bills organized in labeled folders.
He had built a small construction business from nothing and turned it into the company my father ran today.
He had also been the person who taught Jordan and me how to ride bicycles.
I remembered his deep laugh.
The peppermint candies he kept in his coat pockets.
The way he used to call me his little troublemaker.
But I didn't remember him leaving any secret company.
Dad stared at Mom.
“Explain.””
She wiped her cheeks.
“Your father came to me shortly before he died.””
“When?””
“About two months before the accident.””
Dad's face tightened.
“What accident?””
The question sounded strange.
Everyone in our family knew Grandpa had died after a stroke.
But Dad had always said it happened suddenly.
Mom sat down.
“He told me he had created a separate financial account for the grandchildren.””
Jordan frowned.
“Why?””
“He wanted both of you to have something of your own. Something nobody could take away.””
I looked at her.
“Then why didn't you tell us?””
“Because he asked me not to.””
Dad laughed without humor.
“So you kept a secret account for six years?””
“Marcus, it wasn't that simple.””
“It never is with you, apparently.””
Mom flinched.
Jordan picked up the documents.
“Did Grandpa put money in it?””
Mom nodded.
“Yes.””
“How much?””
She hesitated.
“Originally, about three hundred thousand dollars.””
My knees nearly gave out.
“Three hundred thousand?””
Dad stared at her.
“Where is it now?””
“I don't know.””
Jordan looked at the papers.
“The account was transferred into the new company three months ago.””
Dad shook his head.
“That's impossible. Nobody had authority to move those funds.””
Mom's voice became smaller.
“I thought the money was safe.””
Jordan turned toward her.
“Who had access?””
Mom looked at me.
Then at Jordan.
Then back at Dad.
“Your father named two people.””
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“Who?””
“You.””
She pointed at Dad.
“And me.””
Jordan's expression changed.
“What about Maya and me?””
“Your grandfather wanted you both to receive equal shares when you turned twenty-five.””
I swallowed.
“I'm twenty-three.””
“Jordan is twenty-four,” Mom said.
Dad folded his arms.
“So why was the money moved before either child reached that age?””
Mom looked down.
“I don't know.””
Jordan shook his head.
“That's not true.””
She stared at him.
He continued.
“Three weeks ago, I found an authorization form with your signature. It approved the transfer.””
Mom's eyes widened.
“I never signed that.””
“Then somebody forged it.””
Dad grabbed the paper.
He studied the signature.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked at Mom.
“Is this yours?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
Jordan leaned forward.
“The signature was submitted electronically. But the account was accessed from a device registered to this house.””
My stomach dropped.
“What device?””
He showed us a security report.
A laptop.
Our family laptop.
The one that sat in the little office beside the kitchen.
I looked at Mom.
She looked at Dad.
Nobody spoke.
Then Dad turned toward me.
“Who used that laptop three months ago?””
“I did.””
Jordan raised his eyebrows.
“So did I,” I added quickly.
“And Mom. Dad, everyone uses it.””
“Who used it on the night the transfer was authorized?””
Jordan checked the report.
“September fourteenth. At 9:42 p.m.””
Mom shook her head.
“I was asleep.””
Dad looked at her.
“I was at the office.””
Jordan turned toward me.
I stared at the ceiling.
September fourteenth.
I remembered that night.
I'd been sitting in the kitchen, talking to Tyler.
I'd been upset.
He'd asked me to help him with something.
Something involving a document.
My throat went dry.
Jordan noticed my expression.
“Maya?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“What?””
“I don't remember.””
He studied me.
“You do.””
Dad stepped closer.
“Maya, what happened that night?””
I looked at the papers.
Then at Mom.
“I used the laptop.””
Jordan's face tightened.
“For what?””
“I needed to print something.””
“What?””
“A document.””
“What document?””
I looked down.
Tyler had sent me a file that night.
He'd said he needed a copy of his employment verification.
He'd told me his computer wasn't working.
I'd opened the file and printed it.
That was all I remembered.
At least, that's what I wanted to remember.
Jordan sat down and placed his elbows on his knees.
“Maya, did Tyler ask you to log into anything?””
I hesitated.
Then I nodded.
“He said he needed to verify something.””
Dad's voice became sharper.
“What did you verify?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you enter your information?””
“No.””
“Did you enter mine?””
I shook my head.
Jordan looked at the screen.
“Dad, there's an IP log.””
He turned the phone around.
The access had been made through the family laptop.
But the authorization had used a saved digital certificate.
Dad stared at the screen.
“Where did that certificate come from?””
Jordan answered quietly.
“Your office computer.””
Dad looked toward the hallway.
The study.
His private office.
The place where he kept company records, tax documents, and Grandpa's old business files.
“Who has access to my office?”” he asked.
“Me,” Jordan said.
“Your mother.””
Mom nodded.
“And Maya,” Jordan added.
I shook my head.
“I don't go in there.””
Jordan looked at me.
“You were in there the night Grandpa's old files disappeared.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
He stood up.
“Remember the envelope I asked you about last month?””
My heart began pounding.
The envelope.
A brown envelope with Grandpa's handwriting.
I'd seen it on Dad's desk.
I'd taken it because Tyler had asked me to find an old company document.
I'd returned it the following morning.
Or at least, I'd thought I had.
Jordan stepped closer.
“Did you give Tyler anything from that envelope?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
He opened a photograph on his phone.
It showed a scanned document.
Grandpa's signature.
Dad's signature.
And a third signature.
My own.
I stared at it.
“That isn't real.””
Jordan looked at me.
“Then why does it have your name?””
I couldn't answer.
Dad took the phone.
He read the document slowly.
Then his eyes widened.
“Jordan, where did you get this?””
“From the bank.””
Dad looked at Mom.
“What's this authorization for?””
Mom started crying again.
I leaned closer.
At the bottom of the page, beneath the signatures, was a sentence written in small print.
The funds would be released only upon confirmation of the beneficiaries' identities.
And beside that sentence was a date.
A date from six years earlier.
The day Grandpa died.
Jordan whispered, “Dad, I think somebody planned this long before Maya met Tyler.””
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the notification.
His face went pale.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He turned the screen toward us.
An unknown number had sent him a message.
*STOP ASKING ABOUT THE ACCOUNT. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR GRANDFATHER DID.*
May you like
A second message arrived.
*AND IF YOU TELL MARCUS ABOUT THE WOMAN IN THE WILL, MAYA WILL BE THE FIRST PERSON TO LOSE EVERYTHING.*
