Chapter 4 - What Grant Was Really Afraid Of
Grant was taken away before sunset.
I did not celebrate.
There was nothing to celebrate.
My daughter was sitting at my kitchen table wearing one of Susan’s old sweaters because she had left most of her belongings behind.
A mug of tea rested between her hands.
She had not taken a sip.
Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windows.
The house felt exactly as it had after Susan died.
Too quiet.
Too careful.
Emily stared toward the back hallway.
“Mom used to make tea in that blue kettle.”
“She did.”
“She hated this mug.”
I looked at it.
A ridiculous oversized mug that said WORLD’S OKAYEST DAD.
“She bought it.”
“That’s why she hated it.”
For the first time that day, Emily smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“What happens now?”
“Tonight?”
“All of it.”
I leaned back.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You always know.”
“No.”
That was something children rarely understand about their parents.
We become symbols long after we stop feeling like one.
“I know what to do next. That’s different.”
She looked at me.
“What’s next?”
“Tonight, you sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“You try.”
“And tomorrow?”
“You call an attorney.”
“For the marriage?”
“For everything.”
She looked at the gray folder sitting on my counter inside a clear evidence bag.
The officers had photographed the documents but left the originals with Emily after recording their existence.
“I didn’t steal those.”
“I know.”
“What if Grant says I did?”
“He probably will.”
She closed her eyes.
I continued.
“Truth isn’t weakened because someone lies about it.”
“That sounds like something Mom would say.”
“She said it to me first.”
Emily finally drank the tea.
At 8:14 p.m., my phone rang.
Sergeant Marcus Bell.
I stepped into the living room.
“What’s happening?”
“Grant’s attorney is involved.”
“That was fast.”
“Apparently Grant had someone on retainer.”
“Interesting.”
“Very.”
Marcus paused.
“Frank, I can’t discuss everything. But his attorney is pushing hard to frame today as a financial disagreement between spouses.”
“I expected that.”
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“Grant claims Emily took proprietary company documents.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“She received documents at her home.”
“That’s what she told us.”
“Anything else?”
“He also says the fifty thousand dollars came partly from funds he earned.”
“That will be documented.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“His employer called.”
That got my attention.
“Weston Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“How did they know?”
“Grant apparently contacted someone before we finished processing.”
“Someone at the company?”
“That part I don’t know.”
I walked to the window.
Rainwater ran down the glass.
“What did the company say?”
“They wanted to know whether police had recovered any company records from the property.”
“And?”
“We told them to contact investigators through proper channels.”
My old instincts awakened.
Organizations do not usually call police within hours over ordinary paperwork unless someone is very nervous.
“Marcus.”
“Yeah?”
“Did they ask specifically about Hawthorne Advisory?”
Silence.
That answer was enough.
“They did.”
I looked toward Emily again.
“Thank you.”
“Frank.”
“Yes?”
“You’re her father right now.”
“I know.”
“Stay that way.”
After we hung up, I stood alone for a minute.
Marcus knew me well.
He knew exactly what retired investigators sometimes did when they smelled a larger case.
We started investigating.
He was reminding me not to.
He was right.
This was not mine.
But Emily was.
I returned to the kitchen.
She looked up immediately.
“What?”
“Weston Ridge knows about the documents.”
Her face drained.
“How?”
“Grant may have told them.”
“Why?”
“That’s what bothers me.”
Emily walked to the counter.
“There’s something else.”
She opened her purse.
From a small zippered pocket, she removed a USB drive.
I stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Grant’s office.”
I said nothing.
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why?”
“He told me to keep it somewhere safe.”
“Did you look at it?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you put it in the folder?”
“Because he told me something strange.”
“What?”
Emily’s voice dropped.
“He said if anyone ever asked about Hawthorne, I should destroy it.”
The room seemed to become quieter.
“And you kept it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because that was the moment I realized I might need it.”
I studied the small black drive in her palm.
“What did you tell Grant?”
“That I destroyed it.”
I almost smiled.
Susan would have been proud.
“Where have you kept it?”
Emily pointed to the purse.
“Inside the lining.”
“You cut the lining?”
“Yes.”
I nodded slowly.
“That was smart.”
Her expression changed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Grant knows I lie badly.”
“Yes.”
“So if he believed me when I said I destroyed it…”
She looked down at the drive.
“…maybe he wanted to believe it was gone.”
That night neither of us slept much.
At 2:17 a.m., a vehicle stopped outside my house.
Its headlights remained on.
I stood behind the curtain.
A dark sedan.
No one got out.
After perhaps thirty seconds, it drove away.
I wrote down the plate number.
Or what I could see of it.
Emily appeared behind me.
“Was that Grant?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Wrong car.”
She hugged her arms.
“Then who was it?”
I looked at the empty street.
“I don’t know.”
May you like
And that answer worried me more.
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