Chapter 4 - THE WATCH ON THE TABLE
The lights returned thirty seconds later.
Nobody moved.
My father's phone remained pressed against his ear.
“Are you certain?”
He listened.
Then hung up.
“The security company says someone entered the old workshop.”
I looked at Brandon.
“Was anything taken?”
“They're checking.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“They say nothing was taken.”
That made the situation worse.
Because people didn't break into buildings for nothing.
Unless they were looking for something they couldn't find.
We drove to the workshop together.
The old building stood on the edge of the industrial property my father had purchased decades ago.
Most of the original machinery was gone.
The walls remained.
So did the faded sign.
SHEPHERD METAL WORKS.
I remembered coming here as a child.
My father would lift me onto a workbench while my mother yelled that I was too close to the machinery.
It had been the center of our family.
Now the front door was open.
Security officers waited outside.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
No broken glass.
No damaged locks.
No obvious theft.
I walked inside.
The air smelled like dust and metal.
Brandon followed.
My father stopped beside an old desk.
“Daniel used to work here.”
I touched the surface.
There were scratches beneath the dust.
One looked like a letter.
R.
Then another.
L.
Brandon crouched.
“Those weren't made recently.”
My father looked closer.
“They were here when Daniel left.”
“What do they mean?”
“I don't know.”
I felt something beneath my shoe.
A small metal object.
I picked it up.
It was an old key.
Stamped with a number.
17.
My father stared at it.
“I haven't seen that in twenty years.”
“Where does it go?”
“I don't know.”
Brandon took the key.
“Let's find out.”
There were seventeen storage units in the building.
Most were empty.
Unit 17 was locked.
The key fit.
Inside was almost nothing.
An old chair.
Three empty boxes.
A broken filing cabinet.
And a wall clock.
The clock had stopped at 2:17.
My mother stared at it.
“Daniel's birthday.”
I looked at the clock.
“His birthday was February seventeenth.”
“Yes.”
Brandon opened the filing cabinet.
Empty.
I examined the walls.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a faint rectangular outline behind the clock.
I removed it.
A narrow compartment had been built into the wall.
Inside was a small leather pouch.
My father whispered,
“No.”
I opened it.
Inside was the missing photograph.
The same photograph Charlotte had shown me.
And beneath it—
a red leather ledger.
My heart started pounding.
“We found it.”
My father didn't move.
“Don't open it.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel spent years trying to protect us from what was inside.”
I looked at him.
“Dad, someone is already coming after it.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I opened the ledger.
The first pages were ordinary business transactions.
Invoices.
Payments.
Contracts.
Then the entries changed.
Companies I had never heard of.
Money transfers.
Property acquisitions.
Loans.
Shell corporations.
And one name repeated over and over.
VANCE DEVELOPMENT GROUP.
I looked up.
“Vance?”
My father nodded.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Vance Development wasn't supposed to exist yet.”
I kept reading.
The dates were from twenty-one years ago.
One year before I graduated high school.
I turned another page.
A list of payments.
Next to each was a set of initials.
D.S.
E.C.
V.H.
Then one final set.
A.S.
I froze.
“What does A.S. mean?”
My mother came closer.
“I don't know.”
I looked at my father.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
“Dad.”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
His expression broke.
“I swear I don't know.”
I turned another page.
A photograph had been glued inside.
It showed four men standing outside a restaurant.
Elliot Crane.
Victor Hale.
Daniel Shepherd.
And a fourth man.
His face had been scratched out.
Below the photograph was a handwritten sentence.
One of them became powerful. One disappeared. One died. One is still watching.
Samantha whispered,
“That's not a ledger.”
“No,” I said.
“It’s evidence.”
Brandon pointed at the bottom corner.
“There.”
A handwritten date.
Tomorrow.
My stomach tightened.
“Someone knew we'd find this.”
My father looked toward the door.
“We need to leave.”
Too late.
A car engine sounded outside.
Then another.
Security lights swept across the windows.
Brandon moved toward the entrance.
Three vehicles stopped near the building.
Not police.
Private cars.
The first door opened.
A man stepped out.
Victor Hale.
He walked toward the workshop without rushing.
My father whispered,
“He came himself.”
Victor entered.
He looked at the ledger in my hands.
Then smiled.
“I was wondering when you would finally find it.”
Brandon stepped between us.
Victor raised both hands.
“Relax.”
My father moved forward.
“You've been watching my family.”
Victor looked at him.
“For twenty years.”
My blood went cold.
“Why?”
Victor's eyes moved to me.
“Because your uncle Daniel made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“He trusted the wrong person.”
I held up the ledger.
“Who?”
Victor smiled.
“That's what you're going to find out.”
My father stepped toward him.
“You lied to us.”
Victor looked almost sad.
“No, Douglas.”
He pointed at the ledger.
“Your brother lied to you.”
I stared at the pages.
Victor continued.
“Daniel didn't steal the money.”
My father's face tightened.
“I know.”
Victor shook his head.
“No. You don't.”
He looked at me.
“Daniel didn't disappear because he was afraid.”
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a small envelope.
And placed it on the table.
“Your uncle left because he discovered who actually owned the shell companies.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a copy of an incorporation document.
The owner was listed as—
Abigail Shepherd.
I stared at my own name.
“That isn't possible.”
Victor's expression hardened.
“You were seventeen.”
My father closed his eyes.
My mother whispered,
“Douglas…”
I looked at them.
“What did you do?”
My father said nothing.
And suddenly I understood that the biggest secret in my family wasn't about money.
May you like
It was about me.
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