Chapter 5 - Sunday Morning Knock
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of my living room, casting pale geometric patterns across the hardwood floor. I had spent the remainder of the night reviewing Rose’s journal and organizing the bank statements into chronological order. Every page confirmed the same horrifying reality: Arthur hadn't just emotionally abandoned his family; he had systematically hollowed out their financial future, using forged documents and shell companies to mask his embezzlement from Vance Capital.
Around 8:00 AM, April padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and asking for cereal. I made her breakfast while Lucy and Rachel helped set the table, each of them moving with a quiet, synchronized efficiency that felt both admirable and heartbreaking.
They weren't crying anymore. The shock had hardened into a quiet, unyielding resolve.
As I poured my second cup of coffee, the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed softly.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was sharp, authoritative, and entirely unexpected.
My muscles locked instantly. I looked toward the front door. Had Arthur realized the sewing box was missing? Had he tracked us here already?
"Stay here in the kitchen with your sisters," I instructed Lucy, keeping my voice low and steady.
I walked down the short hallway, my hand sliding instinctively into my pocket where I had placed my house keys. I approached the front door, peered through the small brass peephole, and froze.
It wasn't Arthur.
Standing on my porch was a tall, sharp-featured man in an expensive gray trench coat, holding a leather briefcase. Beside him stood a woman I recognized instantly from the polaroid photograph in Rose’s journal: Marcus Vance.
Vance didn't look like a grieving relative or a casual visitor. His expression was cold, calculating, and entirely businesslike. He reached out and knocked again—louder this time.
I took a deep breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the door open.
May you like
"Charles," Marcus Vance said, his voice smooth and devoid of any warmth. "I'm glad to see you're home. We need to have a conversation about your granddaughters—and about certain property that your late daughter unlawfully removed from Arthur’s home."
My hand tightened on the doorknob. The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
