Chương 7
I thought about the foundation.
The attempted withdrawal.
The questions about control.
“What kind of spending?”
My mother looked away.
“Shopping.”
“Travel.”
“Credit cards.”
“Why would Julian know?”
My father hesitated.
That hesitation told me there was more.
“What?”
“He found something.”
“What?”
My father looked toward the floor.
“A folder.”
I waited.
“In Julian’s office.”
My heart stopped.
“My husband’s office?”
“Yes.”
“What folder?”
My father swallowed.
“Documents.”
“About Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“What documents?”
He looked miserable.
“Bank records.”
I felt dizzy.
The room seemed to move slightly.
Julian’s office.
The place where his tools still sat.
The place where I had found his note about the fishing boat.
The place I had avoided because every object inside belonged to a version of my life that no longer existed.
“What happened to the folder?”
My father looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I gave it back to Julian.”
The sentence hit me.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
His face tightened.
“We talked to Eleanor.”
“And?”
“She denied everything.”
I almost smiled.
Of course she did.
People who lie rarely begin by admitting it.
“What did Julian say?”
My father looked away.
“He said he needed time.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like him.
Julian never rushed toward conflict.
He believed people could be reached if you gave them enough patience.
Sometimes I thought that was his greatest strength.
Sometimes I thought it was the thing that made him vulnerable.
“When did he find out about the money?”
My father answered.
“Two weeks before the accident.”
The room went silent.
Two weeks.
My mind immediately started connecting things.
The accident.
The insurance.
The foundation.
The questions.
I looked at my parents.
“Do you think Eleanor had anything to do with what happened?”
My mother gasped.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
I looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That was not an answer.
My father stood.
“No one is saying that.”
“But you thought about it.”
“No.”
“You did.”
He looked exhausted.
“I thought about everything after losing Julian.”
That was the first honest thing he had said all day.
Not a defense.
Not an excuse.
Just a confession.
Fear had changed all of us.
It had changed me into someone who searched every memory for warning signs.
It had changed my parents into people who hid problems because they believed hiding them would keep everyone safe.
And it had changed Eleanor into someone I no longer recognized.
“I need to see the folder.”
My father looked surprised.
“I don’t know where it is.”
“Then find out.”
“Sienna.”
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
That scared me more than yelling.
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle anymore.”
Nobody spoke.
I picked up my purse.
My mother stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“This is your home too.”
I looked around the room.
The framed family photographs.
The old furniture.
The walls covered with memories.
“No.”
My voice softened.
“It was.”
I left before they could answer.
For the next two days, I searched through everything Julian had left behind.
Not because I believed he was hiding things from me.
Because I believed he had been trying to protect me.
There was a difference.
I went through his desk drawers.
His computer files.
Old notebooks.
Receipts.
Every place a careful person might leave something important.
I found nothing.
Then, on the third night, I remembered something.
A habit Julian had.
When he did not trust something, he never kept it in the obvious place.
He used to say obvious places were the first places people searched.
I walked into the garage.
His tools were still arranged exactly how he liked them.
I hated touching them.
Not because they were sacred.
Because they were his.
There was a difference.
I opened the old metal cabinet near the workbench.
Inside were paint cans, screws, batteries, and several boxes of things I had never organized.
At the bottom was a small black notebook.
My hands started shaking before I even opened it.
The first pages were normal.
Measurements.
Projects.
Things he planned to repair.
Then, halfway through, the handwriting changed.
The notes became shorter.
More careful.
Eleanor.
Thomas.
Account transfers.
Questions.
Dates.
My heart pounded as I read.
Julian had been documenting everything.
Not because he wanted to expose her.
Because he wanted to understand.
One entry was dated three days before the accident.
Eleanor knows I found the records.
I need to talk to Sienna.
Another entry followed.
I think she is scared.
Not evil.
Scared.
I sat down on the garage floor.
That was Julian.
Even when someone hurt him, he looked for the wound that caused the behavior.
But then I found the final entry.
The last thing he had written.
The date was the day before the crash.
I talked to Richard.
He knows more than he admits.
I froze.
My father.
The next line was underlined.
He says he will fix it.
But I don’t know if he understands what fixing it means.
I closed the notebook.
For several minutes, I could not move.
My father had known.
Not everything.
But something.
The next morning, I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Sienna.”
“I found Julian’s notebook.”
Silence.
Then a quiet breath.
“You found it.”
“You knew about it.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He did not answer.
“Dad.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I looked out the window.
“That sentence has destroyed more things in this family than anything else.”
He was quiet.
“I made mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I handled it quietly—”
“You thought you could control everything.”
His silence confirmed it.
I sat down.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
“No.”
My voice hardened.
“You’re telling me pieces.”
Another pause.
May you like
Then my father said something I had not expected.
“Your sister was not the only person Julian was worried about.”
