Chapter 4 - The Livestream That Wouldn’t Disappear
By December 27, Paige's Christmas livestream had been viewed more than three million times through reposts.
I didn't watch them.
I didn't need to.
My phone told me enough.
Messages arrived from strangers.
Some supportive.
Some invasive.
Some demanding details as though my family's collapse were a television series.
Then a local reporter called.
I declined.
Paige didn't.
She posted an apology video.
She cried.
She said emotions had been high.
She said viewers lacked context.
She said our family was “working privately toward healing.”
That last sentence almost impressed me.
We hadn't spoken since she admitted Dad had searched for the walnut box.
Mom, meanwhile, began calling relatives.
Her version was predictable.
Grandpa had been manipulated.
I had isolated him.
Arthur had helped me steal the estate.
By lunchtime, Aunt Carol called demanding that I “do the Christian thing” and return my parents' house.
I asked one question.
“Whose name is on the deed?”
Silence.
Then I hung up.
Grandpa had been right.
Paper did more than voices ever would.
But Dad was becoming dangerous in a different way.
Arthur discovered that one document missing from the workshop concerned a proposed sale of twelve acres along the eastern boundary.
The buyer was a development company.
Dad had apparently been negotiating with them.
“He couldn't legally sell it,” I said.
“No.”
“Then why negotiate?”
Arthur gave me a grim look.
“Because perhaps he intended to make them believe he could.”
That afternoon, a black SUV arrived.
A man introduced himself as Daniel Mercer.
He represented Blue Ridge Development.
“I need to speak with Russell Calloway.”
“He doesn't live here.”
The man's expression shifted.
“Are you Nora?”
“Yes.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“We may have a problem.”
Inside the house, Daniel opened his briefcase.
His company had paid Dad a $75,000 preliminary deposit toward a future land transaction.
I nearly dropped my coffee.
“You paid him for my land?”
“We believed he controlled the estate.”
“Based on what?”
Daniel produced a photocopy.
A letter.
Grandpa's supposed signature appeared at the bottom.
Arthur arrived twenty minutes later.
One glance was enough.
“Everett didn't sign this.”
Daniel paled.
“How can you know?”
“Because I prepared every estate authorization Everett signed during this period.”
Arthur pointed toward the date.
“And on this date, Everett was hospitalized.”
The room became silent.
Dad hadn't simply exaggerated.
Someone had produced a false authorization.
Daniel immediately contacted his company's counsel.
Arthur contacted Sheriff Miller.
I stood by the window looking toward the workshop.
My family had thrown me out because they thought I was powerless.
Now every layer we uncovered exposed another secret.
That evening, Paige arrived again.
This time she was crying before I opened the door.
“Dad is missing.”
“What?”
“He left the motel this morning.”
“Where's Mom?”
“She's freaking out.”
I felt no satisfaction.
Only concern.
“Did he take anything?”
“His suitcase.”
Then Paige hesitated.
“And Grandpa's folder.”
The missing folder.
“You knew he had it?”
“I saw it Christmas morning.”
My anger exploded.
“You knew?”
“I didn't know what it was!”
“You knew he stole something from Grandpa's workshop!”
“I was scared!”
“Of what?”
Paige began crying harder.
“Of Dad.”
That stopped me.
She sat on the porch steps.
For the first time in my life, Paige told me what happened behind the scenes.
Dad's debts.
Mom's panic.
Arguments.
Threats.
The pressure to maintain appearances.
Paige's lifestyle account had become another source of money.
Dad had borrowed from her too.
“How much?”
“Forty thousand.”
I stared at her.
“You gave Dad forty thousand dollars?”
“He said he'd repay it after the land sold.”
The land.
My land.
Then Paige handed me her phone.
“I recorded something.”
The video was from three weeks before Grandpa died.
Dad and Mom were arguing in the kitchen.
Dad's voice was clear.
“If Nora gets that box, we're finished.”
Mom answered:
“Then make sure she never opens it.”
The video ended.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally Paige whispered:
“I think they planned Christmas morning before Grandpa even died.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice said:
“Is this Nora Calloway?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Detective Grant.”
My stomach tightened.
“We located your father's vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Near the state line.”
“Is he okay?”
There was a pause.
“The vehicle was abandoned.”
I stood.
“And Miss Calloway?”
“Yes?”
“We found documents inside.”
“What documents?”
“Documents bearing your signature.”
I gripped the phone.
“I haven't signed anything.”
The detective's next sentence changed everything.
May you like
“That's exactly why we need you to come identify them.”
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