Chapter 3 - THE RED LEDGER
I ran after the man.
Not because I thought I could catch him.
Because standing still suddenly felt impossible.
The hallway outside the ballroom stretched toward the elevators.
By the time I reached the corner, he was gone.
Two hotel employees stood near the elevators.
“Did you see a man in a gray suit?”
One shook his head.
The other pointed toward the service corridor.
“He went that way.”
I followed.
Brandon came behind me.
Samantha stayed close.
We reached the service hallway just as a door swung shut.
Brandon grabbed the handle.
Locked.
He looked at me.
“That door leads to the parking structure.”
My heart sank.
We returned to the ballroom.
Charlotte was gone.
So was the photograph.
I froze.
I had been holding it.
At some point during the chase, I must have placed it on the console table.
Now it was gone.
“Someone took it.”
Brandon looked around.
“Who?”
I scanned the room.
Everyone suddenly looked suspicious.
But suspicion wasn't evidence.
I forced myself to breathe.
“Let's go home.”
Brandon drove.
Samantha followed in her car.
The entire way to Rancho Santa Fe, I kept thinking about the photograph.
The workshop.
My parents.
The red ledger.
And Charlotte's strange sentence.
I thought your family would never notice.
When we arrived, my parents were waiting in the library.
My father was seventy-one.
His hands were still strong, though arthritis had begun making certain movements difficult.
My mother was sixty-eight.
She looked at me once and immediately noticed my expression.
“What happened?”
I placed my handbag on the table.
“Someone gave Charlotte an old photograph from the workshop.”
My father's face changed.
“What photograph?”
I described it.
He sat down slowly.
“That photograph disappeared in 2015.”
“I know.”
“Who had it?”
“I don't know.”
My mother looked at Brandon.
“Did you recognize the man?”
“Yes.”
She stiffened.
“Who?”
“I don't know his name.”
My father stood.
“Then describe him.”
Brandon did.
My mother walked to the cabinet.
Opened the bottom drawer.
Pulled out a small wooden box.
Inside was an old wristwatch.
Silver.
Scratched.
The glass was cracked.
She handed it to me.
“This belonged to your uncle Daniel.”
I frowned.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because Daniel was the last person to ask about the red ledger.”
I stared at her.
“Mom.”
She sat down.
“We should have told you years ago.”
My father shook his head.
“We wanted to protect her.”
“Protect me from what?”
Neither answered.
That was when I realized the secret wasn't recent.
It was old.
Older than Charlotte.
Older than Brandon.
Maybe older than my adult life.
My father finally spoke.
“Your uncle Daniel wasn't stealing from us.”
I blinked.
“I never thought he was.”
“You should know what people believed.”
He looked at the watch.
“Twenty years ago, when you were still in high school, Daniel discovered that one of our early partners had been moving company money through shell businesses.”
“Who?”
My father hesitated.
“Elliot Crane.”
The name meant nothing to me.
My mother continued.
“He was our accountant.”
“And the ledger?”
“It contained records of every transaction.”
“Where is it?”
My father looked at me.
“We don't know.”
I stared at him.
“You've been looking for it for twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Daniel disappeared from the business after the investigation.”
“Disappeared?”
“He left.”
“Why?”
My mother answered quietly.
“He believed someone inside the company had betrayed him.”
I looked at Brandon.
He was listening silently.
“What happened to Elliot?”
My father rubbed his forehead.
“He died six years ago.”
“Natural causes?”
“Yes.”
“Was he ever charged?”
“No.”
I stood.
“So someone stole company money, the evidence disappeared, my uncle was blamed, and nobody went to prison.”
My father nodded.
“That is the short version.”
“And the long version?”
He looked toward the window.
“We don't know.”
I hated that answer.
My mother reached for my hand.
“Abby, there was one thing Daniel left behind.”
“What?”
“A note.”
She opened the wooden box again.
Under the watch was a folded piece of paper.
My mother gave it to me.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Only one sentence.
The ledger was never meant to expose the thief. It was meant to expose the owner.
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
My father shook his head.
“We never figured it out.”
Brandon suddenly spoke.
“Mr. Shepherd.”
My father looked at him.
“Yes?”
“When you say the ledger disappeared, who knew about it?”
“Daniel. Elliot. Me. Miriam.”
Brandon frowned.
“And anyone else?”
My father hesitated.
“One person.”
“Who?”
“An outside consultant.”
“Name?”
My father looked at me.
“Victor Hale.”
The name hit me strangely.
Not because I knew him.
Because I had seen it recently.
I reached for my phone.
Opened my email.
Searched.
There.
A message from three months earlier.
Victor Hale — Private Investment Inquiry.
I had ignored it.
My father saw the screen.
“That email.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know it mattered.”
He looked shaken.
My mother stood.
“Abby, who is Victor Hale?”
“I don't know.”
Brandon stepped closer.
“I do.”
We turned.
Brandon looked uncomfortable.
“I've driven him twice.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
“Your father's office.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
My father stared at him.
“You never told me.”
“I assumed he was a consultant.”
“What did he look like?”
Brandon described him.
I knew immediately.
Gray suit.
The man at the reunion.
The same man who had given Charlotte the photograph.
The room went silent.
Samantha, who had remained near the doorway, whispered,
“So he wasn't there because of Charlotte.”
“No,” I said.
“He was there because of you.”
My father sat down.
For the first time, he looked old.
“What does he want?”
I looked at the damaged watch in my hand.
“I think he wants the ledger.”
My father nodded slowly.
“Then we have a bigger problem.”
“What?”
He looked toward the old family portrait above the fireplace.
“Because the ledger isn't the only thing missing.”
He walked to the portrait.
Pressed his thumb against the wooden frame.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a small envelope.
My mother gasped.
“You never told me you kept that.”
“I couldn't.”
He handed it to me.
On the front was my name.
ABIGAIL.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
My high school graduation.
I was standing between my parents.
Behind us stood Daniel.
And beside Daniel stood Victor Hale.
I stared at the image.
But that wasn't what made my blood run cold.
Someone had circled one person in red.
Not Victor.
Not Daniel.
Not my parents.
Me.
On the back, written in Daniel's handwriting:
If they come for Abby, the ledger is already in motion.
I looked at my father.
“Who are they?”
Before he could answer, the lights in the house went out.
Every room went black.
Then my father's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face drained of color.
“What?”
He looked at me.
May you like
“Someone just entered the old workshop.”
---
