Chapter 11 - The Name Hidden in His Final Letter
I stared at the bank statement until the numbers stopped making sense.
The account had been established in my name when I was three.
Its initial deposit was substantial.
Far more than I'd ever imagined Grandpa possessing.
"Where did this money come from?"
Evelyn took a slow breath.
"Your grandmother inherited a portion of her family's manufacturing business. When she and Arthur sold their interests, they placed money aside for both granddaughters."
"But Mr. Whitmore said we each had fifty thousand."
"Those were separate accounts."
I looked up sharply.
"Separate?"
She nodded.
"This account was established through a different family arrangement."
I turned back to the document.
The account had contained more than two hundred thousand dollars before a series of withdrawals reduced it to almost nothing.
My hands began trembling.
"Who took it?"
Evelyn pointed toward the authorization records.
There were two names.
My mother's.
And my father's.
I felt physically ill.
"Was Grandpa aware?"
"Not immediately."
"What happened when he found out?"
"He demanded an explanation."
I looked toward the hallway.
"Is that why they left me?"
"Partly. Arthur believed your parents were afraid he'd pursue the money. But he also believed there were other transactions involving Richard's business that they wanted hidden."
I looked down.
My entire childhood suddenly felt connected to numbers on a page.
An account.
A transfer.
A debt.
I'd spent years asking what was wrong with me.
And somewhere, two adults had apparently been more concerned about financial records than their little girl's birthday.
Evelyn touched my shoulder.
"There's another letter."
She pointed to a cream envelope at the bottom of the container.
I recognized Grandpa's handwriting immediately.
My beautiful Emily,
If you've reached this part of the story, I imagine you're angry.
You have every right to be.
I want you to know that I did attempt to recover the money originally intended for you. Some of those efforts failed. Others succeeded quietly over time.
Daniel has the documents.
But please don't mistake this account for your worth. If your parents had taken every penny in the world, you would still have been the greatest gift my life ever received.
I wiped my eyes.
The letter continued.
There is one person I haven't told you enough about.
Her name is Margaret Ellis.
I frowned.
I didn't recognize it.
Margaret was your mother's closest friend when you were small. She knew things Caroline refused to admit. She contacted me shortly after you turned seven, but I didn't understand the importance of her information until much later.
If you ever need someone who can explain what happened inside your parents' home before they left, find Margaret.
At the bottom was an old address.
Riverton, Massachusetts.
I photographed it.
Then I called Mr. Whitmore.
He answered even though it was nearly midnight.
After I explained what we'd found, he remained silent for several seconds.
"Arthur hoped you'd eventually speak with Margaret."
"Do you know where she is?"
"Not personally. But we can attempt to locate her through appropriate channels."
"What did she know?"
"Your grandfather believed she had direct knowledge of the explanations your parents gave other people about your disappearance from their household."
I closed my eyes.
"Did they tell people I died?"
"No, Emily."
Relief came too quickly.
Then he continued.
"According to Arthur's notes, some people were told you'd been sent away for specialized care."
I opened my eyes.
"What?"
"Others believed your grandfather had obtained custody because of serious behavioral problems."
I felt something inside me go hollow.
Behavioral problems.
At five.
I remembered being terrified of thunderstorms.
I remembered collecting ladybugs in the backyard.
I remembered crying when Grandpa accidentally stepped on a worm.
That was the dangerous little girl my parents had apparently needed to send away.
"Emily?"
Mr. Whitmore's voice brought me back.
"I'm here."
"None of those claims were supported by the records Arthur obtained."
I looked toward the ceiling.
Grandpa's bedroom was directly above us.
I imagined him sitting on the edge of my childhood bed, reading another chapter of The Secret Garden because I insisted I wasn't sleepy.
"I want to find Margaret."
"We'll help."
After ending the call, I returned to Grandpa's study.
Evelyn stayed in the kitchen.
I needed a moment alone.
The room was still disordered from the break-in.
I carefully picked up a fallen photograph.
It showed Grandpa, Grandma, and me at a county fair.
I couldn't have been older than six.
Grandpa was holding an enormous stuffed bear he'd won by throwing three rings over glass bottles.
I'd named it Sir Fluffington.
He had insisted on addressing that bear formally for the next decade.
I sat in his chair and cried.
Not because of the money.
Not because of my parents.
Because the man who had spent seventeen years protecting me was finally gone.
And I wanted nothing more than one more ordinary Tuesday with him.
I wanted burnt toast.
Bad jokes.
A grocery list written on the back of an old envelope.
I wanted him to tell me that whatever happened next, we'd figure it out together.
Eventually, my phone vibrated.
An email had arrived from Tyler.
Emily, I found the paperwork Brianna showed me. There's something strange about the signature.
Attached was a scanned agreement concerning Grandpa's property.
Near the bottom appeared my name.
Emily Rose Bennett.
Beneath it was a signature.
Supposedly mine.
I stared at it.
Then I felt my stomach drop.
I had never seen that document before in my life.
May you like
Someone had signed my name.
And the date beside the signature was three weeks before Grandpa died.
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