Chapter 4 - The Original
My mother refused to tell us where the original document was.
She said Richard Cole would come after anyone who had it.
I told her that wasn't good enough.
“You nearly lost your grandson's trust,” I said.
“Sofía is your granddaughter,” she whispered.
“Then act like it.”
That sentence broke something inside her.
She finally admitted that the original deed was not in her possession.
It had been hidden years earlier by my father.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you knew about it.”
“I know where he told me it was.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
She sat quietly for several seconds.
Then she said:
“Your father's old workshop.”
I remembered it.
A small building behind the property where he used to repair antique furniture.
After his death, my mother had locked it.
We drove there the next morning.
Elena stayed with Sofía.
I went inside with my mother and Officer Reed.
Dust covered everything.
Old tools.
Wooden shelves.
Boxes.
Photographs.
My father's workbench stood exactly where I remembered it.
Diana walked toward a cabinet.
She stopped.
“There.”
A small brass key hung from a nail.
She took it.
The key opened a drawer beneath the workbench.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A photograph.
And a handwritten letter.
The letter was addressed to me.
My hands shook as I opened it.
My father had written it twelve years earlier.
He explained that he had discovered irregularities in several property transactions involving Diana's business.
He suspected someone was manipulating records.
He had decided to investigate quietly.
Then he wrote:
If anyone tells you that the land was sold, do not believe them unless you see the original deed.
I looked at my mother.
“Did you know about this?”
She nodded.
“But why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father asked me to keep you away from it.”
“You kept me away from millions of dollars.”
“I kept you alive.”
That sentence silenced me.
Officer Reed examined the cassette.
“Do you have a player?”
We found one in an old box.
The tape hissed.
Then my father's voice filled the room.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakably his.
He named several people.
Richard Cole.
Martin Bell.
And another name.
Diana Hayes.
I looked at my mother.
The recording continued.
My father said Diana wasn't part of the fraud.
She had discovered it and tried to stop it.
But there was something else.
He said he had hidden the original deed because he believed someone inside the company was working with Richard.
Then the recording ended.
Silence.
My mother covered her face.
I sat down.
“You knew my father suspected you.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was afraid.”
“What happened to him?”
Diana looked at me.
“He wasn't supposed to die.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Officer Reed immediately leaned forward.
“Mrs. Hayes, explain.”
Diana said that shortly before my father's death, he had planned to meet a man at a hotel.
He never came home.
His death had been ruled an accident.
But Diana had always suspected otherwise.
Now the evidence was different.
The hotel had security footage.
Old records.
Potential witnesses.
And if Richard Cole had been involved, my father's death might not have been an accident.
I looked at the cassette.
“What does the original deed look like?”
Diana answered.
“Blue leather folder.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The original deed was kept in a blue leather folder.”
I remembered something.
Sofía had said Grandma had a blue notebook.
But maybe the notebook wasn't the only blue item.
I called Elena.
“Do you remember the notebook?”
“Yes.”
“Was it blue leather?”
“No. Dark blue cardboard.”
I closed my eyes.
Then I heard Sofía's voice in the background.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“I know where Grandma's other blue book is.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“At Grandma's house.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw her put it behind the picture of Grandpa.”
I looked at my mother.
She was already standing.
“What picture?”
“The big one in the hallway.”
My mother whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
“That picture isn't there anymore.”
We rushed back to her house.
The frame was gone.
The wall behind it was empty.
But beneath the nails, someone had scratched a message into the wood.
May you like
Three words.
HE TOOK IT.
