Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Curtain
When I woke after surgery, the first thing I noticed was the sound of rain against the hospital window.
The second was Wyatt.
He sat in the chair beside my bed wearing the same shirt he had worn on my parents’ porch. There was dried blood on one cuff.
Mine.
His elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed between his hands.
For several seconds, I simply watched him.
Then I tried to speak.
“Wyatt.”
His head snapped up.
The relief on his face hurt more than the stitches along my temple.
“Sadie.”
He stood so quickly the chair nearly tipped backward.
“Don’t move too fast. The surgeon said you’re going to feel dizzy.”
“What happened?”
He came closer and gently took my hand.
“You had a fractured orbital bone, a deep laceration, and a concussion. They were able to repair the damage around your eye.”
I swallowed.
“My vision?”
“The doctor thinks it will recover.”
Thinks.
Not knows.
That single word settled heavily in my chest.
Before I could respond, Wyatt leaned down and pressed his forehead against my hand.
“I should have gotten you out of there sooner.”
“No.”
“I saw how they were acting. I knew your dad was angry.”
“You didn’t know he would hit me with a brick.”
“I should have known they were capable of something.”
I squeezed his fingers.
“That responsibility belongs to them.”
The door opened.
Detective Aaron Beckett stepped inside with a woman I did not recognize.
She was in her late fifties, sharply dressed in a charcoal suit, silver hair cut to her jaw.
“Ms. Mercer,” Beckett said, “this is Detective Lena Ortiz. She works financial crimes.”
I looked at Wyatt.
“Financial crimes?”
Beckett pulled a chair closer.
“We found something during your father’s arrest.”
He placed a transparent evidence bag on the bedside table.
Inside was my father’s phone.
“He received several messages before the assault.”
“From Melanie?”
“Some.”
His expression changed.
“Others were from your mother.”
I almost laughed.
“Why would that surprise anyone?”
“It wouldn’t.”
Detective Ortiz opened a folder.
“What surprised us was what they were discussing.”
She slid a printed screenshot toward me.
I read the words slowly.
IF SADIE SIGNS BEFORE THE WEDDING, WE STILL HAVE TIME.
Another message followed.
MELANIE HAS TO BE THE ONE WYATT MARRIES.
Then:
GRANDPA’S CLAUSE ONLY APPLIES TO THE FIRST GRANDDAUGHTER WHO MARRIES.
My mouth went dry.
“What clause?”
“That,” Beckett said, “is what we were hoping you could explain.”
“I can’t.”
Wyatt reached into his jacket and removed the business card from the envelope.
“Maybe Samuel Grayson can.”
Ortiz studied it.
“You received that tonight?”
“Someone left it with a hospital volunteer.”
Beckett looked at the handwritten words.
Ask about your grandfather’s final will.
He exhaled slowly.
“We need to speak with Grayson.”
Wyatt had already tried calling the number.
No answer.
Detective Ortiz took a photograph of the card but returned the original to us.
“Keep it secure.”
After the detectives left, I closed my eyes.
Grandpa.
My mother’s father, Theodore Caldwell.
He had died when I was nineteen.
At least, that was what I had been told.
I remembered him only in fragments.
A deep laugh.
Peppermint candies.
Old jazz records.
The way he used to call me Bluebird because I wore blue whenever I visited.
But there was something strange about my memories of him.
After I turned twelve, my parents stopped taking me to see him regularly.
They said he was becoming difficult.
Later they said he was sick.
Then, during my sophomore year of college, Mom called me and said Grandpa had died suddenly.
There had been no funeral.
“He didn’t want one,” she told me.
No obituary that I could remember.
No family gathering.
No grave I had ever visited.
A cold sensation moved through me.
“Wyatt.”
“What?”
“I don’t remember seeing proof Grandpa died.”
He stared at me.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother told me.”
“That was it?”
“I was nineteen. I was away at college.”
I opened my eyes.
“There was no funeral.”
Wyatt’s expression hardened.
“The man behind the curtain.”
I had been trying not to think about him.
The elderly face.
The trembling hand against the glass.
“That couldn’t have been Grandpa.”
“Why not?”
“Because he would be eighty-three now.”
“The man you saw looked around eighty.”
My heart started beating faster.
“No.”
Wyatt stood.
“I’m calling Grayson again.”
This time someone answered.
Wyatt put the phone on speaker.
A man’s voice said, “Samuel Grayson.”
Wyatt introduced himself.
Silence followed.
Then the attorney said, “Is Sadie alive?”
The question chilled the room.
“Yes,” Wyatt said. “She’s awake.”
