Chapter 13 - The Night Someone Entered Our Father’s House
The break-in happened on a Thursday.
Eric was staying at Dad's house.
I was home with Daniel and the children when my phone rang at 11:46 p.m.
"Sarah."
Something in Eric's voice made me sit upright.
"What happened?"
"Someone's been inside."
"Inside where?"
"Dad's study."
I was already getting out of bed.
"Are you safe?"
"Yes. Whoever it was is gone."
"Call the police."
"Already did."
Daniel drove me over.
By the time we arrived, two patrol cars were parked outside the house.
The study window had been forced open.
Papers littered the floor.
Drawers stood empty.
One bookshelf had been partially pulled away from the wall.
The hidden compartment was exposed.
I felt my stomach drop.
"The case," I whispered.
Eric shook his head.
"It's safe."
He pointed toward an ordinary cardboard storage box beside the desk.
Earlier that afternoon, he'd transferred the originals to Lawson's custody and left duplicate reference materials at the house.
Whoever entered had searched the hidden compartment for something that was no longer there.
The responding officers documented the scene and arranged for available evidence to be collected.
I showed them the threatening photograph I'd received.
Lawson arrived shortly afterward.
His normally composed face was tight with anger.
"Was anything taken?"
"Some correspondence," Eric replied. "Possibly old filing materials."
"Anything connected to Vault 314?"
"No originals."
I folded my arms.
"Julian knows about the compartment."
Lawson nodded.
"That appears possible. But we need to let the investigation establish who was responsible."
At one in the morning, after the police finished their initial work, I stood alone in Dad's kitchen.
His blue coffee mug remained beside the sink.
I picked it up.
For some reason, that ordinary object hurt more than the broken study window.
Someone had entered our father's home.
Gone through his belongings.
Disturbed the one place where he'd spent his final months trying to protect us.
I was tired of being frightened.
Daniel came into the room.
"You and Eric should stay with us."
I shook my head.
"We need to secure the house."
"Sarah."
"I know."
He gently took the mug from my hands.
"You don't have to handle every part of this yourself."
I looked at him.
Then I began crying.
The next morning, we reviewed the household security system with the investigators.
One exterior camera had captured a dark vehicle approaching the property.
The license plate wasn't readable.
A person wearing a hood had entered through the study window.
The footage didn't establish their identity.
But Eric noticed something.
"Pause there."
The technician stopped the recording.
The person was carrying a rectangular bag.
Eric leaned closer.
"That looks like a document transport case."
I frowned.
"So?"
"So whoever came here wasn't looking for jewelry. They came prepared to remove records."
Lawson agreed.
The incident was added to the broader evidentiary record.
That afternoon, Eleanor called.
Her voice was shaking.
"Sarah, I heard what happened."
"We're okay."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything."
"No. But I think I know what they're looking for."
I sat down.
"What?"
"Victor's original financial reconciliation."
"Wasn't that destroyed in the fire?"
"That's what Julian always believed."
"Where is it?"
Eleanor hesitated.
"Victor told me there were two copies."
I stopped breathing.
"Two?"
"One remained with Samuel. The other was hidden somewhere Julian would never search."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Victor never told me."
She began crying.
"But if someone is searching Arthur's house now, maybe they've realized it still exists."
After the call, I looked toward Eric.
He was sitting on the living room floor, examining the remaining contents of Grandpa's steel case.
I repeated Eleanor's explanation.
Eric slowly opened the old wallet again.
"The lighthouse," he murmured.
"What?"
"Those birthday cards."
I watched him examine the faded photograph.
Then he turned it toward me.
In the background, behind Eleanor and young Claire, stood a small white lighthouse.
May you like
At the bottom of the photograph was a handwritten location.
Cape Mercer, Maine.
Related Stories
