Chapter 6 - The Secret Beneath the Floorboards
I read Tyler's message four times.
Six months.
Grandpa had still been alive six months earlier.
He had been undergoing treatment, attending medical appointments, and complaining that hospital coffee tasted like somebody had washed an old sock in it.
During that same period, my parents had apparently been promising his house to Brianna.
I called Tyler.
He answered immediately.
"Emily?"
"Tell me exactly what you know."
He hesitated.
"I don't want to cause problems between you and your sister."
I looked around Grandpa's empty living room.
"That ship left seventeen years ago."
Tyler let out a quiet breath.
Then he explained.
He and Brianna had been engaged for eight months. Shortly after announcing their wedding, my parents offered them Grandpa's house as a gift.
"They said the property would transfer after Arthur passed away," Tyler told me.
"Did they speak to Grandpa?"
"According to Brianna, everything had been arranged."
Of course.
Everything had been arranged.
Except Grandpa's consent.
"There's more," Tyler continued.
I sat down.
"My family owns a construction company. Brianna's father approached mine about renovating the property. He suggested turning part of the land into a small luxury development."
I went completely still.
"What?"
"He said the estate included several acres with potential for subdivision."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Grandpa's garden.
His orchard.
The narrow creek where he'd taught me how to skip stones.
The little greenhouse Grandma had built.
My parents hadn't simply planned to take the house.
They'd planned to dismantle the entire place.
"Why are you telling me?"
Tyler was quiet for a moment.
"Because Brianna showed me a document last month. It looked like a preliminary transfer agreement, and she said you had already agreed to it."
I swallowed.
"I never signed anything."
"That's what I was afraid of."
After we hung up, I called Mr. Whitmore.
He listened without interrupting.
Then he asked me to photograph any documents Tyler could provide.
"Emily, your grandfather was concerned that someone might attempt to use his declining health as an opportunity to obtain signatures or transfer interests in the property."
"Did someone?"
"We found several irregular documents among his correspondence. We're still reviewing them."
I looked toward Grandpa's study.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The green box had a note about Evelyn and October fourteenth."
Mr. Whitmore remained silent for several seconds.
Then he said, "I think it's time you checked the lower compartment of Arthur's desk."
"I already found the box."
"Not that compartment."
He gave me careful instructions.
I entered the study.
Grandpa's desk sat beneath the window overlooking the garden.
I knelt beside it and ran my fingers along the wooden panel beneath the lowest drawer.
A tiny brass catch protruded near the back.
When I pressed it, a narrow compartment slid open.
Inside was a flat wooden case.
My heart began pounding.
The case contained a photograph, a small silver key, and an old property survey.
Beneath them was an envelope marked:
FOR EMILY—WHEN SHE'S READY TO KNOW WHAT HER FATHER WANTED.
I opened it.
Grandpa's handwriting filled three pages.
Pumpkin,
For years, I believed your parents left because they were selfish. That was true, but incomplete.
Your father was involved in financial activities through Hartwell Development Group that placed several family assets at risk.
When I discovered discrepancies in company accounts, he attempted to convince me to approve additional transfers.
I refused.
Your mother then proposed an arrangement.
She wanted me to assume permanent responsibility for you while she and Richard began a new life elsewhere.
I stopped reading.
Why would taking care of me have anything to do with Dad's financial problems?
The next paragraph answered part of it.
They wanted me distracted. They wanted me emotionally invested in maintaining peace. They believed I would avoid pursuing the financial matter if it threatened the stability of your childhood.
I felt sick.
Grandpa continued.
They were correct about one thing. Once you arrived, my priorities changed.
But they were wrong to believe I would forget.
I spent the following years documenting what happened. Daniel helped me recover records, secure the property, and protect what remained.
There is one person who witnessed the conversation that took place on October fourteenth, the day before your parents disappeared.
Her name is Evelyn Porter.
Find her.
I put down the letter.
My father hadn't merely abandoned me.
He had used me.
A five-year-old child had become part of a financial strategy.
I sat motionless until the shadows stretched across Grandpa's study.
Then I noticed something unusual about the photograph inside the wooden case.
It showed Grandpa standing beside the old greenhouse.
Behind him was a stone walkway.
A small red mark had been drawn beside one particular paving stone.
I turned the photograph over.
Where your grandmother planted the roses.
I remembered that place.
Grandma had died when I was eleven, but she'd spent years tending a narrow bed of pink roses beside the greenhouse.
I grabbed my coat and hurried outside.
The late afternoon air smelled of wet leaves.
I found the stone immediately.
It had a tiny crack through the center.
Using an old gardening tool, I carefully lifted it.
Beneath was a shallow weatherproof container.
Inside were duplicate financial documents, a USB drive, and a sealed envelope.
On the envelope, Grandpa had written:
In case someone reaches the study before Emily.
I almost laughed through my tears.
Even dying, Grandpa had planned three steps ahead.
I carried everything inside.
Then I heard a car pull into the driveway.
I looked through the window.
It wasn't my parents.
An unfamiliar dark sedan had stopped near the front steps.
An older woman stepped out.
She had silver-streaked brown hair and wore a pale blue coat.
For several seconds, she stood looking at the house.
Then she raised her eyes toward the window.
Toward me.
And I knew her immediately.
She was the woman from the photograph.
May you like
Evelyn Porter.
The last person who had seen my parents abandon me.
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