Chương 6
"Grant."
"I didn't keep them."
"Where did she get them?"
"I don't know."
The answer irritated me.
But then I remembered something.
Patricia loved paper.
She trusted printed documents more than digital records.
She kept copies of everything.
Receipts.
Letters.
Old contracts.
She once had a drawer full of restaurant menus because she believed they might become useful someday.
"Her study," I said.
Marcus looked at me.
"What?"
"Patricia keeps everything there."
"Then we go there."
Grant stepped away from the door.
"Wait."
We both looked at him.
He looked toward the hallway.
"My mother won't let anyone search that room."
Marcus gave him a flat look.
"Grant, she no longer controls this property."
"That's not what I mean."
He lowered his voice.
"You don't understand."
I watched him carefully.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"My mother has always had a safe."
Marcus frowned.
"Where?"
"In the study."
"Combination?"
Grant shook his head.
"She never told me."
That was not surprising.
Patricia trusted no one completely.
Not even her own family.
"Then why mention it?"
Because there was something else.
I could see it.
"What aren't you saying?"
Grant looked embarrassed.
"When I was sixteen, I found the safe once."
"And?"
"I saw something inside."
Marcus crossed his arms.
"What?"
Grant stared at the floor.
"Documents about my father."
The room changed.
"What kind of documents?"
"I don't know."
"Grant."
He looked at me.
"I was a kid."
"You're not anymore."
His face tightened.
"I saw my father crying."
That stopped me.
Grant's father had been a legend inside that family.
A man everyone described as fearless.
Successful.
Untouchable.
"He was sitting in the study with my mother," Grant continued.
"I wasn't supposed to be there."
His voice became quieter.
"He said something had to disappear before anyone found out."
Marcus leaned forward slightly.
"What had to disappear?"
"I don't know."
Grant looked frustrated.
"I left before I heard more."
I stared at him.
All these years.
All the confidence.
All the family stories.
And underneath it was a memory of a frightened teenage boy who had seen something he didn't understand.
A noise came from upstairs.
A door closing.
We all froze.
Marcus turned toward the hallway.
"Are we alone in this house?"
I felt the answer before anyone spoke.
Grant's face went pale.
"No."
"Who else is here?"
He looked toward the staircase.
"My mother."
I frowned.
"Patricia left hours ago."
Grant shook his head slowly.
"She wouldn't leave without taking what was in that safe."
The footsteps above us stopped.
Then someone spoke.
A woman's voice.
Calm.
Controlled.
"You're all making a very serious mistake."
Patricia Monroe stood at the top of the staircase.
Patricia Monroe stood at the top of the staircase.
For a woman who had spent the afternoon screaming at law enforcement officers, she looked remarkably composed.
Her gray silk blouse was perfectly tucked.
Her silver hair was still arranged exactly the way it had been when she left the courthouse.
Only her eyes betrayed her.
They moved from Marcus to Grant, then finally settled on me.
Not with anger.
With calculation.
"Allison," she said.
The way she spoke my name made it sound like an accusation.
"Patricia."
She slowly descended the staircase.
Each step was deliberate.
She had always walked that way.
Like every room belonged to her before she entered it.
"What are you doing in my study?"
Marcus answered before I could.
"Searching for documents related to an investigation."
Patricia smiled faintly.
"An investigation?"
She looked amused.
"From you?"
Marcus didn't react.
"I suggest you cooperate."
"I suggest you remember whose house this was until a few hours ago."
I watched her carefully.
Even now, after losing the estate, she still spoke like she was negotiating from a position of strength.
That was her greatest talent.
Not intelligence.
Not charm.
Conviction.
She could believe something so completely that other people started questioning reality.
"Where is Daniel Cross?" Marcus asked.
Patricia's expression changed for the smallest fraction of a second.
Then it disappeared.
"I have no idea."
"Your son says he called earlier."
"My son says many things when he is afraid."
Grant flinched.
Patricia didn't look at him.
That hurt him more than if she had yelled.
Because she was treating him like an inconvenience.
The same way she had treated me.
Only now he was finally noticing.
"Mom," Grant said quietly.
She turned toward him.
"What?"
There was no warmth in the word.
No concern.
Just impatience.
"You hired him?"
"I hired someone to protect this family."
"From Allison?"
Patricia looked back at me.
"From anyone who threatens it."
I almost interrupted.
Then I stopped.
Because for once, I wanted to hear her explain herself.
People revealed more when they thought they were justified.
"You spent years convincing everyone I was the problem," I said.
Her face remained calm.
"You were always ambitious."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the answer."
She walked into the study.
"We had a certain way of doing things before you arrived."
There it was.
The sentence she had hidden inside every insult.
Before you arrived.
As if my existence had been an interruption.
"I built my company before I met Grant."
"Exactly."
She turned toward me.
"You came into this family with your own money, your own success, and your own opinions."
The words were almost honest.
Almost.
"And that bothered you."
"It created imbalance."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"Imbalance?"
Patricia looked at him.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She ignored him.
"You don't know what it is like to watch a family legacy become vulnerable because someone refuses to respect tradition."
I looked around the study.
The expensive furniture.
The framed photographs.
The shelves full of awards that mostly belonged to men.
"Tradition isn't a word for hiding mistakes."
Her eyes hardened.
"You think you know everything."
"No."
I looked directly at her.
"I know enough."
A strange silence followed.
May you like
Grant stood near the doorway, watching his mother and me.
I wondered if he was seeing it for the first time.
