Chapter 8 - THE VOICE ON THE RECORDING
The preserved recording was less than seven minutes long.
Mr. Collins arranged for us to view an authenticated working copy in his office, with the technician present to explain what had and had not been verified.
I expected to see Jason rummaging through Grandpa's desk.
Instead I saw my mother.
She stood beside Grandpa's chair in his office, younger and angrier than I remembered.
"Give Jason the same amount," she demanded.
Grandpa, thin beneath a plaid blanket, shook his head.
"I have already helped him."
"Then help him again."
"He took money that wasn't his."
Mom moved closer.
"Hannah won't even miss it. She's responsible. Jason isn't."
I felt Daniel's hand find mine beneath the conference table.
Grandpa looked at my mother for a long moment.
"You make that sound like a reason to reward him."
The camera caught her turning toward his desk.
She opened a drawer and removed a small rubber stamp case.
"If you won't do it, I'll find a way," she said.
The video cut off soon afterward.
No one in the room spoke.
The footage did not prove every offense we suspected, but it established that the family mythology had been a lie for years.
My mother had not stumbled into Jason's latest scheme out of misplaced compassion.
She had been seeking access to my inheritance while Grandpa was alive.
Mr. Collins discussed how the recording might be relevant and what authentication questions remained.
I tried to focus.
All I could hear was my mother's voice saying I would not miss the money.
At home I found Olivia awake and studying Rebecca's face with the solemn concentration only newborns possess.
I took her into my arms.
"You will never have to earn your place here," I whispered.
The phone rang before I could sit.
It was Dad.
His voice was low and hurried.
"I'm all right. Please stop looking for me."
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you yet."
"Did Mom send that message?"
He paused.
"I sent the address. I needed you to find the letter."
"Why didn't you come to us?"
"Because someone has been threatening to ruin me with records I didn't know existed."
He explained that Mom and Jason had obtained access to old files from his office and were claiming he had participated in estate withdrawals.
He feared that even a false allegation could destroy his reputation before he could gather evidence.
"Then talk to Collins," I said.
"Talk to the police. We can deal with facts."
"I will," he promised.
"But first I need to find the account statement your grandfather kept."
The line went dead.
An hour later, Mr. Collins received a package by courier.
Inside was a copy of a bank statement highlighting a transfer from Grandpa's estate into an account belonging to my father.
The cover note was typed.
"Ask the good father what he bought with his daughter's money."
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether there was a truth Dad had been afraid to tell me.
