Chapter 3 - Grandpa’s Second Warning
The envelope contained only one page.
But one paragraph was enough.
Nora, if Russell ever claims I promised him Milbrook Road, ask Arthur about the loans.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Loans?
The next morning, Arthur returned.
When I showed him the letter, he sighed.
“I wondered when we'd reach this part.”
“What loans?”
Arthur opened his briefcase.
“Your father borrowed against assets he didn't own.”
My stomach dropped.
Apparently, Dad had spent years telling lenders and private investors that he would eventually control Grandpa's estate.
Most of those promises were informal.
Some weren't.
Arthur showed me copies of documents Grandpa had discovered.
Dad had used projected inheritance as evidence of future wealth.
Nothing legally transferred Grandpa's property, but the situation explained why Dad had become increasingly desperate during Grandpa's final years.
“How much?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Potentially hundreds of thousands.”
I sat down.
Suddenly Christmas morning made more sense.
My parents hadn't merely wanted me gone.
They wanted uninterrupted control of the property.
If I stayed, I might ask questions.
Arthur continued reviewing the box.
Another document concerned the workshop.
Grandpa had established a separate operating account connected to his furniture business.
The balance shocked me.
He hadn't been wealthy in the way Paige understood wealth.
No sports cars.
No luxury vacations.
But Grandpa had saved.
Invested.
Bought neighboring parcels when they became available.
His modest lifestyle concealed substantial assets.
And all of them were protected.
That afternoon, Paige called.
I didn't answer.
She called again.
Then Mom.
Then Dad.
Finally, a text arrived.
We need to discuss this as a family.
I stared at it.
Yesterday, I wasn't family enough to have breakfast.
Today, suddenly, family needed a meeting.
I didn't respond.
An hour later, a vehicle stopped outside.
Paige stepped out.
She wasn't filming.
That alone surprised me.
I opened the door but didn't invite her inside.
“What?”
Her eyes were red.
“My account is getting destroyed.”
I almost laughed.
“That's why you're here?”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“People clipped the livestream.”
Of course they had.
The moment where Paige mocked me.
The sheriff arriving.
Arthur announcing ownership.
Mom begging.
All of it was circulating online.
Paige's carefully curated family first identity had collided with reality.
“I lost sponsors.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“Nora.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“You've always hated me.”
I genuinely didn't know what to say.
“Hated you?”
“You think Mom and Dad favored me.”
“They did.”
“That's not my fault.”
“No. But filming your sister getting thrown into the snow was your choice.”
That landed.
Paige looked down.
For the first time, I saw something other than anger.
Shame.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Dad knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Grandpa changed the estate.”
I went still.
“When?”
“Before Grandpa died.”
My pulse accelerated.
“How do you know?”
“I heard Mom and Dad arguing.”
“About what?”
Paige glanced toward the driveway.
“Dad said there had to be another copy somewhere.”
The walnut box.
I suddenly understood.
My bedroom had been packed before I woke up.
“What exactly did they say?”
Paige swallowed.
“Dad said if they couldn't find the papers before you did, everything was over.”
A cold sensation moved through me.
They hadn't simply thrown me out.
They had searched my room.
“What were they looking for?”
“I don't know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“The box.”
That evening, Arthur and Sheriff Miller returned.
We reviewed the security cameras Grandpa had installed around the workshop.
Most footage automatically deleted after thirty days.
But one camera stored longer.
We watched Christmas Eve.
11:42 p.m.
Dad crossed the backyard.
He entered the workshop.
Stayed seventeen minutes.
Then left carrying something.
I leaned closer.
“What is that?”
Arthur froze the frame.
A folder.
Dad had removed documents from Grandpa's workshop hours before throwing me out.
This wasn't merely family drama anymore.
There might be evidence involved.
Sheriff Miller asked if anything appeared missing.
I didn't know.
So we searched.
Cabinets.
Drawers.
Shelves.
Then I noticed scratches around a wooden panel beneath Grandpa's workbench.
I pulled it open.
Behind it was a small safe.
The brass key from the walnut box fit perfectly.
Inside were ledgers.
Receipts.
Property records.
And another cassette.
But what stopped Arthur wasn't the paperwork.
It was a photograph.
Grandpa stood beside Dad and an unfamiliar man.
On the back, Grandpa had written:
The day Russell tried to sell land that wasn't his.
Arthur stared at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Nora, we need to find out exactly what your father took from this workshop.”
May you like
Because if it was what Arthur suspected, Christmas morning had been only the beginning.
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