Grandma stared at the phone.
“My signature?”
Harvey coughed softly.
“Yes.”
Andrew pulled a chair closer to her.
“Explain.”
“The old corporate interest passed through Eleanor.”
Harvey spoke slowly now.
Whether from age or caution, I couldn’t tell.
“Under the original trust structure, Margaret is the last living person who can authenticate Eleanor’s direct transfer.”
Grandma frowned.
“I never signed anything.”
“You would have to now.”
“For Richard?”
“For anyone attempting to establish the claim.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed.
“And without Margaret?”
“The certificates are evidence, but weak evidence.”
“What happens when she dies?”
Grandma gave Andrew a look.
He grimaced.
“Legally speaking.”
Harvey answered.
“The claim becomes more complicated but passes through her estate.”
“And who did Richard believe inherited the estate?”
Silence.
Then Grandma said, “Until six weeks ago, he believed he did.”
My stomach tightened.
Of course.
Dad thought everything eventually flowed toward him.
House.
Estate.
Family property.
Authority.
Harvey said, “When did you change the will?”
Grandma looked at Andrew.
“Three years ago.”
Dad didn’t know.
I saw that immediately.
Rachel did too.
“Who inherits now?” she asked.
Grandma’s voice became dry.
“That is not tonight’s emergency.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Andrew asked Harvey whether Dad could use Grandma’s signature without her cooperation.
“With forgery, perhaps.”
Grandma looked at him.
“Would that work?”
“Not easily.”
“Why?”
“Because I hold the ledger. The final documentation requires independent verification.”
“So he needs you too.”
“Eventually.”
Harvey paused.
“But he may believe he can get enough from you to borrow against the claim.”
There it was.
Not ownership.
Leverage.
Dad’s favorite method.
Use uncertain assets to borrow money.
Use borrowed money to solve previous debts.
Create another problem.
Move forward as if momentum were stability.
Andrew looked toward the police.
“We need security at Margaret’s residence.”
Grandma shook her head.
“I’m not going back.”
“You’re definitely not going alone anywhere.”
“I did not say alone.”
She looked at me.
“We go to the cabin.”
I stared at her.
“After everything Harvey just said?”
“Yes.”
“Dad gave us the address.”
“I know.”
“Which means he expects us there.”
“I know.”
“That’s called a reason not to go.”
Grandma’s mouth twitched.
“Your grandfather once said you argued like a prosecutor.”
“He was right.”
Andrew stepped in.
“We are not improvising this.”
He spoke to the officers.
One contacted the Lake Mercer jurisdiction.
Another asked for the cabin property records.
Harvey stayed on the call.
The cabin still belonged to Hawthorne Asset Services.
Dad had bought it through the shell company eighteen years earlier.
Grandma looked sick.
“He bought Harold’s cabin back.”
“Apparently,” Andrew said.
“Why?”
Nobody needed to answer.
Dad had been searching.
For years.
He had purchased the property in secret because he suspected Grandpa hid something there.
But if he never found the cello, he must not have known exactly where to look.
Harvey said, “The north wall is stone.”
Grandma nodded slowly.
“The fireplace wall.”
“Behind it is a narrow service cavity.”
“How do you access it?”
“You don’t. Not without removing stone.”
“So Dad could have owned the cabin eighteen years without finding it.”
“Yes.”
Rachel rubbed her arms.
“That is insane.”
Grandma looked toward the recovered cello.
“No. It is exactly the kind of thing Harold would have done.”
I glanced at her.
“You sound almost proud.”
“I was married to him for fifty-three years. Irritation and admiration often occupied the same room.”
That sounded like them.
Andrew ended the call after arranging for officers to check on Harvey.
Then he turned to us.
“We are not going to the cabin until law enforcement clears it.”
Grandma opened her mouth.
“No.”
His tone surprised everyone.
“You can fire me tomorrow. Tonight, no.”
She stared at him.
Then sat down.
“Fine.”
Rachel whispered to me, “Did Grandma just lose an argument?”
“Document the moment.”
She almost smiled.
The relief lasted seconds.
One of the officers approached.
“Lake Mercer units are twenty minutes out.”
“Good.”
“There’s another issue.”
Of course there was.
“Traffic camera hit on Richard’s van.”
I frowned.
“The abandoned one?”
“No. Another vehicle.”
Dad had apparently switched cars near the river.
A black sedan registered to Cedar Ridge Holdings.
“Direction?”
“North.”
Toward Lake Mercer.
Grandma stood again.
“So he is going to the cabin.”
The officer shook his head.
“Camera timestamp is almost two hours old.”
“Then he may already be there.”
“Or past it.”
Andrew asked for the route.
The officer showed us a map.
The highway continued past Lake Mercer.
Farther north were smaller towns, forest, and eventually the state line.
Harvey’s senior community lay northwest.
I looked at the map.
“Could he be going toward Harvey?”
“Possible.”
Grandma’s face tightened.
“Call him.”
We did.
No answer.
Andrew called the facility.
A staff member answered.
Then put us on hold.
The next minute felt too long.
Finally she returned.
“Mr. Dunn is not in his room.”
Grandma gripped the table.
“What?”
“He left about twenty minutes ago.”
“With who?”
The staff member checked.
“He told the desk his nephew was taking him for coffee.”
Harvey had no nephew nearby.
Grandma knew that immediately.
“Description.”
Staff saw an older man leave with someone wearing a cap and dark jacket.
Security footage was being pulled.
“What car?”
A dark sedan.
My stomach dropped.
Andrew’s face went hard.
“Call police now.”
“They are already on site.”
Grandma grabbed her purse.
“We’re leaving.”
This time Andrew did not argue.
The plan changed.
Police would search for Dad’s sedan and Harvey.
