The old client number belonged to my father.
That much was certain.
But my father had been dead for years.
Which meant someone else had obtained it.
Arthur arranged for the firm to preserve every access log connected to the file.
We arrived just after opening.
The receptionist looked nervous when she saw us.
“I was told you'd come.”
“By whom?” Arthur asked.
She hesitated.
“A senior partner.”
She led us through a narrow corridor lined with framed photographs.
The law firm had been operating for almost fifty years.
The office where my mother had met the attorney was still there.
Nothing about it looked significant.
A desk.
Two chairs.
A bookcase.
A window overlooking the street.
But my mother's name appeared in the archived appointment book.
September 14.
3:30 p.m.
The receptionist placed the book on the desk.
I touched the page.
“Was she alone?”
“We don't know.”
Arthur pointed to another notation.
A second visitor had been scheduled.
The name was partly smudged.
Only the first initial remained.
R.
My pulse quickened.
“Robert?”
The receptionist looked uncertain.
“Possibly.”
Arthur asked for the access records.
The senior partner entered with a folder.
“I've reviewed the request.”
He placed it on the desk.
“The file was accessed six days ago.”
“By whom?”
“An employee.”
“What employee?”
He gave us the name.
A paralegal.
We found her in a conference room.
She was young enough that she had not even been born when my mother died.
She looked terrified.
“I didn't open the file,” she said.
“Then who did?”
“My supervisor.”
“Why?”
“She said a client had requested it.”
“Which client?”
She swallowed.
“She didn't tell me.”
Arthur showed her the access log.
“Your credentials were used.”
“I know.”
“Who had access to your computer?”
She stared at the floor.
“Anyone in the records room.”
That narrowed nothing.
Then she remembered something.
“There was a man.”
“What man?”
“He came in two days before the file was accessed.”
“Description?”
“Older. Gray hair. He said he was working for the estate.”
My heart stopped.
“Did he give a name?”
She looked at me.
“Mercer.”
Chloe grabbed the edge of the table.
“Robert?”
The paralegal nodded.
“He said Robert Mercer.”
Arthur exchanged a glance with me.
“He's alive.”
“Yes.”
“And he was here.”
“Yes.”
“Did he take anything?”
The paralegal shook her head.
“He copied something.”
“What?”
“A handwritten note.”
My mother.
I felt dizzy.
“Which note?”
She didn't know.
But the law firm's records contained a clue.
The original attorney had made a private notation beneath the appointment.
Client states she has information concerning fraudulent transfer involving Vance family.
I stared at the words.
That was what my mother had been investigating.
Not her marriage.
Not Evelyn.
The transfer.
But there was another sentence.
Client fears disclosure may endanger daughter.
My fingers went cold.
She had been afraid for me.
The receptionist brought another file.
“This was attached to the appointment record.”
Inside was a sealed envelope.
The seal had been broken.
Arthur looked at me.
“Do you want to open it?”
I nodded.
Inside was a letter my mother had written but apparently never delivered.
Harrison,
If you are reading this, then I failed to reach you.
I have discovered that the money transferred from your company was not going where we thought. Daniel is involved, but he is not the person directing it.
Robert is.
I looked at Chloe.
She closed her eyes.
The letter continued.
Evelyn knows about the transfers, but I don't think she understands the full scheme. Robert has been using her fear of losing Harrison to keep her cooperating.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
I believe Robert is planning to make it appear that the money disappeared because of me.
Arthur read over my shoulder.
My mother had known.
She had suspected that Robert intended to frame her.
But there was more.
I have arranged for the original records to be placed with the attorney. If anything happens to me, the records should prove what happened.
The letter ended with one line.
Please protect Clara.
I couldn't breathe.
The records were supposed to be here.
But someone had accessed the file six days earlier.
Robert had come looking for them.
And he might have succeeded.
Arthur asked the senior partner for the original records.
They searched the archive.
Nothing.
The file had been stripped.
Only copies remained.
“Where are the originals?” Arthur asked.
The partner shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Who accessed the file?”
“We're still investigating.”
I looked at the appointment book.
My mother had come here on September 14.
She had expected to leave evidence behind.
But the evidence was gone.
Unless my father had found another way to preserve it.
We returned to the mansion.
Chloe sat beside me in the car.
“My mother knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew Robert was using her.”
“Yes.”
“And she still helped him.”
“Apparently.”
Chloe stared out the window.
“I don't know what to feel.”
“You don't have to decide today.”
When we reached the house, Helen was waiting.
She looked frightened.
“What happened?”
I told her about the law firm.
When I mentioned Robert, her face changed.
“You found him.”
“You knew where he was?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say that?”
Helen looked at the mansion.
“Because your father once received a letter from him.”
“When?”
“After Sarah died.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
She hesitated.
“Your father destroyed it.”
“Why?”
“He said it was a threat.”
I felt a chill.
“What did it say?”
“I only saw one line.”
“What line?”
Helen swallowed.
“He said, ‘You should have let the past stay buried.’”
The words hung in the room.
Arthur looked at me.
“That's not a warning from someone innocent.”
“No,” I said.
“It doesn't prove murder.”
“I know.”
But my father's reaction mattered.
He had considered the letter threatening.
And he had preserved enough evidence to continue investigating.
That night, I searched every drawer in the study.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the blue room.
The hidden compartment.
The old cabinet.
I returned there alone.
Behind the false panel, there was another cavity.
This one was deeper.
Inside was a small metal box.
The key was taped beneath the lid.
I opened it.
A flash drive lay inside.
And beneath it was a handwritten note.
If the original records disappear, use this.
I connected the drive to my father's old computer.
There were dozens of files.
Bank records.
Scanned letters.
Photographs.
And one video.
The date was September 13.
I clicked it.
My father appeared on screen.
He looked exhausted.
He was speaking to someone off camera.
My mother's voice entered.
“I know what Robert is doing.”
My father's face tightened.
“How much do you know?”
“Enough.”
“Then you have to leave.”
“I won't leave Clara.”
My father looked toward the camera.
Then the video ended.
I replayed it.
Again.
And again.
There was something behind my father.
A reflection in the window.
Someone standing outside.
I paused the frame.
Zoomed in.
The figure was blurred.
But the shape was unmistakable.
A man.
Watching them.
Chloe entered the room.
“What are you looking at?”
I pointed.
She leaned closer.
“That's Robert.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I've seen him.”
“When?”
She looked at me.
“After Dad's funeral.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I thought he was one of the attorneys.”
“Where?”
“Outside the cemetery.”
She had never mentioned him.
She looked terrified.
“He watched me.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: Chloe Remembered Seeing the Stranger at Our Father’s Funeral, and Her Memory Finally Revealed Who Had Been Watching Our Family All These Years
I Had Spent Eighteen Years Believing My Father Chose His New Family, Until His Funeral Forced Me Back Through the Door I Swore I Would Never Enter
Part 11 of 30
