Chương 6
Michael continued.
"He asked questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"About your health."
Harold went still.
Michael continued carefully.
"About your finances."
Natalie felt anger rise.
"He was gathering information."
"Yes."
"Did you tell him?"
"Some things."
Michael looked at Harold.
"I'm sorry."
Harold did not respond immediately.
The apology sat there.
Waiting.
Finally, Harold nodded once.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
Just recognition.
"Thank you for telling me now."
Michael looked surprised.
Maybe because he expected anger.
Maybe because he deserved it.
The afternoon light moved across the kitchen floor.
The morning had started with a lie about death.
Now they were sitting together discussing betrayal.
The house around them remained the same.
The clock on the wall still ticked.
The sink still held two breakfast plates.
The coffee was still cold.
But everything familiar felt slightly changed.
Natalie walked to the window.
She looked outside.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Her heart jumped.
"Dad."
Harold turned.
She pointed.
Michael stood immediately.
Nobody spoke.
The vehicle had been there before.
Or maybe it had not.
That uncertainty was the worst part.
Harold moved closer to the window but stayed away from the glass.
"Do you recognize it?"
Michael shook his head.
Natalie watched the driver.
She could not see the person's face.
Only a silhouette.
Then the SUV started.
The vehicle moved slowly down the street and disappeared around the corner.
Nobody moved for several seconds.
Finally, Harold exhaled.
"I think we need to leave."
Natalie turned.
"Leave?"
"Just for a few hours."
"Where?"
Harold looked at Michael.
Then at the envelope.
Then at the phone.
"I need to find out who has access to my information."
Michael stood.
"I know someone who might help."
Harold looked skeptical.
"Who?"
Michael hesitated.
"A woman named Claire."
Natalie noticed both men react differently to the name.
Harold looked confused.
Michael looked nervous.
"Who is Claire?" Natalie asked.
Michael took a breath.
"Someone who worked with Grant."
The answer created another silence.
"What do you mean worked with him?"
Michael looked toward the door.
"She was the one who first warned me that he wasn't who he said he was."
Claire's name stayed in the kitchen longer than anyone expected.
Natalie watched the two men carefully.
Her father had spent the last hour looking at documents, messages, and evidence.
Michael had admitted things he clearly wished he could take back.
But neither of them had looked as uncomfortable as they did now.
"Who is she?" Natalie asked again.
Michael picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
"She worked in finance."
"With Grant?"
"Yes."
"Doing what?"
Michael looked at Harold.
The silent exchange between them irritated Natalie.
She was tired of watching people decide what information she could handle.
"Please don't do that," she said.
Both men looked at her.
"Don't have a conversation with your eyes and then pretend you're protecting me."
Harold opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Michael looked down.
Natalie softened slightly.
"I'm not asking because I want drama."
She pointed at the papers on the table.
"I'm asking because someone tried to convince me my father was dead."
Nobody argued.
Michael nodded.
"Claire worked at a company that helped small businesses with financial planning."
"And Grant?"
"He was a client."
"Was?"
Michael hesitated.
"Until she found out he was hiding things."
Harold picked up the envelope.
"What things?"
Michael looked toward the window.
"She said Grant had a pattern."
"What kind of pattern?"
"Finding people with assets."
The word made the room feel colder.
Natalie looked at her father.
"Assets."
The house.
The property.
The savings.
The things people reduced a lifetime of work into when they wanted something from it.
Michael continued.
"Claire said Grant wasn't interested in helping people organize their finances."
"What was he interested in?"
Michael swallowed.
"Finding situations where someone could be pressured."
Harold walked back to the table.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Michael looked at him.
"Because I didn't believe her at first."
That answer seemed to hurt Harold more than anything else.
Not because Michael doubted Claire.
Because Michael doubted him.
"I thought she was angry because Grant fired her."
"Did he?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Michael looked uncomfortable.
"Because she questioned some transactions."
Natalie felt her attention sharpen.
"What transactions?"
"I don't know."
Harold shook his head.
"Everyone keeps saying they don't know."
The frustration in his voice was not directed at one person.
It was directed at the entire morning.
At every missing piece.
At every conversation that happened without him.
Michael nodded slowly.
"You're right."
He sat back down.
"I should have told you sooner."
Harold looked at him.
"Why didn't you?"
Michael laughed quietly.
It was an embarrassed, tired sound.
"Because I was ashamed."
That answer surprised Natalie.
Michael continued.
"I spent years telling myself you thought you were better than me."
Harold's expression changed.
"I never thought that."
"I know that now."
Michael looked at the floor.
"But I spent a long time believing my own version of you."
The honesty made the room quieter.
Family disagreements were strange.
Sometimes the argument was not about what happened.
It was about the story people created afterward.
Harold sat down across from him.
For the first time that day, they looked like brothers instead of opponents.
"Call Claire," Harold said.
Michael nodded.
He pulled out his phone.
Before he could dial, another notification appeared.
Everyone looked at the screen.
A message from Vanessa.
Michael read it silently.
Then his face changed.
"What?"
Michael turned the phone around.
The message was not angry.
It was almost calm.
"Please stop before you make this worse."
Natalie stared at it.
"She knows."
Harold took the phone.
"How?"
Michael shook his head.
"I don't know."
Harold looked at the message again.
The calmness bothered him.
Someone who was caught usually reacted with panic.
Vanessa sounded like someone who still believed she had control.
"She thinks she can still fix this," Harold said.
Natalie looked at him.
May you like
"Can she?"
He did not answer.
