Dad remained motionless after reading the DNA report.
The paper trembled between his fingers. He kept staring at the number 99.98 percent as though looking at it long enough might somehow change the result.
I had seen my father angry before. I had seen him furious enough to put his fist through a garage door when Mom’s car was stolen. I had seen him cry when she died. But I had never seen him look betrayed in quite this way.
Sheriff Mercer carefully took the report from him.
“Mr. Cole, I know this is a lot to absorb.”
Dad gave a dry laugh.
“A lot?”
He looked at me.
“I raised that boy.”
“You did,” I said.
“I taught him to drive.”
“I know.”
“I paid for his college.”
Dad's voice cracked.
“And all those years, Harold was standing there knowing he was Grant’s father.”
I had no answer.
The worst part was that Grant had never been a stranger to Dad. He had been family. He had eaten at our table, slept under our roof, borrowed Dad’s tools, asked him for money, and called him when his car broke down.
Dad had loved him without reservation.
Sheriff Mercer placed the report back inside the evidence envelope.
“We still need to establish what happened legally. The DNA result gives us motive, but it doesn't by itself prove what happened to your mother.”
“I know,” Dad said.
He looked toward the window.
“But she knew.”
That was what mattered to him.
Mom had discovered the truth shortly before she died. She had found the money missing, uncovered the altered prescription, hired a private investigator, and learned that the man Dad trusted most had been secretly involved with his wife years earlier.
Then she had put the evidence somewhere Vanessa and Grant could not find it.
She had chosen me.
I couldn't stop thinking about that.
The blue music box had been sitting in my home for three years.
I had dusted it twice.
I had moved it from one shelf to another.
I had never opened the bottom.
If Harold had arrived even a day earlier, everything might have disappeared.
Sheriff Mercer’s phone rang.
She listened for several seconds before saying, “Bring her in.”
Dad looked up.
“Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“She asked to speak?”
“She's asking for you.”
Dad stood.
“No.”
Sheriff Mercer shook her head.
“You don't have to see her.”
“I don't want to.”
“Good.”
Dad stared at the evidence box.
“Then let her talk to me through the glass.”
Twenty minutes later, Vanessa entered the interview room.
She looked nothing like the confident woman who had called me at 6:30 that morning and announced Dad’s death.
Her hair was pulled back carelessly. Her makeup had faded around her eyes. She kept rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger, a nervous habit I remembered from childhood.
She sat down.
Dad watched from the adjoining room.
I stood beside him.
Vanessa noticed us through the glass.
Her mouth opened.
She began crying.
Dad didn't move.
Sheriff Mercer entered the room and placed a recorder on the table.
“You asked to speak.”
Vanessa wiped her face.
“I didn't know about the DNA.”
Dad closed his eyes.
She continued.
“I swear I didn't know.”
Sheriff Mercer said, “Start at the beginning.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Grant found out about the money first.”
“Which money?”
“The withdrawals from Dad's accounts.”
I watched Dad’s jaw tighten.
Vanessa continued.
“He said Harold told him Dad wouldn't notice. Grant thought it was easy. Dad had so many accounts, and after Mom died, he wasn't checking everything.”
“That doesn't explain the power of attorney,” the sheriff said.
Vanessa looked down.
“I changed it.”
Dad opened his eyes.
“You forged it.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
“Why?”
“Because Grant told me we were already trapped.”
“How?”
“He had debts.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
Sheriff Mercer stared at her.
“Try again.”
“More than two hundred thousand dollars.”
Dad whispered something I couldn't hear.
Vanessa continued.
“He borrowed money from people he shouldn't have. Then he used Dad's accounts to cover the payments.”
“And Harold?”
Vanessa looked toward the glass.
Her face changed.
“He was always there.”
“Meaning?”
“He knew everything.”
“About Grant being his biological son?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dad turned away.
Vanessa began crying again.
“I didn't know until last year.”
I stared at her.
“Last year?”
She looked directly at me.
“Mom knew much earlier.”
Dad stepped toward the door.
Sheriff Mercer stopped him with one hand.
“Let her finish.”
Vanessa pressed her palms against her knees.
“Mom confronted Harold before she died.”
“Why?”
“Because she found the old letters.”
