Alison followed, then Christopher and Miriam.
Chapter 2
PART 2 - THE CONTRACT AND THE HIDDEN NAME
1,425 words
Abigail started after them, but Catherine stopped her.
“No, sweetheart.”
“I found the flash drive.”
“I know.”
Abigail’s chin lifted stubbornly.
“And Gregory knows I found something.”
Catherine hesitated.
Christopher placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“She stays with me.”
Catherine finally nodded.
They descended.
At the back of the basement was an old storage cabinet Alison remembered from childhood. Catherine moved several blankets and pulled out a metal lockbox.
“Your father made me promise never to open this unless someone came asking about the apartment.”
Alison stared at her.
“And someone came?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Her heart stopped.
“Who?”
“Gregory.”
Catherine unlocked the box.
Inside were documents wrapped in plastic.
Miriam spread them across the workbench.
The first was an agreement dated twenty-three years earlier.
The second was an old mortgage statement.
The third was a handwritten letter signed by Alison’s father.
Miriam read silently.
Then she looked
up.
“Well.”
“What?” Alison demanded.
Miriam tapped the agreement.
“Your father didn’t buy the apartment alone.”
Catherine sat heavily in a folding chair.
“Tell her,” Alison said.
Her mother rubbed her palms together.
“Your father had lost almost everything.”
Alison frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“When he bought that property, the business was failing. He didn’t have enough money for the down payment.”
“But he always said the apartment was his best investment.”
“It was.”
Catherine looked at her daughter.
“He just wasn’t the only investor.”
“Who was?”
Catherine’s silence stretched too long.
Christopher glanced toward the papers.
Miriam said, “There were three.”
Alison stared at her.
“Three?”
“Samuel Carter.”
Miriam pointed to the first signature.
“Catherine Carter.”
A second signature.
“And…”
She stopped.
Alison stepped closer.
The third name appeared beneath a faded signature.
**Margaret Vale.**
Alison shook her head.
“I don’t know anyone named Margaret Vale.”
Catherine
whispered, “You did.”
Alison turned.
“What?”
“She was my sister.”
The room became completely still.
Alison almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
“You don’t have a sister.”
“I had one.”
“You told me you were an only child.”
“I lied.”
Abigail shifted uneasily beside Christopher.
Catherine wiped her eyes.
“Margaret was six years younger than me. We stopped speaking when you were little.”
“Why?”
Catherine looked at the papers.
“Because of you.”
Alison’s anger disappeared beneath confusion.
“What does that mean?”
Catherine stood abruptly.
“This has nothing to do with Gregory trying to steal your home.”
“It has everything to do with it if he knows about her.”
“Alison—”
“Tell me.”
Catherine looked toward Abigail.
Then at Christopher.
Finally, she said, “Margaret provided most of the money.”
Alison felt another piece of the life she understood slipping away.
“Why?”
“Because she had it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She inherited money from
our grandfather. I didn’t. Your father convinced her the apartment would be a safe investment.”
“So she owned part of it?”
“Thirty percent.”
“What happened to her share?”
Catherine hesitated.
“No one knows.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow.
“That’s unlikely.”
Catherine turned toward her.
“She disappeared.”
Alison stared at her mother.
“When?”
“Twenty-one years ago.”
Two years after the apartment purchase.
Alison tried to calculate.
She would have been sixteen.
Then a memory surfaced.
A woman wearing enormous sunglasses.
Red hair.
A strong perfume that smelled like oranges.
A Christmas present wrapped in silver paper.
Alison suddenly whispered, “Aunt Maggie.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“You remember.”
Barely.
But now fragments came flooding back.
A woman who laughed loudly.
A woman who brought Alison expensive gifts that Catherine disliked.
A woman who once picked her up from school without permission.
And then, suddenly, Aunt Maggie had disappeared from every family story.
“You told me she moved to California.”
“That was easier.”
“Easier than what?”
Catherine’s voice dropped.
“Than telling you no one knew where she went.”
Miriam examined the documents.
“If Margaret Vale retained thirty percent ownership, that interest should have been resolved legally.”
“Samuel handled everything,” Catherine said.
Alison looked sharply at her.
“Dad forged something too?”
“No.”
“You sound very sure.”
“Because your father was terrified of prison.”
The words landed heavily.
Christopher stopped pacing.
“Why would he be afraid of prison?”
Catherine looked toward the staircase.
