Chapter 5: The Message From a Stranger
I stared at my phone until the screen went dark.
Then I turned it back on and read the messages again.
Ask your mother what happened the night the blue folder disappeared.
And don't trust Richard.
My grandmother was folding a clean blouse beside the bed when she noticed my expression.
“Bella? What's wrong?””
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages without speaking. Then she looked toward the bedroom door to make sure it was closed.
“Did you recognize the number?””
“No.””
“Did you reply?””
I shook my head.
“Good. Don't answer yet.””
“Abuela, what does it mean? What night are they talking about?””
Grandma sat beside me.
“I don't know, sweetheart.””
“But Dad's letter mentioned the blue folder. Maybe someone stole it.””
“Perhaps. But we shouldn't assume anything until we know who sent these messages.””
She photographed the screen with her own phone and forwarded the information to Mr. Whitaker.
Then she took my hands.
“Listen to me. You are not responsible for solving every mystery tonight. You're allowed to be fourteen.
You're allowed to be hurt. And you're allowed to expect the adults around you to tell the truth.””
I nodded, but my mind kept returning to the same question.
What had happened the night the folder disappeared?
Before I could ask anything else, my bedroom door opened.
My mother stood in the doorway.
“Dinner is ready.””
Grandma looked up.
“Isabella and I are going out.””
Linda's gaze shifted to the phone in my hand.
“Who are you texting?””
“No one,” I answered.
“Let me see.””
I instinctively pulled the phone toward my chest.
My mother stepped into the room.
“Isabella, don't make me ask twice.””
Grandma stood between us.
“She has a right to privacy.””
“She is my daughter!””
“And she is a person.””
Linda gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“You've completely turned her against me.””
“No,” I said quietly.
“I'm just asking questions.””
My mother's eyes narrowed.
“About what?””
I hesitated.
The stranger had warned me not to trust Richard. But the message had also mentioned my mother, and I couldn't tell whether it was a warning or a trap.
“About Dad's things,” I said.
Linda went very still.
“What things?””
“His papers. His letters. The blue folder.””
For a moment, her expression seemed to collapse.
Then she recovered.
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
Grandma watched her carefully.
“Linda, why don't you sit down?””
“I don't need to sit down.””
“Then answer one question. Did Daniel ever tell you about a blue folder containing documents related to Isabella's trust?””
My mother looked at me.
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Mom, please. I don't want to fight with you.””
“Then stop listening to your grandmother.””
“I want to know what Dad left me.””
“He left you a mother who has spent four years working herself to exhaustion to provide for you!””
“Then why did you tell me he left nothing?””
Linda's lips parted.
For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.
Finally, she said, “Because money was complicated.””
“How?””
“Because you don't understand what happened after he died!””
“Then tell me!””
My voice cracked.
I hadn't meant to shout. I was tired of being afraid of every question that might upset her.
“I was eleven, Mom. You told me there was no money. You told me the shop had to be sold to pay Dad's debts. I believed you because you were my mother.””
Tears filled my eyes.
“I worked every weekend to buy one dress. One dress, Mom. And today, when Brianna destroyed it, you blamed me.””
My mother's face twisted.
“Do you think I wanted this to happen?””
“You didn't even ask her why she did it!””
“She said it was an accident!””
“She laughed while she took pictures!””
Linda looked away.
I wiped my cheeks.
“I don't know what you did with Dad's money. I don't know why Richard wants his building. But I know you won't tell me the truth unless someone makes you.””
My mother stared at me as though I had become a stranger.
Then she whispered, “You sound exactly like him.””
The words stopped me.
“Like Dad?””
She nodded slowly.
“Daniel never knew when to leave something alone. He always had to keep digging until he found a reason to believe the worst about everyone.””
Grandma's voice turned sharp.
“Daniel trusted people until they gave him a reason not to.””
Linda flinched.
Then she walked out without another word.
I stood frozen beside the bed.
Grandma watched the doorway.
“There's more to this than she's telling us,” she said.
I looked down at my phone.
The stranger's warning suddenly felt much more dangerous.
An hour later, we sat in Mr. Whitaker's office again.
He had arranged an emergency meeting with us after receiving Grandma's photographs of the messages. A man in a gray suit sat beside him, introducing himself as a financial investigator retained to review the trust's transactions.
He explained that his job was to follow the records, not to decide who was guilty.
I appreciated that.
I didn't want another adult choosing sides before looking at the evidence.
Mr. Whitaker placed a printed copy of the proposed property transfer on the table.
“The title company has been notified that the transaction is disputed,” he said.
“They have agreed to pause the closing while they review the supporting documents.””
“So Richard can't buy the building tomorrow?”” I asked.
“Not while the dispute remains unresolved. But we need to act quickly to determine whether the transfer documents are valid.””
