Chapter 10 - The Night Someone Broke Into Grandpa's Study
The sound came again.
A sharp crack.
Then a heavy thud.
I stood frozen beside the staircase, my phone still in my hand.
For one terrifying second, I imagined Grandpa calling from his study.
Then reality returned.
Grandpa was gone.
Someone else was inside his room.
I moved quietly toward the kitchen, locked myself behind its solid door, and called emergency services.
While speaking to the dispatcher, I heard footsteps crossing the study floor.
Drawers opened.
Something fell.
The intruder wasn't looking for jewelry.
Grandpa kept his valuable watch collection upstairs.
The study contained paperwork.
I suddenly understood why Mr. Whitmore had warned me.
"I'm alone," I whispered into the phone. "Someone broke into my house."
The dispatcher told me to remain where I was.
I did.
Grandpa had taught me courage, not stupidity.
Through the narrow kitchen window, I saw a shadow move across the side garden.
A moment later, a figure wearing dark clothing hurried past the greenhouse.
Then a car engine started.
By the time police arrived, whoever had entered was gone.
Officer Daniel Harris was the first through the front door.
He was in his early thirties, broad-shouldered, and spoke with the calm efficiency of someone accustomed to frightened homeowners.
"Emily Bennett?"
"Yes."
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Where did you hear the break-in?"
I pointed toward the study.
Two officers checked the property.
The study window had been forced.
Grandpa's desk drawers were open.
Books lay scattered across the floor.
The third drawer had been completely removed.
My heart sank.
The green box.
I hurried toward the desk.
Officer Harris stopped me.
"Please don't touch anything yet."
I pointed.
"There was a hidden compartment."
He examined the empty space.
"What was inside?"
"Family documents. Letters. Financial records."
"Are they missing?"
I looked around.
The wooden case I'd discovered earlier was gone.
But the green metal box wasn't there because Mr. Whitmore had taken it to his office for safekeeping that afternoon.
Relief washed over me.
Grandpa had been right to insist on multiple copies.
I showed Officer Harris photographs of the documents.
Then I explained the family dispute.
He listened carefully without jumping to conclusions.
"Do you know who might have entered?"
"I have concerns, but I didn't see the person's face."
"That's important. Let us investigate."
He asked about security cameras.
Grandpa had installed an old system several years earlier, but I'd rarely used it.
I opened the application on my phone.
The footage showed a dark sedan entering the rear lane at 9:31 p.m.
A hooded figure approached the side window.
Their face remained hidden.
But I noticed something.
The intruder carried a small red flashlight.
I'd seen one just like it before.
In my father's car.
I stopped myself.
A flashlight wasn't proof.
Still, my stomach tightened.
Mr. Whitmore arrived shortly afterward.
He examined the damaged window and spoke privately with Officer Harris.
Then he came into the kitchen.
"Emily, I think it would be wise for you to stay somewhere else tonight."
I shook my head.
"I'm not leaving Grandpa's house."
"Temporarily."
"No."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"All right. We'll arrange for the window to be secured and improve the locks. Evelyn has offered to stay with you."
I hadn't realized how badly I needed to hear that.
"She has?"
"She insisted."
Within an hour, Evelyn arrived carrying an overnight bag and a container of homemade chicken soup.
"Arthur would haunt me if I let you sit here hungry," she announced.
I laughed for the first time that evening.
While the officers finished their report, Evelyn heated the soup.
We ate at the kitchen table.
Then she asked whether I'd checked the envelope from beneath the greenhouse stone.
I shook my head.
"Not completely."
She set down her spoon.
"Maybe it's time."
I retrieved the weatherproof container from my bedroom closet.
Inside were several documents and a USB drive.
Mr. Whitmore had already copied its contents, but I hadn't examined them myself.
I connected the drive to Grandpa's old laptop.
Three folders appeared.
PROPERTY RECORDS.
CORRESPONDENCE.
OCTOBER 14.
My fingers hesitated over the last one.
Evelyn sat beside me.
"Whatever you find, sweetheart, you don't have to face it alone."
I opened the folder.
It contained scanned documents and an audio recording.
The audio file was dated seventeen years earlier.
I pressed play.
Grandpa's younger voice filled the kitchen.
"Caroline, I will not approve a transfer I don't understand."
My mother's voice followed.
"You don't understand because you refuse to trust Richard."
Then Dad.
"The company needs time. That's all."
Grandpa answered.
"Then provide the records."
A long silence.
And then my mother spoke.
"Fine. If you insist on making this difficult, perhaps you should take Emily permanently."
I stopped breathing.
Grandpa's voice sharpened.
"Don't you dare use that child as a bargaining chip."
Mom laughed.
Not a happy laugh.
A bitter, angry one.
"You always liked her best anyway."
The recording continued.
But I could barely hear it over the blood rushing through my ears.
Evelyn reached for my hand.
And then my father said something that made us both go completely still.
"Caroline, stop talking. Arthur doesn't know about the other account."
Grandpa's voice changed.
"What other account, Richard?"
The recording ended abruptly.
I looked at Evelyn.
She was staring at the laptop.
"What account?" I whispered.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached into her handbag and removed a folded piece of paper.
"Arthur asked me to give you this only after you heard that recording."
It was a bank document.
An account-opening confirmation.
My name appeared on the first line.
EMILY ROSE BENNETT.
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The opening date was seventeen years earlier.
And according to the attached statement, someone had withdrawn nearly every dollar shortly after my parents disappeared.
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