Chapter 10 - The Night I Finally Took Off the Watch
The woman was my aunt Rebecca.
My father’s younger sister.
I had not seen her since his funeral.
She had entered through the rear door after Catherine contacted her.
Rebecca explained that my father had helped Catherine escape.
He built the compartment beneath Table Twelve.
He also knew Grant’s father was watching everyone involved.
My mother had not died when I was a baby, as I had been told.
She had left.
Not willingly.
She entered witness protection after agreeing to testify against one of Caldwell’s partners.
The prosecution collapsed.
She remained hidden because threats continued.
My father raised me alone.
“Is she alive?” I asked.
Rebecca’s silence answered before her words.
“She died five years ago.”
I sat down.
Grief for a stranger should not hurt.
It did.
Rebecca gave me a box of letters my mother had written but never mailed.
Claire stayed.
She did not tell me everything happened for a reason.
She did not tell me to forgive.
She simply sat on the floor beside me.
Hours later, I found one letter addressed to my twenty-fifth birthday.
Daniel,
Your father says you restore furniture because you believe broken things deserve patience.
Remember that people are not furniture.
Sometimes love means repairing.
Sometimes it means letting go.
I looked at the watch.
Lauren’s watch.
My father’s key.
My past stacked inside one object.
I removed it.
For good.
Claire watched.
“Big moment?”
“Quiet one.”
“Those count.”
I placed the watch inside my father’s box.
Then my phone rang.
Lauren.
Her voice was shaking.
“Daniel, Grant is gone.”
“What?”
“He left a note.”
We returned to Hawthorne.
The note said Grant needed to finish what his father started.
Catherine knew immediately.
“The original Caldwell office.”
It was beneath an abandoned textile mill outside Asheville.
Police were notified.
Lauren insisted on going.
Claire did too.
The mill was empty except for Grant.
He stood before an industrial furnace.
Boxes surrounded him.
Lauren ran toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“Destroying my father’s private files.”
Catherine shouted, “Those are evidence!”
“No.”
Grant opened a box.
Inside were photographs of victims.
Families.
Children.
People his father had blackmailed.
“These aren’t financial records. They’re leverage. Secrets. Medical records. Affairs. Addiction. Things that would destroy innocent people who had nothing to do with his crimes.”
Lauren stopped.
Grant looked at her.
“I won’t let my father hurt them again.”
Catherine lowered her voice.
“Separate the evidence.”
“I have.”
He pointed to three boxes.
“These go to investigators.”
Lauren hugged him.
And I understood.
Grant was not his father.
Maybe that was the entire point.
Then Claire noticed a filing cabinet.
One drawer was labeled DAWSON.
She opened it.
Inside was Catherine’s file.
And Claire’s.
Claire pulled out a document.
Her birth certificate.
She stared at it.
“What?”
Catherine took it.
Her face changed.
Claire whispered, “Why does it say Caldwell?”
Grant looked over.
The father listed on Claire Dawson’s original birth certificate was not the man who raised her.
It was Grant’s father.
Claire looked at Grant.
Neither spoke.
Then Catherine found another document clipped behind it.
A DNA report.
She read the first line.
Her hands began shaking.
“Claire,” she whispered.
“What?”
Catherine looked up.
“This says Grant isn’t his father’s biological son.”
Grant froze.
May you like
Catherine turned the page.
“And it says who is.”