The investigator opened his notebook.
“Isabella, do you know whether your father kept financial records at home?””
“He kept papers in a filing cabinet in the garage.””
“Who had access to that cabinet?””
“My mother. Richard. Sometimes Grandma.””
“Did your father ever tell you about a blue folder?””
I nodded.
“He wrote it in a letter.””
Mr. Whitaker leaned forward.
“Did you ever see the folder before today?””
“No.””
Grandma hesitated.
“I may have.””
Everyone turned toward her.
She pressed her lips together, searching her memory.
“The night Daniel was taken to the hospital, Linda called me. She asked me to come to the house because Isabella was frightened.””
My chest tightened.
I remembered that night.
I remembered the ambulance lights flashing against the living-room windows. I remembered my father squeezing my hand and telling me to be brave.
I remembered my mother telling me that everything would be fine.
But I hadn't known what happened after the ambulance left.
Grandma continued.
“When I arrived, Linda was in the kitchen with Richard. They were arguing.””
“About what?”” Mr. Whitaker asked.
“I couldn't hear every word. But I remember Richard saying, 'If he signed it, we need to find the original.'' Linda told him to lower his voice because Isabella was upstairs.””
My skin prickled.
“What original?”” I whispered.
Grandma shook her head.
“I don't know. I was focused on getting you dressed so I could take you to the hospital.””
“Did you see the blue folder?””
“Not that night.””
The investigator made a note.
“Did you see Richard carrying any documents?””
Grandma closed her eyes.
“I remember him leaving with a brown leather briefcase.””
Mr. Whitaker exchanged a look with the investigator.
“Did you tell anyone about this before?””
“No. At the time, I thought they were arguing about business paperwork. Daniel and Richard had discussed investments before. I never imagined—”
She stopped.
I reached for her hand.
“You didn't know, Abuela.””
She squeezed my fingers.
“I should have asked more questions.””
“No. I should have been told the truth.””
Mr. Whitaker turned to the investigator.
“Let's review the dates of the withdrawals and compare them with the estate records.””
The investigator spread several documents across the table.
“Some of the transfers occurred within months of Daniel's death. Others happened later. Several payments went to a business associated with Richard Collins.””
“Was the money used to buy the building?”” I asked.
“We don't have enough evidence to establish that yet,” he answered.
“Could it have been used to buy something else?””
“Yes.””
I thought about the expensive cars Richard drove, the vacations Brianna posted online, and the new kitchen my mother had installed two years after my father died.
I hated myself for noticing those things.
They could have been paid for honestly.
But I couldn't stop wondering whether my father's money had paid for the life they enjoyed while I counted tips at the bakery.
The investigator tapped one statement.
“There is another issue. The bank records show a withdrawal authorized using a power-of-attorney document. We need to verify whether that authority was valid and whether it covered these transactions.””
Mr. Whitaker nodded.
“I'll request the original.””
My phone vibrated again.
Everyone stopped talking.
The same unknown number had sent another message.
This time, there was a photograph attached.
It showed a brown leather briefcase resting on a kitchen table. Beside it lay a blue folder, its corner marked with my father's initials.
I recognized the kitchen immediately.
It was ours.
The photograph had been taken inside my home.
Beneath it was a single sentence.
Your mother knows where the original deed is hidden.
My hands went numb.
I turned the phone toward Mr. Whitaker.
He studied the photograph, then enlarged it.
“Can you tell when this picture was taken?”” he asked.
“No.””
“Do you recognize the briefcase?””
Grandma leaned closer.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That's Richard's.””
The investigator examined the image.
“There may be metadata that helps establish when it was taken. Don't delete the original message.””
I stared at the photograph.
The briefcase looked older than I remembered, its leather worn along the edges. But the blue folder was unmistakable.
And behind it, partially visible beneath a stack of papers, was a small silver object.
A key.
I leaned closer to the screen.
“Abuela, look.””
She narrowed her eyes.
“That looks like Daniel's key.””
“Which key?”” Mr. Whitaker asked.
Grandma swallowed.
“The key to the storage room at the building he left Isabella.””
The room fell silent.
Then the investigator asked the question that made my heart race.
“Isabella, when was the last time you were inside your house before this photograph was supposedly taken?””
I thought about the day.
The ruined dress. The argument. My mother's refusal to answer questions.
Then I remembered something else.
Before Grandma and I left for the attorney's office, Brianna had disappeared into the garage.
She had come back holding a small cardboard box.
When I'd asked what was inside, she'd smiled and said it was old junk.
I looked at my grandmother.
“What if Brianna found the key?””
Grandma's face went pale.
May you like
And at that exact moment, my phone began ringing.
The caller ID showed my mother's name.
