Chapter 10 - The Camera Above My Father’s Workbench
Grant heard her.
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
A small tightening around the mouth.
But I had known him six years.
He was terrified.
“Mom.”
Elaine did not look at him.
His lawyer stepped forward.
“Mrs. Holloway, please do not discuss testimony in the hallway.”
Elaine ignored him.
She came toward me.
“I need to speak to Rebecca.”
Grant moved between us.
“Mom, don’t.”
Elaine finally looked at him.
“I already did enough.”
The courtroom deputy told everyone to stop.
Rebecca requested a private conference with the judge.
Within twenty minutes, the preliminary hearing was postponed forty-eight hours.
The affidavit would be examined.
Elaine agreed to speak with investigators.
Grant left without looking at me again.
We met Elaine at Rebecca’s office.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically.
Morally exhausted.
“What did you mean by enough?” I asked.
She folded her hands.
“The wedding company payment.”
“You took money from my account.”
“I returned it this morning.”
“Why was it paid at all?”
“Grant told me your father wanted to contribute toward the wedding without making it obvious.”
I stared at her.
“You believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She closed her eyes.
“I knew it was strange.”
“Did you know the account was opened without me?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the trust?”
Her silence answered.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What did you know?”
“Grant showed me a draft.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“What did he say?”
“That once he and Natalie married, he would help manage the Mercer estate if something happened to the parents.”
My stomach turned.
“And you were listed as an adviser.”
“He said it was administrative.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“One acknowledgment.”
Rebecca pushed the fake trust toward her.
“This?”
Elaine looked.
“No.”
“Your electronic signature is attached.”
“I did not sign this.”
“Did you give Grant access to your signature?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My company documents.”
Of course.
Family access.
Convenience.
The same mechanism he used on everyone.
I asked:
“What about Mom’s affidavit?”
Elaine started crying.
Quietly.
“I notarized it.”
My heart hardened.
“You just said it was a lie.”
“It was blank when I notarized it.”
Rebecca went completely still.
“You notarized a blank signature page?”
“Yes.”
“That is unlawful.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Grant said Natalie’s mother needed an urgent estate attachment and would sign the body later.”
I stared.
“Was my mother there?”
“No.”
“Then you notarized her signature without seeing her sign.”
Elaine covered her face.
“Yes.”
Anger rose through me so sharply that I stood.
“You helped him forge my dead mother’s wishes.”
“I didn’t know what he would put above it.”
“You didn’t care enough to find out.”
She cried harder.
I felt no satisfaction.
Rebecca asked:
“Why come forward now?”
Elaine looked at me.
“Because Grant sent me the affidavit last night and told me I needed to testify that Diane had concerns about Natalie.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“And?”
“He reminded me what I had done.”
Blackmail.
His own mother.
Elaine whispered:
“He said if I refused, the notarization could destroy my business.”
Rebecca’s voice was cold.
“It still may.”
“I know.”
I asked:
“Did he ever say why he wanted the house?”
Elaine looked down.
“Debt.”
Everything paused.
“What debt?”
“Grant has been losing money.”
“How?”
“Investments.”
He had always seemed careful.
Retirement accounts.
Index funds.
Spreadsheets.
“He started options trading two years ago,” Elaine said. “Then private loans.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“More than two hundred thousand.”
I felt dizzy.
“He never told me.”
“He told me he had it under control.”
“With my family’s money.”
Elaine nodded.
“He believed once you married, he would have time.”
“To do what?”
“Move funds. Refinance the property. Replace the losses before anyone noticed.”
Rebecca whispered:
“Classic temporary-access rationalization.”
Steal it.
Put it back later.
Tell yourself it is borrowing.
Grant had not wanted the twins because they complicated control.
Trustee oversight.
Court oversight.
Restricted house.
He wanted me alone.
Grieving.
Married.
Dependent on him for financial guidance.
I sat.
“Did he know my parents were going to die?”
Elaine looked horrified.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because after the accident, he panicked.”
“What did he say?”
“He said everything had happened too soon.”
I stopped breathing.
“Too soon.”
Elaine nodded.
“He said, ‘I wasn’t ready yet.’”
Rebecca stared at her.
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
That could mean paperwork.
Wedding.
Fraud.
Anything.
Still, it chilled me.
“What else?”
“He came to my house that night.”
“The night they died?”
“Yes.”
“He had a blue folder.”
My skin went cold.
“What did he do with it?”
“He burned some papers.”
I stood so fast my chair hit the wall.
“What?”
“In my firepit.”
“What papers?”
“I didn’t look closely.”
“You watched him burn my father’s documents?”
“I thought they were copies.”
“Why would copies need burning?”
She had no answer.
Rebecca called the investigator.
Then I remembered Dad’s note.
Camera backup. Workshop camera saves locally.
Memory card missing.
Maybe Grant took it.
Or maybe Dad had another copy.
We returned to the house with an investigator.
He examined the camera above the workbench.
“No SD card.”
“We know.”
He looked at the model.
“Local card plus internal buffer.”
“What?”
“Some units hold a small amount of footage internally before overwriting.”
My heart started beating harder.
“Can you recover it?”
“Maybe.”
He removed the camera.
Two hours later, a forensic technician found partial clips.
Most corrupted.
One intact.
Timestamp:
The night Wyatt saw Grant in Dad’s office.
Video showed Grant entering the garage at 11:17 p.m.
He opened the locked drawer.
Removed the blue folder.
Photographed pages.
Then froze.
Dad appeared behind him.
No audio at first.
Then suddenly sound.
Dad’s voice.
“You need to leave.”
Grant turned.
“Tom, let me explain.”
“You accessed accounts you had no permission to access.”
“I was helping.”
“You created a trust draft naming yourself.”
“You asked about estate planning.”
“I never asked you to put yourself in control of my sons’ money.”
Silence.
My hands shook.
On video, Grant lowered his voice.
“You’re overreacting.”
Dad stepped closer.
“No. I’m finally reacting enough.”
Then Dad said something that made Rebecca pause the recording.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find the debt?”
Grant’s face changed.
Dad knew.
The recording continued.
“You stay away from my finances. You stay away from Natalie’s finances. And tomorrow I’m filing a formal complaint.”
Grant whispered:
“If you do that, I lose my license.”
“You should have thought of that before you forged my authorization.”
There it was.
My father said it plainly.
Grant stepped toward him.
“Tom.”
“Get out.”
“I love your daughter.”
“Then stop using her.”
Grant stared at him.
Dad pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
Grant walked out.
The video continued.
Dad stood alone.
Breathing hard.
Then he turned toward the camera.
He looked directly into it.
And said:
“Natalie, if you’re ever watching this, check the second drawer in your mother’s sewing room.”
The clip ended.
We all stared at the screen.
I ran upstairs.
Mom’s sewing room.
Second drawer.
Thread.
Buttons.
Old patterns.
I pulled it out completely.
Something was taped underneath.
A flash drive.
May you like
And written across it in Mom’s handwriting were three words:
FOR ALL THREE.
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