I read the unfinished sentence again.
And again.
My grandfather's handwriting was unmistakable. The letters became slightly smaller whenever he was angry, as though he were trying to force the words into the paper rather than simply write them.
Harold stood across the table with his hands resting on the back of a chair.
“Did he ever finish that note?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he decided you were safer not knowing.”
I looked at the photograph.
My father stood on the left.
The dead man stood beside him.
The third man had his back partly turned, but there was enough of his face visible for me to recognize him.
I had seen him once before.
At my grandfather's funeral.
He had stood near the cemetery gate.
I had assumed he was an old business associate.
Now I wasn't sure.
“Who is he?”
Harold didn't answer immediately.
“His name is Daniel Voss.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“He handled acquisitions for your father's company.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No,” Harold said. “It isn't.”
He opened another cabinet.
Inside was a series of folders arranged by year.
“Your grandfather began keeping copies of everything after he discovered discrepancies in the company's accounts.”
“What kind of discrepancies?”
“Payments that had no legitimate purpose. Properties bought through shell companies. Loans that were supposedly repaid but never were.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Why didn't he go to the police?”
“Because he wasn't certain who was involved.”
“And now?”
“Now he's dead.”
The words settled between us.
I looked down at the ledger.
“How much money are we talking about?”
Harold hesitated.
“Enough that your father couldn't simply pay it back.”
I closed the ledger.
“I need to know exactly what Grandpa left me.”
Harold gave me a tired look.
“That's what he wanted you to understand.”
He walked to the cabinet and removed a thick envelope.
“This came to me two months ago.”
My name was written across the front.
I opened it.
Inside was a copy of Grandpa's will.
I already knew the basic terms.
The house.
Several investment accounts.
His personal collection.
A portion of the company shares.
What I hadn't known was that there was another document attached.
A trust agreement.
My name appeared at the top.
I read the first paragraph.
Then I stopped.
The trust wasn't simply an inheritance.
It gave me control over a group of assets that had been separated from the family company years earlier.
Property.
Investment accounts.
And a voting interest in the company.
I looked at Harold.
“My father doesn't control these.”
“No.”
“He told me Grandpa left him the company.”
“He told everyone that.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather wanted him to believe it.”
I stared at him.
“Why would Grandpa do that?”
“To keep him from looking for the real assets.”
I turned another page.
There was a condition.
The trust could not be transferred until I personally reviewed the financial records held at the warehouse.
Grandpa had arranged the meeting before his death.
He had expected me to come here.
He had expected me to find the ledger.
He had expected my father to lie.
That realization was more frightening than the money.
Grandpa had not left me a surprise.
He had left me a warning.
I drove home after midnight.
The house was dark except for the kitchen light.
My father was sitting at the table.
I stopped in the doorway.
“How did you get in?”
“The spare key.”
“You don't have a spare key.”
He smiled.
“Your grandfather gave me one years ago.”
I said nothing.
He gestured toward the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
I stayed standing.
He looked tired.
Older than he had that morning.
“You went somewhere.”
“Why?”
“Because Harold Bell called me.”
My pulse jumped.
Dad noticed.
“Ah.”
He leaned back.
“So you found the warehouse.”
I felt the room narrow around us.
“How do you know about it?”
“I know everything your grandfather did.”
“Apparently not.”
His face hardened.
“Be careful.”
I pulled out the ledger.
Dad's eyes went straight to it.
For the first time since I had known him, I saw genuine fear cross his face.
Only for a second.
Then it disappeared.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“That doesn't belong to you.”
“Grandpa left it for me.”
“Your grandfather was sick.”
“He was clear enough to create a trust you didn't know existed.”
Silence.
Dad looked away.
That was when I knew the trust was real.
He had not denied it.
He had not asked what it contained.
He had asked for the ledger.
I placed it on the table but kept my hand on the cover.
“Who is Daniel Voss?”
Dad's expression changed again.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“In Grandpa's records.”
“He was an employee.”
“Grandpa thought he was still alive.”
Dad stared at me.
“That's ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
He stood.
“You don't understand what you're reading.”
“Then explain it.”
He didn't.
Instead, he walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Your grandfather spent years looking for enemies where there weren't any.”
“Did he?”
Dad turned.
“You're making a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“Trusting dead men more than living family.”
Then he left.
I waited until his car disappeared.
Only then did I return to the ledger.
A loose page had fallen from the back cover.
I picked it up.
It wasn't a financial record.
It was a map.
Three locations had been circled in red.
The warehouse.
My grandfather's old office.
And my father's current company headquarters.
Beside the third circle, Grandpa had written:
The original contract is still there.
I folded the map.
Then my phone rang.
Harold.
I answered.
His voice was low.
“Don't go to the company tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because someone has already been there.”
I looked toward the window.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
There was a pause.
“Your grandfather's office was broken into twenty minutes ago.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did they take?”
Harold answered quietly.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if they were looking for one particular thing.”
“What?”
“The same document your grandfather was afraid your father would find.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: Someone Had Entered Grandpa’s Locked Office Without Taking Anything Except the One Piece of Paper He Knew I Would Need
The Small Envelope Grandpa Told Me Never to Open Until Everyone Else Had Gone Home
Part 2 of 20
