Chapter 6 - THE LAST THING PATRICK KNEW
The red notebook stayed on the kitchen table all night.
Nobody wanted to touch it.
It felt less like a financial record and more like a message from Patrick himself.
By morning, Claire had made copies.
She photographed every page.
Then she placed the original inside a protective sleeve.
"This is important evidence," she said.
I nodded.
"What does the final entry mean?"
Claire looked at the page.
"We don't know yet."
Luke sat across from us.
His face looked exhausted.
"I remember Martin."
"Did your father trust him?"
"Yes."
"Did you?"
Luke nodded.
"He helped me with the business after Dad died."
I looked at him.
"How much did he help?"
Luke hesitated.
"A lot."
Claire asked, "Financially?"
"Yes."
"Then Martin may have had access to everything."
Luke rubbed his forehead.
"Why would he want the house?"
"Because Patrick knew about the fraud."
"And the notebook?"
"Probably the proof."
Brenda looked at the red notebook.
"So Martin tried to make it look like Patrick signed the property away."
Claire nodded.
"Exactly."
"But why wait?"
"Because the house was protected."
I understood.
Martin had needed someone else to create confusion.
Someone like Luke.
Someone who believed the house would eventually become his.
He could manipulate Luke into acting like the owner.
Then use that behavior as cover.
The realization made me sick.
Luke looked at me.
"He used me."
"Yes."
Luke's eyes filled.
"I helped him."
"You didn't know."
"I should have."
"You were careless."
He nodded.
"I know."
Then Claire found something else.
A page near the back of the notebook.
It listed several payments.
One had Brenda's name.
Another had Luke's.
Another had Martin's.
And one had a company name.
Mercer Property Services.
Harold's company.
Luke looked at him.
"Why?"
Harold shook his head.
"I don't know."
Claire called him.
He answered.
After several minutes, his face changed.
"What?"
Claire put the phone on speaker.
The voice belonged to Martin.
He had contacted Harold.
He wanted the notebook.
In exchange, he offered money.
A lot of money.
Harold asked why.
Martin said only one thing.
"Because if that notebook gets to the police, several people go down."
The call ended.
Nobody spoke.
Then Luke whispered:
"Several people."
I looked at him.
"Who else?"
We didn't know.
That became the new question.
Claire worked through the records.
The payments went back fifteen years.
Some were connected to businesses.
Others to personal accounts.
But there was one pattern.
Every major payment occurred after Patrick tried to confront Martin.
Then came another discovery.
The insurance company had received a claim inquiry shortly before Patrick died.
Someone had asked how much coverage remained on Patrick's life insurance.
The inquiry was anonymous.
But the phone number belonged to Martin's office.
I felt my stomach turn.
"Are you saying Martin caused Patrick's death?"
Claire shook her head.
"We don't have evidence of that."
"Then what does it mean?"
"It means he was interested."
I nodded.
That distinction mattered.
We couldn't turn suspicion into fact.
But it made the situation more frightening.
Then Luke said something.
"Mom."
"What?"
"I remember the day Dad died."
I looked at him.
"He called me."
"What did he say?"
"He told me to come over."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I was angry with him."
Luke's eyes filled.
"What were you angry about?"
"He refused to give me money."
"For what?"
"My business."
I waited.
"He told me I was becoming dependent on him."
The irony was painful.
"What happened next?"
Luke swallowed.
"Martin called me later."
"What did he say?"
"That Dad had collapsed."
I stared at him.
"Who found him?"
"Martin."
Claire looked up sharply.
"Martin found Patrick?"
Luke nodded.
"That's what I was told."
The room became silent.
Then Harold spoke.
"That's not true."
Everyone turned.
Harold looked pale.
"I found Patrick."
Luke stared.
"What?"
"Martin wasn't there."
"Then why did he tell me he was?"
"I don't know."
Claire stood.
"Harold, when did you find Patrick?"
"About 6:20 that evening."
"And Martin?"
"Not until after the ambulance arrived."
I felt dizzy.
"Why did Martin say he was there?"
Harold looked at me.
"I don't know."
Then Natalie walked into the room.
She was carrying a small box.
"I found something."
She placed it on the table.
Inside was Patrick's old pocket watch.
The one he had worn every day.
I opened it.
The watch had stopped.
At 6:14.
I stared.
"That's when Dad died," Luke whispered.
"No," Harold said.
He looked at the watch.
"Patrick was still alive when I arrived."
I looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Because he spoke to me."
My heart stopped.
"What did he say?"
Harold looked at me.
"He said one sentence."
"What?"
Harold's voice broke.
"He said, 'Don't let Martin find the book.'"
The room went silent.
Patrick had known.
He had been afraid.
And he had tried to protect me.
Then Claire turned the red notebook over.
There was a small envelope taped beneath the back cover.
None of us had noticed it.
She carefully removed it.
My name was written on the front.
In Patrick's handwriting.
I opened it.
Inside was a single key.
And a note.
Margaret, if you are reading this, Martin has failed. But don't trust the person who tells you the house is safe.
I looked up.
"Who is the person?"
Claire stared at the key.
"It may open something."
I turned it over.
A number was engraved on it.
17.
Harold suddenly stood.
"I know that number."
"Where?"
He looked at me.
"Locker seventeen."
"Where?"
Harold's face went pale.
"At the old train station."
Before anyone could speak, my phone rang.
It was the police.
They had arrested Martin.
But the officer said something that made my blood run cold.
"Mrs. Bennett, we found him near the train station."
I gripped the phone.
"Near which locker?"
May you like
There was a pause.
"Locker seventeen."
