Dad bent toward the speakerphone.
For the first time since Vanessa had called, I saw something almost like a smile cross his face.
Not a happy smile.
A dangerous one.
“Vanessa,” he said.
Silence.
Then I heard my sister’s breath catch.
“Dad?”
Grant’s laughter stopped immediately.
Dad pulled out the chair and sat down.
“I’m sorry,” Vanessa whispered. “I thought you were—”
“Dead?”
Another silence.
Dad glanced at me.
“Apparently, I was.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
Grant finally spoke.
“This isn’t funny.”
Dad’s voice remained calm.
“No, Grant. It isn’t.”
“You don’t understand,” Grant said quickly. “Vanessa thought—”
“I know exactly what Vanessa thought.”
Dad reached for his coffee.
“You both thought I was dead, and before the sun came up, you had already divided my property between yourselves.”
Neither of them answered.
Dad continued.
“House. Truck. Bank accounts. Office. Everything.”
Vanessa finally found her voice.
“Dad, please. We can explain.”
“You can explain why you lied about my death.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You told Natalie I died.”
Her voice broke.
“I panicked.”
Dad looked at me.
“She panicked.”
I nodded slowly.
“Apparently.”
Grant suddenly became defensive.
“Look, Harold told us you were in bad shape. We thought you might not make it through the night.”
Dad’s expression changed.
“Harold told you that?”
Grant hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dad picked up his phone.
“Interesting.”
He pressed a number.
A few seconds later, someone answered.
“Morning, Frank.”
Dad put the call on speaker.
It was Harold.
“Morning, Frank? It’s six-thirty.”
“I know.”
Dad looked directly at me.
“Did you tell Vanessa or Grant that I was dying?”
Harold paused.
“No.”
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“Did you tell them I died?”
“Absolutely not.”
Grant swore under his breath.
Dad leaned back.
“Harold, did you speak to either of them last night?”
“No. Why?”
“Because apparently my children buried me before breakfast.”
Harold went completely silent.
Then he said something that made my stomach tighten.
“Frank… you need to check your office.”
Dad frowned.
“What happened?”
“I stopped by there yesterday afternoon because you asked me to look at something.”
“What did you find?”
“Your desk drawer was open.”
Dad slowly looked toward the hallway.
“Which drawer?”
“The locked one.”
The kitchen suddenly felt colder.
Dad stood.
“Who has a key?”
Harold answered immediately.
“You.”
Dad looked at me.
“And Vanessa.”
My sister was still on the phone.
I heard her breathing.
Dad walked toward the hallway.
“Vanessa.”
She didn’t answer.
“Why did you have a key to my office?”
“I’ve always had one.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice was quiet.
“You had one because I trusted you.”
Grant interrupted.
“We were trying to help.”
Dad stopped walking.
“Help with what?”
Neither answered.
Dad turned around and looked at me.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Natalie, get your coat.”
I stood.
“Where are we going?”
“My office.”
Vanessa suddenly screamed through the phone.
“No!”
Dad froze.
That one word told us everything.
He slowly lifted the phone.
“Why not?”
“Because—”
She stopped.
Dad waited.
“Because what, Vanessa?”
Nothing.
Then Grant grabbed the phone.
“Dad, listen to me. You don’t know what’s going on.”
Dad smiled coldly.
“I know enough.”
“You need to stay home.”
“Why?”
“Because there are documents in that office that you haven’t seen.”
Dad’s face changed.
“What documents?”
Grant went silent.
Dad looked at me.
Then he whispered,
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Dad grabbed his keys.
I followed him toward the front door.
But before we reached it, his phone rang again.
Harold.
Dad answered.
“Frank, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I found a copy of your new will yesterday.”
Dad stopped.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In your office.”
Dad looked at me.
“And Harold?”
“There’s a problem.”
“What problem?”
Harold took a breath.
“The will doesn’t leave the house to Vanessa.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“Who does it leave it to?”
Harold’s answer made my heart stop.
“You.”
Dad looked at me.
I stared back at him.
And suddenly, I understood.
Vanessa hadn’t called me at 6:30 in the morning because Dad had died.
She had called because she believed she had killed his inheritance before anyone could discover the truth.
But she had made one mistake.
Dad was alive.
And his will had already been changed.
Dad opened the front door.
“Let’s go see what my children were so desperate to hide.”
We stepped into the freezing morning.
Neither of us noticed the black SUV parked across the street.
But someone inside it was watching us.
And when Dad’s phone rang again, the caller ID showed a name that neither of us had seen in more than twenty years.
Mom.