Chapter 6 - The Dark Box
Richard knelt on the floor, adjusting the mechanical dial of the safe.
Left to 34. Right to 88. Left to 12. Right to 05.
With a heavy, mechanical clunk, the locking bolts retracted. Richard lifted the heavy steel door of the floor safe.
Inside lay three thick, black velvet boxes, several stacks of hundred-dollar bills tied with bank bands, and a worn leather-bound journal with gold initials stamped on the spine: E.W.
Grandma reached down and carefully lifted the leather-bound journal out of the safe. She ran her wrinkled fingers over the gold initials, her eyes glistening with deep, quiet sorrow.
"This was Edward's personal diary," Grandma whispered. "The one he took with him everywhere during his final years."
She opened the cover. Inside, written in the sharp, elegant handwriting of my late grandfather, were dozens of pages dated from four years ago.
Grandma flipped through the pages until she stopped near the back. She began reading aloud, her voice trembling slightly:
"October 14th. Patricia brought doctors to the house today. They are trying to declare me mentally incompetent to alter my estate documents. She thinks I don't see what she is doing. She thinks I don't know that she has been intercepting my letters to my darling Claire.
Claire, if you ever read this, know that your grandfather loved you more than life itself. I have secured your future. The share certificates for fifty-one percent of Whitmore Enterprises are held in the master vault at Central Commerce Bank, under Key 402. Do not let them take what belongs to you."
Tears spilled over my cheeks, hot and fast. I looked down at Lily, who was fast asleep against my chest, oblivious to the monumental truth unraveling around us.
My grandfather hadn't abandoned me. He hadn't forgotten about me or my late father. He had fought until his final days to protect us from the greed of his own daughter.
Grandma turned her gaze slowly from the journal to Patricia, who was slumping against the doorframe, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"Key 402," Grandma said, her voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute doom. "You hid his journal. You hid his key. You left my granddaughter to rot in poverty while sitting on top of the fortune her grandfather left her."
"I did it for my family!" Patricia wailed, her voice muffled by her hands. "You always loved Thomas more than me! You always loved Claire more than Victoria! I wanted my daughter to have everything Claire had!"
"Claire had nothing!" I shouted, my voice exploding in the quiet study. "I spent the last year begging for extra shifts! I watched my husband die in a hospital bed, and I couldn't even afford a proper gravestone for him! I buried him in a communal plot because I had three hundred dollars to my name! Is that what you wanted your daughter to have?!"
Patricia didn't answer. She couldn't.
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Grandma walked over to the desk, picked up the landline telephone sitting on the mahogany surface, and dialed a three-digit number.
"Emergency services," Grandma said calmly into the receiver. "I am reporting a major financial crime, forgery, and grand larceny at 1402 Crestview Drive. Please dispatch officers immediately."
