Chapter 5
Aunt June’s voice sounded older than I remembered and exactly the same.
“Rachel?”
I stood at my kitchen window after Ava had fallen asleep.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
“I have imagined this call for twenty-seven years,” June said.
“Why did you leave?”
“I didn’t leave because I stole money.”
“That is what they told us.”
“I know.”
“Did you send the messages?”
“No.”
My disappointment was immediate.
“Then who did?”
“I have a guess, but guesses have caused enough damage in this family.”
I forced myself to slow down.
“What happened in 1998?”
June exhaled.
“You found papers in Grant’s garage.”
“The red notebook?”
“I never saw a red notebook. Back then it was a gray metal cashbox. Grant kept trust statements, receipts, and copies of checks inside.”
“What trust?”
“Your grandmother Ruth created one for you and Ethan before she died. Your mother was supposed to be co-trustee. Grant controlled everything.”
I searched my memory.
“My parents said Grandma left money for college.”
“She left more than tuition money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know the complete amount. I saw one statement showing more than two hundred thousand dollars across both beneficiaries, but that was before investments and withdrawals. The number may have changed.”
The amount made me grip the counter.
I had attended community college on loans while working evenings at a pharmacy. Ethan had been given the down payment for his house, but my parents said that came from Grant’s contracting business.
“What did I find?”
“A withdrawal authorization with your name signed at the bottom.”
“I was ten.”
“Exactly.”
A cold sensation spread beneath my skin.
“I confronted your mother. Grant heard us. That evening, you were injured in the garage.”
“The heater.”
June became silent.
“Wasn’t it an accident?”
“I did not witness the contact. I heard you scream. When I reached the garage, Grant was holding a heated metal tool and you were on the floor. Your mother was already there. She told me you backed into the heater.”
“What tool?”
“A flat wrench. It had been near a propane heater.”
My stomach turned.
“That does not prove he burned me.”
“No. It doesn’t. I saw the aftermath, not the moment. But I heard him say, ‘Maybe now she’ll stop touching what isn’t hers.’”
The language echoed so closely that I had to sit down.
Lying hands get burned.
I pressed my palm against my mouth.
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I did. I called the state police because Leon controlled the county. The call was redirected. Leon came to the hospital before any investigator interviewed you. Your mother refused to let me stay in the room.”
“Mr. Miller was dispatched and canceled.”
“I didn’t know who the trooper was. Grant threatened me afterward.”
“With what?”
“My son had been arrested for possessing pills. