Chapter 14 - THE MONSTER WHO KNEW MY FATHER'S FINAL SECRET"Don't give him anything until we know Grace is alive."
Detective Park stood beside me in the library.
My phone lay on the table.
The threatening messages were displayed on the screen.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"I saw the photograph."
"That confirms she was alive when it was taken. We need to establish where she is now."
I looked at her.
"He's going to hurt her."
"I know you're afraid."
"Afraid?"
My voice cracked.
"I'm terrified."
Park didn't look away.
"Then help us make careful decisions."
I lowered myself into a chair.
For a moment, I felt completely powerless.
The kind of powerless I had spent my whole life believing money could prevent.
But no amount of money could tell me where Grace was being held.
No amount of influence could guarantee that Victor Cross would keep his word.
And no private security team could undo what had already happened.
Park organized the information we possessed.
The photograph.
The message.
The warehouse clue.
The reference to a water station.
The compromised estate security system.
Investigators were checking industrial properties connected to Victor's companies.
Meanwhile, Marisol worked with the forensic accountants to identify what the original audit might contain.
I returned to my father's recordings.
There was one file I hadn't listened to carefully.
Instructions.
I pressed play.
My father's voice filled the room.
"If you've reached this point, Nathan, then you know I allowed Victor to divert money from the Marsh Point Relief Trust."
He paused.
"Clara gave me the original audit before the fire. I kept it because it was the only document that connected the transfers directly to Victor's personal holding companies."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"I couldn't bring myself to release it. So I hid it among the things he never valued."
Another pause.
"Your mother used to say our most important family records weren't kept in the library."
I sat forward.
"They were kept in the kitchen, where everyone gathered."
My heart quickened.
Grace had once told me something similar about her mother.
An empty chair.
A shared meal.
A place where people were welcome.
The recording continued.
"Look behind the oldest recipes. The ones your mother insisted we keep."
Then my father's voice broke.
"If you find the audit, please use it. Don't make my mistake. Don't protect a name at the expense of a life."
The recording ended.
I jumped to my feet.
"Marisol!"
She entered the library.
"What is it?"
"The audit. I think it's in the kitchen."
She stared at me.
"The kitchen?"
"My father said he hid it among my mother's oldest recipes."
We hurried downstairs.
The main kitchen contained a wall of cookbooks and storage cabinets.
My mother had been an enthusiastic cook, though not a particularly good one.
She had collected recipes from friends, relatives, and neighbors for decades.
After her death, the household staff had packed most of her handwritten books into a storage cupboard near the pantry.
I had never opened it.
Now I pulled the boxes out one by one.
There were handwritten cards.
Old church cookbooks.
A stained notebook titled Family Dinners.
And a large wooden recipe box.
I opened the lid.
Inside were hundreds of cards organized by category.
Desserts.
Soups.
Holiday meals.
Sunday breakfasts.
Marisol helped me search.
After fifteen minutes, I found a thick handwritten binder tied with a faded blue ribbon.
A small label on the front read:
Recipes Worth Keeping.
I recognized my mother's handwriting.
My throat tightened.
I opened it carefully.
The first pages contained familiar meals.
Peach cobbler.
Chicken and dumplings.
Cornbread.
My mother's terrible meatloaf recipe.
Then, halfway through, I noticed something unusual.
The inside back cover felt thicker than the front.
I examined it.
A thin piece of cardboard had been glued over another layer.
I called Marisol over.
"Look."
She leaned closer.
"That's been altered."
I carefully loosened the edge with a letter opener.
Behind the cardboard was a hidden compartment.
Inside lay several folded pages.
Each bore the heading:
Marsh Point Relief Trust — Independent Financial Review.
My pulse pounded.
At the bottom of the first page was a name.
Clara Ellis.
I whispered, "We found it."
Marisol took a photograph and immediately contacted the evidence team.
But before anyone could celebrate, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Park moved beside me.
"Answer it."
I accepted the call.
"Nathan Reed."
A familiar voice replied.
"Well done, son."
Victor Cross.
My body went cold.
"Where's Grace?"
"She's safe enough."
"If you've hurt her—"
"Don't threaten me."
I forced myself to breathe.
"What do you want?"
"The audit."
"Let me speak to her."
Victor sighed.
"Always so emotional."
A muffled sound followed.
Then Grace's voice came through.
"Nathan?"
My eyes filled.
"Grace!"
"I'm okay."
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm all right."
Her voice was weak but steady.
"Listen to me. Don't trust him."
Victor interrupted.
"Enough."
I clenched my jaw.
"If you want the audit, you have to let her go."
Victor laughed.
"You're negotiating as though you have leverage."
"I have the document."
"And I have the woman you love."
I froze.
Across the room, Marisol looked at me.
Victor continued.
"Your father made a similar choice years ago."
My pulse quickened.
"What choice?"
"He had evidence that could destroy me. He also had a son he wanted to protect."
I swallowed.
"What happened to Clara?"
Victor remained silent for a moment.
Then he said, "She should have listened when we told her to stop."
I felt sick.
"Did you order the fire?"
A long pause.
Then Victor spoke again.
"Your father knew what Garrick was going to do."
"No."
"He knew the documents would be destroyed."
"You're lying."
Victor's voice hardened.
"Richard wasn't innocent, Nathan."
"I know that."
That seemed to surprise him.
I continued.
"I have his confession."
Silence.
Then Victor laughed quietly.
"How sentimental of him."
I gripped the phone.
"Tell me what happened."
Victor's voice changed.
"Clara refused to surrender the copies. Garrick was supposed to frighten her. The fire was supposed to destroy the evidence."
My stomach turned.
"And the locked door?"
Victor didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "Sometimes people refuse to understand how dangerous their choices have become."
I closed my eyes.
"You killed her."
"Don't be dramatic."
"She died because of you."
Victor's voice became cold.
"Your father came to that building too. He could have exposed everything that night."
I thought of the photograph.
My father standing beside Garrick Shaw.
The locked door.
The smoke.
Victor continued.
"Instead, he came back to me."
My throat tightened.
"And what did he say?"
Victor gave a bitter laugh.
"He begged me to keep your name out of it."
I closed my eyes.
My father had been guilty of terrible things.
But Victor had recognized his shame and used it as a weapon.
"Where is Grace?" I repeated.
Victor ignored me.
"Bring the audit to the old water station near Pier Sixteen. No reporters. No grandstanding."
I looked at Park.
She was writing instructions on a notepad.
Victor continued.
"And Nathan?"
"What?"
"Don't make the mistake your father made."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Marisol touched my shoulder.
"Nathan, we have the document. We have the call."
Park was already coordinating with other investigators.
The conversation had provided new information about the location and the suspected crimes.
But I could barely concentrate.
Because Victor's final words echoed in my head.
Don't make the mistake your father made.
A few minutes later, Park returned with an update.
"There's an industrial flood-control pumping station close to Pier Sixteen. It was transferred to a Cross-affiliated company several years ago."
I stood.
"Then she's there."
"We're checking it now."
Suddenly, my phone vibrated again.
It was a message from Grace's number.
Only six words.
Check the old kitchen wall clock.
I stared at the screen.
Then looked toward the antique clock above the kitchen doorway.
My mother's clock.
The one that had stopped working years earlier.
I climbed onto a chair and lifted it from its hook.
Something had been taped to the back.
A folded envelope.
My name was written across it.
Inside was a photograph and another handwritten note from my father.
I read the note.
May you like
Then my knees nearly gave way.
"Victor didn't only steal from the relief fund. He secretly placed part of the money in your inheritance. You must return what was never ours."
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