The cabin team would continue separately.
Grandma, Rachel, and I were supposed to return home under escort.
We left the storage facility with Lucy’s cello in my vehicle.
I drove slower than usual because rain made everything harder.
Not the road.
Memory.
Every set of headlights behind me became Daniel’s final drive.
Every brake light ahead became accusation.
Grandma sat beside me.
She noticed.
“Do you want me to drive?”
I looked at her.
She raised an eyebrow.
“All right. Bad idea.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
In the back seat, Rachel was quiet.
After ten minutes she said, “Do you hate me?”
I looked in the mirror.
“For what?”
“The cello.”
“You suggested selling something valuable.”
“Yes.”
“You knew it might be Lucy’s.”
“Yes.”
“That was awful.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“But Dad made the decision.”
“I still helped.”
“Yes.”
She looked out the window.
“I keep thinking about how he used my money to keep me close.”
I said nothing.
“I liked being the favorite.”
That honesty surprised me.
“I knew you got less.”
Her voice shook.
“I told myself it was because I appreciated him more.”
My hands tightened on the wheel.
“I told myself you were difficult.”
“I know.”
“I said that a lot.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
We drove for several seconds.
“I believe you.”
She looked at me in the mirror.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“An apology doesn’t erase twenty years.”
“I know.”
“But it matters that you said it.”
She wiped her face.
“Okay.”
Grandma stared ahead.
“Good.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“Grandma.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
My phone rang through the car system.
Denise.
I answered immediately.
“Lucy?”
“She’s fine.”
My shoulders loosened.
“Good.”
“She wanted to know whether you’re bringing the cello.”
“It’s in the car.”
From the background came Lucy’s voice.
“Really?”
I smiled despite myself.
“Yes.”
“Can you put me on speaker?”
“You are.”
“Oh.”
Grandma smiled.
Lucy asked, “Is Great-Grandma there?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Did she tell you about the other cello?”
Grandma went still.
“What?”
My hands tightened.
“Lucy, how do you know about that?”
Silence.
Denise said, “Wait. What?”
Lucy sounded confused.
“The man told me.”
Everything in the car changed.
“What man?”
“The one who called before.”
My heart pounded.
“You talked to him?”
“For a minute.”
Denise said, “I didn’t know that.”
Lucy explained.
After Denise answered the anonymous call, she went into the kitchen to get water.
The phone rang again.
This time Lucy answered.
“He asked if Great-Grandma was there.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“What else?”
“He asked if you found my cello.”
Grandma closed her eyes.
“And?”
“I said yes.”
Denise whispered, “Lucy.”
“I thought he was helping.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly.
I forced my voice to remain calm.
“What did he tell you?”
“He said the one we found wasn’t the one Grandpa wants.”
I glanced at Grandma.
“What else?”
“He said there was another one hidden somewhere.”
“Did he say where?”
“No.”
“Did he say who he was?”
“No.”
Lucy hesitated.
“But he knew my name.”
My blood went cold.
“Did he say anything about Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He said Grandpa is scared.”
Grandma looked toward me.
“Scared of what?” I asked.
“He said Grandpa found out Great-Grandma changed everything.”
Grandma’s face became still.
“What everything?”
“He didn’t say.”
Then Lucy added, “He told me Grandpa thinks Great-Grandma is leaving the house to you.”
Rachel’s head snapped forward.
Grandma said nothing.
“Is that true?” I asked.
She looked out the windshield.
“Yes.”
Rachel inhaled.
Not angry.
Stunned.
“You changed the house to Emily?”
“No.”
Grandma’s voice remained calm.
“I changed it to Lucy.”
I almost hit the brake.
“What?”
“The house will belong to Lucy through a trust.”
“Grandma.”
“It is not relevant now.”
“It’s very relevant if Dad knows.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
Dad believed the house was coming to him.
Then learned he was being evicted from it.
Now somehow he had also learned that Lucy—not me, not Rachel—would eventually own it.
Another thing skipping him entirely.
Another thing he could not control.
Lucy’s voice came through the speaker.
“Why would I get the house?”
Grandma softened immediately.
“Because that is what I decided.”
“Why?”
“Because someday you may want it.”
“What if I don’t?”
Grandma smiled.
“Then you will decide what happens to it.”
Lucy considered that.
“Okay.”
Grandma’s smile widened.
That answer pleased her.
Ownership without obligation.
Choice without guilt.
Exactly what Dad had never understood.
Then Denise said, “There’s a car outside.”
I straightened.
“What?”
“It just stopped across the street.”
“Can you see who’s in it?”
“No.”
“Do not go outside.”
“I’m not.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“What kind?”
Denise described a black sedan.
My stomach dropped.
“Get Lucy away from the windows.”
I pressed harder on the accelerator.
Grandma said, “Emily.”
“I know.”
I forced myself to slow.
Rushing in rain would help no one.
Denise locked the doors.
I called police on another line.
The patrol unit assigned to my house was two blocks away.
They were coming.
“Stay with me,” I told Denise.
We remained connected.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Then Denise whispered, “Someone got out.”
Lucy asked, “Is it Grandpa?”
Denise didn’t answer.
“Who is it?” I demanded.
She moved carefully toward the side of a window.
“Oh.”
“What?”
Her voice changed.
“It’s not Richard.”
“Then who?”
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.
Lucy screamed.
Denise said, “Stay back.”
Police arrived almost simultaneously.
Red and blue lights flashed across Denise’s windows.
A male voice shouted from outside.
Then another.
Then silence.
“Denise?”
“I’m here.”
“What happened?”
“The police have him.”
“Who?”
She moved toward the window again.
Then said a name I had never heard before.
“Evan Cross.”
Martin’s missing assistant.
