Chapter 6 - THE MONEY THAT WASN'T MINE
I stared at the photograph until the letters blurred.
Penelope.
My daughter's name.
Written decades before she was born.
“No.”
The word came out quietly.
My father immediately said, “That's not possible.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Gerald took the photograph from my hand.
“Where did you get this?”
“I didn't.”
He examined it carefully.
“This photograph is old.”
“I know.”
Penelope was playing on the carpet.
She looked up.
“Mommy?”
I forced myself to smile.
“I'm here.”
She went back to her puzzle.
I lowered my voice.
“How could my daughter's name be on an old photograph?”
Gerald didn't answer immediately.
Then he noticed something.
“The handwriting.”
He compared it with the note.
“They're different.”
I looked at him.
“So?”
“The photograph was labeled recently.”
My stomach tightened.
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
He pointed to the ink.
“This isn't decades old.”
Someone had written Penelope's name on the photograph recently.
Someone who knew my daughter.
Someone who had access to the family records.
My father suddenly stood.
“Samantha.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She knows Penelope's name.”
“Of course she does.”
“But she doesn't know about the old photograph.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I never told her.”
Gerald interrupted.
“Then perhaps someone else did.”
The room went quiet.
I thought about the $47,500.
The private account.
The deed.
The trust.
Grace.
The child.
Everything seemed connected.
But I still didn't know how.
I picked up the financial statement.
“Why was money transferred on behalf of Penelope?”
Gerald looked uncomfortable.
“I need to verify something.”
He pulled out his phone.
After several minutes, he looked up.
“The payment wasn't made to a person.”
“What was it?”
“A medical account.”
My chest tightened.
“What medical account?”
He read the name.
“St. Catherine's Pediatric Research Fund.”
I stared at him.
Penelope had never been treated there.
“She has never been a patient.”
“I know.”
“Then why was money sent there?”
Gerald looked at my mother.
She began crying.
“I didn't know.”
I turned toward her.
“Did you ever take Penelope there?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Nobody answered.
Gerald called the institution.
After several minutes, he ended the call.
“They can't disclose the patient information.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“But they confirmed one thing.”
“What?”
“The payment was connected to an old family account.”
My father sat down.
“Which account?”
“Grace's.”
Mom's face changed.
I stared at her.
“You said Grace disappeared.”
“She did.”
“Then how is her account still active?”
“I don't know.”
My father whispered, “Because your grandmother kept it open.”
That explained one thing.
But it created another.
Why had my grandmother been paying medical expenses for someone connected to Grace?
And why had that money later been routed through my accounts?
I felt exhausted.
Then Penelope walked over holding her drawing.
“Mommy, look.”
She held up the picture.
The yellow house.
Three people.
But now she'd added something.
A fourth figure.
A woman standing behind the house.
“Who's she?” I asked.
Penelope shrugged.
“Lady.”
“What lady?”
“She has Grandma's watch.”
I looked at the old silver watch on the table.
My skin prickled.
“Did you see someone wearing this?”
Penelope shook her head.
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
She pointed at the drawing.
“Like this.”
The woman in the picture had a tiny black mark around her wrist.
Almost like a watch.
I didn't know what to make of it.
Then Dad's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Where?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“It's Samantha.”
“What happened?”
“She went back to the house.”
“So?”
“She found something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Dad didn't answer.
He simply grabbed his coat.
“We need to go.”
I stood.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I am not going anywhere until you tell me.”
He looked at Gerald.
Gerald nodded.
Dad sighed.
“She found the wall.”
My pulse jumped.
“The upstairs hallway?”
“Yes.”
“What did she find?”
“A compartment.”
My mother whispered, “Oh God.”
I looked at her.
“What was inside?”
Dad's voice became quiet.
“The red ribbon.”
I stared at him.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“It was there.”
“And?”
He hesitated.
“There was a second item.”
“What?”
He looked at the old watch.
“A necklace.”
I frowned.
“What kind?”
“Gold.”
My mother sat down.
She looked terrified.
“What?”
I asked.
She whispered, “Grace wore one.”
I stared at her.
“Where is it?”
“We thought it disappeared with her.”
Dad reached into his coat pocket.
He pulled out a photograph.
Grace was standing beside a young woman.
The young woman was wearing the necklace.
I studied her face.
She looked familiar.
Not exactly like me.
Not exactly like Samantha.
But familiar.
“Who is that?”
My mother whispered, “Your grandmother's nurse.”
I looked closer.
Something was wrong.
The woman was holding a baby.
The baby's wrist had a tiny silver bracelet.
The same kind I had seen in the first photograph.
Gerald leaned closer.
“There is a date on the photograph.”
I looked.
Twenty-eight years ago.
The same year Grace disappeared.
Then Dad turned the photograph over.
There was another message.
The child was never lost. She was protected.
My mother began sobbing.
I stared at her.
“Protected from whom?”
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
And for the first time, she said the name she'd been avoiding for decades.
“Your father.”
I froze.
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he hurt a baby?”
“He wasn't trying to hurt the baby.”
She swallowed.
“He was trying to find her.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed the child belonged to him.”
I stared at her.
“That's impossible.”
Mom shook her head.
“He wasn't the father.”
“Then why?”
She looked at Penelope.
“Because the child inherited something.”
May you like
“What?”
“The house.”
