PART 3 — The First Question Hidden in My Father’s Letter
The locksmith loosened the faceplate, then worked in silence. While she concentrated, I went upstairs for Dad’s envelope. I had read it twice and returned it to the dresser because I could not decide what to do next. Seeing Derek with the transfer agreement had given me the answer. I brought the envelope downstairs unopened at the flap.
Maya had delivered it with the safe. My name appeared in Dad’s careful block letters. Inside were three pages, dated eleven days before he died. The first contained memories of Mom and the workshop. The second described records Dad had gathered after he found something missing from his house. The third told me where to look for answers.
He had written, I can be mistaken about a person, Clara. Documents give us a way to check. Beneath that was a request to speak to Maya before confronting anyone. He also warned that if Derek or Judith showed interest in the safe, I should let their words tell me how much they believed it held.
At the time, I had thought Dad was being suspicious because he was ill. He had always guarded his finances carefully. He had also been generous with Derek, lending him tools and helping him repair the porch. A letter written near the end of his life seemed too slender a basis for accusing my husband of theft.
But Dad had included dates. On April 18, his checkbook was moved from a locked drawer. On April 22, an old deed vanished from a document box. On April 29, he discovered a photocopy of my company’s membership certificate among papers left near his printer. Each date lined up with Derek’s visits.
The locksmith whispered that she had found the last catch. Derek came from the breakfast nook and stood beside Judith. Leon remained near the doorway. I tucked Dad’s letter into my cardigan pocket. I wanted to observe their faces without giving either of them a reason to study the pages in my hand.
The door opened with a dry metallic sigh. The safe held two shallow drawers and a space at the bottom. No jewelry case sat inside. There were no bundles of cash. In the upper drawer was a sealed brown envelope with my name on it. Beneath it lay a smaller white envelope labeled For Derek Mercer and Judith Mercer.
Derek leaned forward. “Where’s the rest?” The locksmith stepped away from the safe. Judith reached toward the lower space, and I closed the door halfway with one hand. “You asked to see what was inside,” I said. “Now you have.” Derek’s gaze stayed fixed on the white envelope, as though he recognized the handwriting.
I took out the brown envelope and checked its seal. Dad had signed across the flap. Inside was a list of account numbers, copies of letters, and a short note explaining why he had kept them together. The safe also contained a small brass key tied to a red string. Its paper tag bore the number 214.
The white envelope held photocopies addressed to Derek and Judith. I set it on the counter and opened it while they watched. Dad had written a single page: You told me the documents I found were an innocent misunderstanding. If you have brought Clara here for my money, explain these papers to her yourselves.
Judith’s hand came down flat on the counter. Derek read over my shoulder, his lips parting slightly. Behind Dad’s note were copies of a loan application and a company authorization form. My signature appeared on both. I had never signed either one. The first listed my company as a prospective guarantor; the second claimed I had agreed.
Leon crossed the kitchen and asked to see them. I handed over the copies after photographing each page with my phone. He compared the loan application to his own folder. “This is not the application we received,” he said. “The name matches, but these pages were not included in the final packet.” Derek stared at the floor.
Judith recovered first. “Arthur misunderstood a draft.” She pointed to the copy in Leon’s hand. “No lender acted on that.” Dad’s note did not claim otherwise. He had found the forms before they were used and made copies. The question was why Derek and Judith had prepared them at all.
I turned to the next page. It was a bank notice showing an inquiry into Dad’s home equity. His address, date of birth, and property details had been entered into an online form. The request had not resulted in a loan. A contact number at the bottom belonged to Judith; I knew it by heart.
“Tell me what you were doing,” I said. Judith looked past me at her son. Derek rubbed one hand across his jaw. “Dad agreed to help,” he said. “He changed his mind and made it look sinister.” I asked when Dad had agreed. Derek gave a month but no day, then said the conversation had happened without anyone else present.
Dad’s letter described that conversation. Derek had asked for a loan. Dad had refused after seeing no records of the project it would support. A week later, the inquiry appeared. Dad wrote that he confronted Derek and Judith in his workshop. Both said they had entered information to see what might be available, without applying in his name.
The older visitor stepped back from the counter. “We need to pause our discussion,” Leon said to Derek. He asked his companions to put away their folders. Neither looked surprised by his decision. He gave me a card and said their counsel would contact Maya. Until then, no one in his group would seek company property as payment.
Derek protested that the business transfer remained an option. I held the agreement over the open safe. “It was never an option,” I said. His voice sharpened. “We’ll lose the house.” I looked at the paper. Our home was in both our names, and a mortgage payment was due next week. For the first time, his warning felt specific.
The locksmith packed her tools. I paid her with my own card and asked for a receipt stating that the safe had been opened in my presence. She wrote it at the counter while Judith stood by the window. The visitors left, carrying their damp folders into the rain. Their departure made the kitchen seem smaller.
Once the front door closed, Derek reached for the white envelope. I moved it into my pocket with Dad’s letter. “It’s addressed to me,” he said. “It’s a copy, and you’ve read it.” He gripped the back of a chair. Judith asked whether I planned to make our private difficulties public.
Before I could answer, my phone rang. Maya’s name appeared on the screen. I told her what we had found, including the signature on the company form. She listened without interrupting. Then she asked me to read the number on the key’s paper tag. When I said “214,” she drew a breath I could hear.
“That’s Arthur’s storage unit,” she said. “He told me to wait until you called.” Derek and Judith exchanged a look. It passed quickly, but I saw it. Maya said she would meet me there when the facility opened at eight. Judith asked, too casually, whether I knew which facility it was.
END PART 3
