Chapter 4: The Recording Grandma Hid
The police took Martin's phone.
He insisted the message meant nothing.
Nobody believed him.
Detective Bennett asked him to sit in the library while another officer checked the corridor.
My father stood beside the fireplace, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
I held Grandma's letter.
“There's another letter?”” I asked.
Martin didn't answer.
Dad turned toward him.
“Martin, how long have you known about this?””
“I don't know what you're referring to.””
“Stop lying to me.””
Martin rubbed his forehead.
“Richard, I have spent twenty-two years protecting your family.””
“Then start acting like it.””
The attorney looked at the floor.
For several seconds, the only sound was the ticking clock above the fireplace.
Finally, he spoke.
“Your mother asked me to prepare a document shortly before she died.””
“What document?””
“A sealed statement. She wanted it delivered to James when he turned eighteen.””
I frowned.
“Why eighteen?””
Martin looked at me.
“Because she believed you would be old enough to understand what it contained.””
Dad stepped forward.
“What was in it?””
“I never read the entire statement.””
“You prepared it!””
“I prepared the envelope and arranged for it to be stored.””
“Where?””
Martin swallowed.
“In the bank vault.””
Dad stared at him.
“Which bank?””
“First National Trust.””
“Then we're going there.””
Detective Bennett raised a hand.
“Mr. Hayes, we need to do this properly.””
Martin nodded.
“I can arrange access through the bank's legal department.””
Dad laughed bitterly.
“You've had plenty of opportunities to arrange things, Martin.””
The attorney looked wounded.
“Richard, your mother trusted me.””
“Apparently, she didn't trust you enough to tell you everything.””
That silenced him.
An hour later, we were in a private room at First National Trust.
The bank manager, a gray-haired woman named Patricia Wells, placed a small sealed envelope on the table.
“Mrs. Hayes deposited this eleven months ago,” she explained.
“She left strict instructions that it was not to be opened before James Hayes reached his eighteenth birthday unless a family emergency occurred.””
Dad looked at her.
“Does what happened today qualify?””
Patricia nodded.
“I believe it does.””
The envelope was thick.
My name was written on it in Grandma's handwriting.
Beneath it was a second line.
Open only when your father's life is in danger.
My throat tightened.
Dad put his hand on my shoulder.
“Whenever you're ready.””
I opened it.
Inside was a small USB drive and several pages of handwritten notes.
The first page contained one sentence.
James, the truth about your mother's death was never fully investigated.
I stopped breathing.
My mother had died when I was seven.
The official explanation was a car accident on a wet road.
Dad had told me she lost control of her vehicle while driving home from a charity dinner.
I remembered the funeral.
I remembered her photograph on the mantel.
And I remembered Dad crying in the garage when he thought nobody could see him.
“What does this mean?”” I whispered.
Dad took the pages.
His face became completely still.
“Eleanor,” he murmured.
Patricia connected the USB drive to a bank computer.
A video file appeared.
The date was eleven months earlier.
The recording showed my grandmother sitting in her study.
She looked thinner than I remembered, but her eyes were sharp.
She leaned toward the camera.
“Richard, if you're watching this, then I've failed to protect you.””
Dad's fingers curled around the table.
Grandma continued.
“I know what happened to Sarah.””
Sarah.
My mother.
The room seemed to shrink.
“I know you were told it was an accident. But the car was tampered with before she left the house.””
Dad stumbled backward.
“No.””
Grandma looked directly into the camera.
“I tried to tell you, Richard. You wouldn't listen.””
He shook his head.
“That's not possible.””
The video continued.
“Sarah discovered that someone was transferring money from your company into private accounts. She planned to tell you. Two days later, she was dead.””
I looked at my father.
He was staring at the screen as though he could force the words to disappear.
Grandma took a breath.
“I don't know whether the person responsible arranged the accident or simply knew it was going to happen. But I found the original recording.””
She reached toward the camera.
“The recording is hidden in the place where Sarah kept her most precious things.””
The video ended.
Nobody spoke.
Then Dad slowly turned toward Martin.
“You knew?””
Martin looked shaken.
“Richard, I knew your mother suspected foul play. I didn't know she had evidence.””
“Did you investigate?””
“I tried.””
“And?””
Martin lowered his voice.
“The investigation was stopped.””
“By whom?””
Martin hesitated.
“Your company security director.””
Dad frowned.
“Daniel?””
Martin nodded.
Daniel Price had been my father's head of security for twelve years.
He attended family dinners.
He sent me birthday gifts.
He had even helped me fix my bicycle when I was younger.
Dad pulled out his phone.
“Get Daniel here.””
Martin stopped him.
“Richard, I don't think that's wise.””
“Why not?””
“Because if your mother was right, he may be involved.””
Dad's phone remained in his hand.
Then it rang.
Daniel Price.
Dad answered.
“Daniel. Where are you?””
A pause.
Then Dad's expression changed.
“What do you mean, the east gate is open?””
He listened.
“Who authorized that?””
Another pause.
“Get it closed. Now.””
He ended the call.
Detective Bennett stood.
“What happened?””
Dad looked toward the bank manager.
“Someone just entered my estate.””
“Who?””
Dad turned to me.
“Daniel says Victoria escaped.””
My stomach dropped.
“But the security officers were watching her.””
“They found the room empty.””
Detective Bennett immediately called for assistance.
Then Dad's phone vibrated again.
This time, it was a message.
No name.
No number.
Just an image.
It showed the inside of my bedroom.
My school backpack lay open on the bed.
A small envelope was resting beside it.
The message underneath read:
*Your grandmother left something else behind. Come home alone if you want to know what happened to your mother.*
I stared at the screen.
Dad grabbed the phone.
“Absolutely not.””
But I was already looking at the photograph.
Because the envelope beside my backpack had something written across it.
Three words.
*SARAH'S FINAL LETTER.*
And I knew exactly where the photograph had been taken.
My bedroom.
May you like
Inside our estate.
Someone was still in the house.