“What letters?”
“Letters between Mom and Harold.”
The room went silent.
Vanessa continued.
“They had been seeing each other before Mom married Dad.”
Dad's face went completely blank.
I felt sick.
Vanessa whispered, “Grant was born before Mom and Dad married.”
Dad looked at me.
I could see the question forming before he spoke.
“Why did she never tell me?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Sheriff Mercer leaned forward.
“What happened after Eleanor found out Harold was still involved?”
“Mom threatened to tell Dad everything.”
“And Harold?”
“He begged her not to.”
“Did Grant know?”
“No.”
Vanessa wiped her nose.
“Not at first.”
“What changed?”
“Grant found the letters.”
“When?”
“About a month before Mom died.”
I thought of the red folder.
“The folder contained them?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Some of them.”
Dad looked toward the evidence table.
“Why did Harold want the music box?”
“Because Mom told him the final copy was hidden there.”
I looked at Dad.
“Then why didn't he destroy it when Mom first died?”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Because he didn't know where it was.”
“What did Mom tell him?”
“She said Natalie had it.”
That sentence landed heavily.
Mom had deliberately made Harold believe I possessed the evidence.
And she had been right.
Vanessa's voice dropped.
“She also told him there were three copies.”
Sheriff Mercer looked at me.
“We found one in the bank box.”
“Where are the others?” I asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I really don't know.”
Dad finally spoke.
“You lied to me for three years.”
Vanessa began crying.
“I know.”
“You told me she died of natural causes.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe Natalie abandoned me.”
“I was scared.”
“You stole from me.”
“I was scared.”
“You put me in that facility.”
Vanessa's eyes lifted.
“I thought Grant would hurt you.”
Dad stared at her.
“You helped him.”
“I know.”
Her shoulders collapsed.
“I know.”
Sheriff Mercer ended the interview.
As Vanessa was taken away, Dad remained in the hallway.
He looked exhausted.
I touched his shoulder.
“Dad.”
He shook his head.
“I need to see the house.”
“You don't have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
We returned that afternoon.
The white house looked exactly as it had for years.
The porch still leaned toward the garden.
The kitchen cabinet still refused to stay shut.
The old wind chime Mom had bought at a roadside market still hung beside the back door.
Dad stopped at the threshold.
He breathed in.
“Your mother used to bake bread here.”
“I remember.”
He walked through the kitchen slowly.
Every object seemed to carry a memory.
Then he stopped at the wall beside the pantry.
“Wait.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He touched a faint mark in the paint.
“When your mother was alive, there was a picture here.”
“Which picture?”
“The one of you and me at the lake.”
I remembered it.
Mom had framed it after my high-school graduation.
Dad removed the frame.
Behind it was a narrow wooden panel.
He stared.
“I've never seen this.”
He pressed his thumb against the edge.
The panel opened.
Inside was a shallow compartment.
There was nothing there except a folded napkin.
Dad looked disappointed.
Then I noticed a small indentation in the wood.
“Dad.”
He moved closer.
The indentation was shaped like a key.
Sheriff Mercer called from behind us.
“We found something else.”
She held up a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small brass key.
The same kind Harold had carried.
“Where did you get that?” Dad asked.
“It was hidden beneath the lining of Harold's coat.”
Dad looked at the compartment.
Then at the key.
He inserted it.
The lock clicked.
A thin metal drawer slid outward.
Inside was a second envelope.
Dad took it carefully.
On the front, Mom had written:
For Natalie. Only after your father knows the truth.
My hands went cold.
Dad looked at me.
“You open it.”
I broke the seal.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Mom standing beside Harold.
They were young.
Very young.
On the back, Mom had written one sentence.
This is where everything began.
Beneath the photograph was another piece of paper.
It contained an address.
And underneath that address were four words that changed what we thought we knew about Grant.
He isn't the only one.
Click Here to continue read next: PART6: The Photograph Sent Us to an Abandoned House Where Mom Had Hidden Her First Secret, and Dad Finally Learned Who Else Knew About Grant’s Birth
My Sister Announced Our Father’s Death Before Sunrise, but the Man She Buried Was Sitting Across From Me Planning Something She Never Expected
Part 5 of 16
