I did not contact Frank that afternoon.
I spent the rest of the day organizing the records and writing down the questions I wanted answered.
By evening, I had a list of names and dates that I could follow without getting lost in the papers.
I still couldn't explain the transactions.
But I could identify the gaps.
That seemed like a better place to begin than making accusations.
The next morning, I called Raymond.
He answered after several rings.
“David?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have any original records from the business?”
“Not the complete set.”
“What do you have?”
“A few copies and some notes. Most of what I have is already in the folder.”
“Do you know where the original records went?”
“No.”
“Did Frank ever tell you?”
“Not directly.”
I wrote that down.
“Would he know?”
“He might.”
“Can you contact him?”
Raymond was quiet for a moment.
“I can try.”
“I don't want you to tell him what to say.”
“I wouldn't.”
“I want to hear his answers myself.”
“That may be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because Frank has never been comfortable discussing the past.”
“Neither has my father.”
“That doesn't mean they have the same reasons.”
I paused.
Raymond was right.
I had begun to see similarities between their behavior, but similarities did not establish that they had acted together or shared the same motives.
I needed to keep that distinction clear.
“I'll ask him directly,” I said.
Raymond agreed to try.
Later that day, he called back.
Frank was willing to meet me.
He had suggested a public place and a short conversation.
I accepted.
We arranged to meet the following afternoon at a small café away from the factory and the neighborhood where my father lived.
I arrived early.
I chose a table near the window and ordered coffee I barely touched.
I had brought my notebook, but I left the folder at home.
I didn't want the meeting to become another argument about who should possess the papers.
Frank arrived a few minutes later.
He wore a dark coat and carried a leather case.
He looked older in daylight than he had beneath the factory's flashlight.
His hair was thin at the temples.
There were deep lines around his mouth.
He recognized me immediately.
“David.”
“Frank.”
He sat opposite me.
For a moment, we both looked at the table.
Then he placed his leather case beside his chair.
“I understand you have questions.”
“I do.”
“I also understand that Raymond has given you some old records.”
“Yes.”
Frank nodded as though he had expected that answer.
“What do you want to know?”
I opened my notebook.
“First, I want to know what your role was in my grandfather's business.”
He leaned back.
“I handled business matters with him for many years.”
“What kind?”
“Property, financial arrangements, negotiations. The usual things involved in running a company.”
“Did my father work with you?”
“Your father helped with certain matters.”
“What matters?”
Frank looked at me for a moment.
“He was involved in some transactions.”
“That sounds like what my father told me.”
“Then you have your answer.”
“No,” I said. “I have the same vague answer from two people.”
Frank's expression tightened.
I continued before he could interrupt.
“I am not accusing either of you of anything. I want to understand the records. My father's name appears in them, and I need to know why.”
Frank took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth.
“Those records are old.”
“That doesn't make them meaningless.”
“No, but it makes them difficult to interpret without context.”
“Then give me the context.”
He put his glasses back on.
“Some transactions involved more than one person. Sometimes a name appeared because someone had approved a payment. Sometimes it appeared because someone had been informed of a decision. You cannot know the meaning from the name alone.”
I wrote down his answer.
It was the first explanation anyone had given me that described a possible reason for the entries without claiming to know exactly what each one meant.
“Can the original records establish which explanation applies?”
“Possibly.”
“Where are they?”
Frank looked toward the window.
“I don't know whether the full set still exists.”
“Did you ever have it?”
“I had access to some records.”
“Where did you keep them?”
“In the business office.”
“Was that at the factory?”
“Some of the work was handled there.”
I looked up.
“So the factory was used for business?”
“Yes.”
“Even before it was abandoned?”
“Of course.”
I wrote that down.
The building had not been merely an empty structure connected to my grandfather's name.
It had been part of the business itself.
I had known that in a general sense, but I had never understood what it meant for the records.
“Did the office contain the original financial documents?”
“Some of them.”
“What happened to them?”
Frank folded his hands on the table.
“Businesses keep records in different places. Some documents are transferred. Some are copied. Some are eventually discarded when they are no longer required.”
“Were any records destroyed after my grandfather died?”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“I can't tell you that no documents were ever destroyed.”
“Were any destroyed because of his death?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was dealing with the business and the family were dealing with the death.”
I studied him.
“That sounds like a convenient separation.”
“It was a difficult time.”
“I understand that. But Raymond was accused of causing the death. Surely the records mattered.”
