Chapter 5 - THE FILE THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE EXISTED|
Adrian stared at the access log as though it had become a weapon pointed directly at him.
"My father died six years ago," he said.
Victor nodded.
"The account should have been deactivated."
"Who maintained it?"
"The estate's former records administrator."
"Where is he?"
Victor hesitated.
"Retired. He moved to Florida."
Adrian ordered him to locate the man.
Then he turned toward me.
"Did you know my father?"
"No."
"Had you ever met him?"
"Not that I remember."
He opened the employment file.
It contained my application, references, tax documents, and a copy of my grandmother's death certificate, which I had submitted when applying for bereavement leave.
At the bottom of the file was a photograph I had never seen before.
It showed my grandmother standing beside a younger man outside a small house in Maine.
Adrian recognized the man immediately.
His father.
I felt the room tilt.
"Where did that come from?"
Adrian enlarged the image.
"It was attached to your original application."
"I never submitted it."
He looked at Victor.
"Who added this?"
The security chief examined the record.
"The file was modified three days after Nora was hired."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Find the original."
Victor left.
I sat down slowly.
My grandmother had never spoken about Adrian's family. She had lived quietly in Maine, working as a school secretary before retiring. She had known people from every corner of the town, but she had never mentioned a connection to a wealthy family in Massachusetts.
"What does this mean?" I asked.
Adrian looked at the photograph.
"I don't know yet."
For the rest of the morning, we searched the estate's archived records.
The old files were stored in a locked room beneath the administrative wing. Dust covered the shelves, and several boxes had been marked for destruction.
Inside one box, Adrian found a folder bearing his father's initials.
The documents described a charitable foundation established twenty years earlier to support families affected by organized crime.
One recipient was listed as Eleanor Bennett.
My grandmother.
The payments had continued for eleven years.
Then they stopped abruptly.
A handwritten note appeared beside the final entry.
Beneficiary relocated. Further contact prohibited.
I stared at the words.
"Why would your father pay my grandmother?"
Adrian turned another page.
There was a photograph of my grandmother holding a baby.
Me.
On the back, someone had written a date and a single sentence.
The child must never be brought to the estate.
Adrian's expression changed.
"Nora, how old were you when your parents died?"
"I was seven when my mother died. My father disappeared before that."
"Did your grandmother ever tell you anything about him?"
"Only that he had made dangerous choices."
Adrian closed the folder.
"We need to speak to her former attorney."
"She's dead."
"Then we'll find her records."
Before he could make another call, the office door opened.
Vanessa entered without permission.
"You've been investigating me for two days," she said. "I think I deserve an explanation."
Adrian stood.
"Return to your suite."
"No. I'm done being treated like a prisoner."
"You are not a prisoner. You are a guest whose access to my business has been suspended."
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
"Because of her?"
She pointed at me.
Adrian's voice became dangerously quiet.
"Because you accessed confidential files, shared private information, and allowed someone to compromise my security."
"I did what was necessary."
"Necessary for whom?"
Vanessa's expression faltered.
Then she looked at the photograph on the desk.
For the first time, genuine fear crossed her face.
"Where did you get that?"
Adrian noticed immediately.
"You recognize it."
"No."
"You just asked where it came from."
Vanessa backed toward the door.
"You're making a mistake."
"Perhaps. But you're going to help me understand this one."
He signaled to Victor, who appeared in the doorway.
Vanessa was escorted from the room.
After she left, I stared at the photograph of my grandmother.
Something about the image felt familiar.
Not the man beside her.
The background.
A white fence. A narrow driveway. A large oak tree.
I had seen those things before, but not in Maine.
I remembered them from a faded picture my grandmother kept inside her Bible.
A photograph of a house she said she had once called home.
"Adrian," I whispered. "I think I know where this was taken."
He looked at me.
"Where?"
I swallowed.
"Your father's estate."
He went completely still.
Then Victor returned carrying a sealed envelope recovered from the archives.
It was addressed to Adrian's father.
The handwriting belonged to my grandmother.
May you like
And the first line read:
If you ever learn what happened to my granddaughter, you must tell her why her mother was murdered.