As though she feared someone might be standing at the top listening.
“Because the week before Margaret disappeared, she accused Samuel of stealing from her.”
Alison’s mouth went dry.
“What?”
“She said money was missing from an investment account. Samuel denied it.”
“How much?”
“Nearly two hundred thousand dollars.”
Christopher gave a low whistle.
Catherine continued.
“They argued constantly. Margaret threatened to sue him.”
“And then she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Alison stepped backward.
“You let me worship Dad knowing this?”
“There was never proof that Samuel hurt her.”
“I didn’t say hurt.”
Catherine went silent.
Alison felt nauseated.
“You thought he might have killed her.”
“No.”
But the answer came too quickly.
Miriam interrupted.
“Before we continue with twenty-year-old suspicions, we need to deal with the immediate threat. Gregory has your identification, property records and possibly forged documents. We need law enforcement and the county recorder notified.”
Christopher nodded.
“I’ll take Abigail to my place.”
“No,” Abigail said.
Everyone turned.
She was staring at the laptop Christopher had placed on the workbench.
“It moved.”
Christopher frowned.
“What moved?”
“The little light.”
He looked down.
The flash drive was still connected.
On the computer screen, a folder had appeared that no one had opened.
A text file.
Miriam stepped forward.
“What is that?”
Christopher clicked it.
There was one sentence.
**IF YOU FOUND THIS, HE KNOWS YOU HAVE IT.**
Christopher immediately disconnected the computer from Wi-Fi.
But the screen changed.
A video window opened.
Gregory appeared.
Not live.
Pre-recorded.
He was sitting in Alison’s living room.
Behind him was the kitchen table and the purchase contract.
“Alison,” he said.
Her name coming from the speakers made everyone freeze.
“If you’re watching this, Abigail took the drive.”
Alison grabbed the edge of the workbench.
Gregory smiled faintly.
“She has a habit of touching things that don’t belong to her.”
Christopher’s face darkened.
The recording continued.
“You’ve probably discovered Margaret Vale by now.”
Catherine gasped.
Gregory leaned toward the camera.
“Your mother is going to tell you I’m trying to steal your apartment. Christopher will tell you I’m dangerous. Your lawyer will tell you not to contact me.”
His smile vanished.
“They’re all partly right.”
Alison felt her stomach twist.
“But none of them will tell you why I chose you.”
A pause.
“I did not meet you accidentally.”
Alison remembered the first time she saw Gregory.
A charity fundraiser.
He had bumped into her while carrying two glasses of wine.
He apologized.
They laughed.
He asked for her number.
For eight months, she had believed it was coincidence.
“I spent almost a year learning your routines before introducing myself.”
Abigail gripped Christopher’s sleeve.
Gregory continued.
“I knew where you worked. Where Abigail went to school. Where Catherine bought groceries. Where Christopher took Abigail on weekends.”
Christopher cursed under his breath.
“And before you decide that makes me a stalker…”
Gregory stared into the camera.
“…understand that I was looking for something.”
He reached offscreen.
When his hand returned, he was holding an old photograph.
A woman with red hair.
Aunt Maggie.
“Margaret Vale.”
Catherine made a choking sound.
Gregory turned the photo toward the camera.
“You’ve all spent two decades pretending she disappeared.”
Catherine whispered, “No.”
“But she didn’t.”
Alison felt as though the basement floor had shifted beneath her.
Gregory lowered the photograph.
“My mother was Margaret Vale.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Alison stared at the screen.
Gregory’s mother?
That would make him—
Her cousin.
She stumbled backward.
Christopher caught her arm.
“No,” Catherine whispered.
Gregory spoke almost conversationally.
“She was pregnant when she left Milwaukee.”
Catherine stared at the screen in horror.
“No, she wasn’t.”
“You didn’t know.”
Gregory smiled without humor.
“Samuel did.”
Alison’s head spun.
Her father.
Margaret.
Gregory.
The missing money.
The apartment.
Every piece seemed connected but none of them formed a picture she could understand.
Gregory continued.
“My mother spent the rest of her life telling me Samuel Carter destroyed her. She said he took her money, stole her share of the building, and threatened her until she ran.”
Catherine gripped the workbench.
“That isn’t what happened.”
The recording, of course, could not hear her.
“She died six years ago. Cancer.”
For the first time, Gregory’s face showed genuine emotion.
“Before she died, she gave me records. Letters. Bank transfers. Copies of property agreements.”
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