“They mattered to the investigation.”
“Then why don't you know what happened to them?”
Frank's face became harder.
“Because I was not responsible for every decision made during that period.”
I let the silence sit between us.
He had finally answered a question without looking toward my father.
But the answer still left a great deal unexplained.
I turned to another page in my notebook.
“Were you present when my grandfather and Raymond argued about the business?”
Frank looked down.
“I was present for some disagreements.”
“Were you there on the day my grandfather died?”
He did not answer immediately.
“Yes,” he said at last. “I saw him that day.”
My heart began to beat faster.
“Did you speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did you discuss?”
“Business.”
“What part of the business?”
“Records and transactions.”
“Was Raymond there?”
Frank shifted in his chair.
“I don't remember every detail of that day.”
“You just said you were there.”
“I remember seeing your grandfather. I remember discussing business with him. That doesn't mean I can reconstruct the entire day from memory.”
I felt the same frustration I had felt while reading the folder.
Every answer gave me something, but not enough to settle the next question.
“Did you tell the police that you spoke to him?”
“I spoke to the people investigating the case.”
“Did you tell them what you discussed?”
“I answered their questions.”
“Do you remember what you told them?”
“Not word for word.”
I wrote that down.
Then I looked directly at him.
“Did you ever believe Raymond was innocent?”
Frank's hands became still.
“I don't think that is a useful question.”
“It is useful to me.”
“The case was investigated. Evidence was presented. A decision was made.”
“I'm asking what you believed.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“I believed the situation was more complicated than people wanted to admit.”
The answer surprised me.
“Did you tell anyone that?”
“I told people there were business matters that needed to be understood.”
“Did you tell my father?”
Frank glanced down at the table.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He believed Raymond was responsible.”
“Did you agree with him?”
“I thought there were reasons to investigate Raymond.”
“That isn't the same as agreeing he was guilty.”
“No,” Frank said.
He looked at me again.
“It isn't.”
I sat back.
For the first time, I had heard Frank acknowledge that suspicion and guilt were different things.
I didn't know whether he was being honest now.
But I could record what he had said.
I turned another page.
“Did you ever see these records after Raymond's conviction?”
“Some of them.”
“Did you examine them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice anything that concerned you?”
Frank looked at the notebook.
“Certain transactions were difficult to explain.”
“Which ones?”
“I would need to see the documents.”
“Would you look at them if I brought copies?”
He hesitated.
“I would consider it.”
“That isn't a yes.”
“No,” he said. “It isn't.”
I closed the notebook.
I had expected Frank to deny everything or refuse to speak.
Instead, he had given me several answers that raised more questions.
He had seen my grandfather on the day he died.
He had discussed business with him.
He had access to some of the records.
He believed certain transactions were difficult to explain.
None of those facts established that he had committed a crime.
But they made it impossible for me to accept that he was merely an uninvolved witness to a family tragedy.
I stood.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
Frank looked almost surprised.
“Are you satisfied?”
“No.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile.
“I didn't think you would be.”
“I am satisfied that you answered some questions.”
“Perhaps that's all I can offer.”
I put my notebook away.
As I reached for my coat, Frank spoke again.
“David.”
I turned.
“Don't assume that finding a missing record will answer every question you have.”
“I won't.”
“And don't assume that everyone who kept quiet did so for the same reason.”
I looked at him.
“Are you saying you kept quiet?”
Frank's face changed.
For a moment, he looked as though he regretted speaking.
Then he stood and picked up his leather case.
“I'm saying that the past is rarely as simple as it appears from the outside.”
He left before I could ask anything else.
I remained at the table.
My coffee had gone cold.
I looked at the notes I had written.
Frank had not cleared himself.
He had not accused my father.
He had not admitted to anything beyond what he had already described.
But he had acknowledged that the records contained matters he could not easily explain.
That was enough to justify examining them more carefully.
I closed the notebook and walked outside.
The afternoon air felt cold against my face.
For the first time, I understood that the questions I had carried into the meeting were not going to disappear because one person finally agreed to speak.
They were going to become more precise.
And that, I realized, was progress.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: When I Put Frank’s Answers Beside the Old Records, I Saw Why My Family Had Spent Years Talking Around the Same Questions
I Thought My Father Was Just Another Man With a Temper Until I Saw the Gun in His Hand and Realized What My Uncle Had Been Protecting
Part 18 of 20
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