“Thank God.”
I found my voice.
“Mr. Grayson?”
“Sadie?”
“Yes.”
His breath caught.
“I have waited fourteen years to hear your voice.”
I looked at Wyatt.
“What are you talking about?”
Samuel spoke carefully.
“Your grandfather never died.”
Every machine around me suddenly seemed louder.
I could hear my own pulse.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
“What happened to him?”
“Your parents isolated him.”
My fingers went numb.
“Why?”
“Money.”
One word.
Simple.
Terrible.
Samuel continued.
“Your grandfather controlled a trust containing several properties, investments, and a construction materials company. Your mother expected to inherit everything.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your grandfather changed his estate plan.”
“When?”
“Shortly after your eighteenth birthday.”
The room seemed to narrow.
Samuel’s voice lowered.
“He left the majority of the estate to you.”
I could not speak.
Wyatt did.
“How much?”
“Based on current valuation?”
Samuel paused.
“Approximately forty-eight million dollars.”
My heart monitor began beeping faster.
“Forty-eight million?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the rain.
My parents had spent years treating me as though I were the failure of the family.
Melanie received private school.
I worked through college.
Melanie got a new car.
I bought a used Honda.
My mother mocked my apartment.
Dad called me financially irresponsible because I refused to lend Melanie ten thousand dollars for a vacation she claimed was a business trip.
Forty-eight million dollars.
And they had known.
“Why didn’t I get it?”
Samuel did not answer immediately.
“Because your grandfather inserted a protective condition.”
Detective Beckett’s printed message flashed through my mind.
The first granddaughter who marries.
“What condition?”
Samuel sighed.
“The trust did not transfer when Theodore died.”
“But you said he isn’t dead.”
“It was designed to activate under one of two circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“His natural death…”
Samuel stopped.
“Or your marriage.”
Wyatt slowly sat down.
My stomach twisted.
“So they wanted Melanie to marry Wyatt because…”
“Because your parents filed documents years ago claiming Melanie was the first-born granddaughter.”
“What?”
“They tried to alter beneficiary records.”
I shook my head.
“I’m older than Melanie by three years.”
“I know.”
“Then how could they possibly—”
“Forgery.”
The word hung between us.
Samuel continued.
“Theodore discovered what they were doing. That was when everything escalated.”
“Where is he?”
Samuel became quiet again.
“I believe he was in your parents’ home tonight.”
I stopped breathing.
The man at the window.
“That was Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Why was he there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t he come with the ambulance?”
“Because he is afraid of your parents.”
Anger moved through me so quickly that it burned through the fear.
“My eighty-three-year-old grandfather is afraid of my parents?”
“He has reason to be.”
Wyatt stood again.
“Where has he been living?”
“We don’t know.”
“You’re his attorney.”
“I was his attorney until fourteen years ago. Then Theodore disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Your mother claimed he had been moved to a private care facility.”
“Which one?”
“She refused to disclose it.”
“Why didn’t anyone investigate?”
“I tried.”
Samuel’s voice tightened.
“Theodore had previously signed a broad power of attorney while recovering from a stroke. Your mother used it to block access.”
“What about police?”
“No evidence of a crime existed at the time.”
“Now there does,” Wyatt said.
Samuel agreed.
“Yes.”
I stared at the business card.
“Why tonight?”
“What?”
“Why did Grandpa appear tonight?”
Samuel’s answer came softly.
“Maybe he realized they were going to hurt you.”
A knock interrupted us.
Detective Beckett returned.
His expression told me something had changed.
“We found your grandfather.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
Beckett came closer.
“Three streets from your parents’ house.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s alive.”
I nearly cried from relief.
“But?”
“He was found walking barefoot in the rain.”
My hand tightened around Wyatt’s.
“He kept asking officers one question.”
“What question?”
Beckett looked directly at me.
“Is my Bluebird alive?”
I broke.
I turned my face toward Wyatt and sobbed.
Not because of the money.
Not because of the will.
Because somewhere inside that house, while my parents planned to steal from me and my sister waited for my life to be destroyed, an old man I had loved as a child had remembered the color of my dresses.
And he had tried to save me.
Detective Beckett allowed me a moment before continuing.
“Your grandfather also gave us something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
Beckett placed a small brass key in an evidence bag on the table.
“There’s a number engraved on it.”
“What does it open?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Beckett added the sentence that changed the investigation again.
“But your father tried to grab it from him when officers brought Theodore back to identify the house.”
Wyatt’s expression became cold.
“That means Dad knows.”
May you like
Beckett nodded.
“And whatever opens with this key scares him.”
