Chapter 9: The Clock in Frank Peterson's Study
By 7:30 that evening, the Peterson brownstone was surrounded by police vehicles.
Not because we had stormed the property.
Not because Zoe had threatened anyone.
Because Rebecca had submitted the evidence to the appropriate authorities, and investigators had obtained the necessary authorization to preserve the documents before they could be destroyed.
I stood across the street with Zoe and Daniel.
Lily was safe at a private residence with a trusted caregiver.
For the first time since Thanksgiving, I wasn't worried about whether someone would hurt her.
I was worried about what we were about to discover.
The front door opened.
Two investigators entered.
Frank appeared in the hallway, wearing a navy sweater and holding a glass of whiskey.
He looked furious.
"What is this?""
One investigator showed him the paperwork.
"We're here to preserve specific business records and investigate allegations of financial misconduct.""
Frank laughed.
"This is a private residence.""
"We understand.""
"You cannot come in here and search my home.""
"We have the required authorization.""
Frank looked past them.
Then he saw me standing across the street.
His expression changed.
"Chloe!""
I didn't move.
He walked onto the front steps.
"Get over here!""
Zoe stepped slightly in front of me.
Frank pointed at me.
"You have no idea what you've done!""
I looked directly at him.
"I think I'm finally beginning to understand.""
He came down one step.
"Your grandmother would be ashamed of you.""
I almost smiled.
"My grandmother left me a company. You left me a fraudulent signature.""
His face reddened.
"You don't understand the arrangements.""
"Then explain them.""
He looked at Zoe.
"You're exploiting a family dispute to interfere with a private business transaction.""
Zoe folded her arms.
"Frank, your son used Chloe's credentials to authorize suspicious transfers. You have no business calling this a family dispute.""
Frank's mouth tightened.
Then he looked at me again.
"Come inside. We can discuss this without outsiders.""
"No.""
"Chloe, I'm warning you.""
I stepped forward.
"You've had seven years to explain why my name was on your company. You had seven years to tell me about my father. You had seven years to stop your daughter from treating mine like dirt.""
Frank's expression became cold.
"Your father was a troublemaker.""
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
"What did you do to him?""
Frank looked toward the investigators.
Then he smiled.
"Nothing you can prove.""
An investigator appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Peterson, we need access to your study.""
Frank immediately turned.
"That's my private office.""
"We have documentation identifying specific records stored there.""
He tried to block the entrance.
The investigator stepped around him.
I watched them disappear down the hallway.
A few minutes later, someone called from inside.
"There's a large grandfather clock against the eastern wall.""
My hands went cold.
Daniel glanced at me.
"That's the one.""
The grandfather clock had stood in the Peterson study for as long as I could remember.
Frank used to tell visitors it had belonged to his great-grandfather.
Every Christmas, Carol decorated it with ribbons.
I had never questioned it.
An investigator carefully moved the clock away from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow wooden compartment.
He opened it.
Then he called for another investigator.
Something had been hidden inside.
A metal document box.
Frank stepped toward the doorway.
"Don't touch that!""
The investigator turned.
"Sir, step back.""
"That belongs to me!""
"No, it doesn't.""
Frank's face turned dark.
The box was carried into the dining room.
An officer opened it.
Inside were several folders, an old photograph album, a small digital recorder, and a sealed envelope.
I watched through the open doorway.
Then the officer removed the first photograph.
It showed my father standing beside a younger Frank Peterson.
They were shaking hands in front of a construction site.
The date on the back was twenty-one years earlier.
I stepped closer.
"Can I see that?""
The officer looked at Rebecca.
She nodded.
He held it where I could examine it without touching the evidence.
My father looked younger than I remembered.
His hair was dark.
His smile was easy.
Frank stood beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder.
They looked like friends.
I swallowed.
"Why would they be together?""
Daniel pointed to the building behind them.
"That's the original Peterson Development headquarters.""
The officer opened another folder.
It contained financial statements.
And a list of investors.
Several names were familiar.
One belonged to a company that had been dissolved years earlier.
Another belonged to a man who had died under suspicious circumstances.
But the most disturbing document was a typed report describing an incident on a rural road outside Chicago.
The date matched the night my father supposedly died.
I read the first paragraph.
*Vehicle recovered from the river. No confirmed identification of driver. Witness statements inconsistent.*
My vision blurred.
"Where's the rest?""
The investigator turned the page.
The next section contained a handwritten note.
Subject removed from vehicle before recovery. Confirmed alive. Relocation arranged.
I gripped Rebecca's arm.
"That's him.""
She nodded.
"We'll make sure this is preserved.""
Frank suddenly shouted from behind us.
"That document is fabricated!""
Nobody responded.
He pointed at the box.
"Michael created all of that to destroy me.""
I turned.
"You knew he was alive.""
Frank said nothing.
"You knew my father was alive, and you let me believe he was dead for twenty years.""
He looked at me.
"Your grandmother made that decision.""
"Why?""
"Because it was safer.""
"For whom?""
His jaw tightened.
Then he said something I would never forget.
"Your father was supposed to stay gone.""
I stepped closer.
"Who made him disappear?""
Frank's eyes flickered toward the staircase.
Before he could answer, a woman's voice sounded from upstairs.
"Frank, don't say another word.""
Megan appeared at the top of the stairs.
She was wearing a white silk blouse and black trousers.
Her hair was perfectly styled.
But her face was pale.
She looked at the investigators, then at me.
"You.""
I stared at her.
"Yes. Me.""
She descended slowly.
"You're destroying this family.""
I laughed.
"Your family destroyed itself.""
Megan pointed at the document box.
"You have no idea what's in there.""
"I know my father's name is in it.""
Her expression changed.
Then she looked toward Frank.
"Where's the other envelope?""
Frank said nothing.
Megan's voice became frantic.
"The blue one. Where is it?""
One investigator turned toward her.
"Ma'am, please remain where you are.""
She ignored him.
"Frank, you said you destroyed it!""
I felt my pulse racing.
"What blue envelope?""
Megan looked at me.
For the first time, she seemed genuinely frightened.
Then she said:
"The envelope that proves your father wasn't the person who caused the accident.""
I went still.
"Who was?""
Megan's eyes filled with tears.
She looked toward the front door.
Then back at me.
"Your mother.""
The words landed like a physical blow.
My mother had died when I was seventeen.
She had been the gentlest person I knew.
She had taught me to bake apple pie, helped me with college applications, and spent countless nights telling me stories about my father.
I shook my head.
"That's a lie.""
Megan backed away.
"Ask your grandmother.""
"She's dead.""
"Then ask the person who paid for the accident investigation.""
"Who?""
Megan opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, Frank grabbed her arm.
"Shut up!""
She pulled away.
"You said you would protect me!""
An investigator stepped between them.
"Mr. Peterson, let go of her.""
Megan looked at me again.
And then she whispered:
"Your mother didn't die of cancer, Chloe.""
I felt the floor disappear beneath my feet.
"What?""
Megan began crying.
"She was murdered because she found out what your father had discovered.""
The room fell silent.
Then the officer's radio crackled.
A voice came through.
"We've located Michael Bennett. He's alive, and he's requesting immediate contact with Chloe Peterson.""
I turned toward the radio.
But the officer's next words made my blood run cold.
"There's a problem. He's not alone.""
A pause.
Then:
"He's with a woman identified as Margaret Peterson.""
My grandmother's name.
The woman we had buried eight years earlier.
The woman who had supposedly died peacefully in her sleep.
May you like
And the woman whose handwritten letters had started this entire nightmare.
*My grandmother was alive, too.*
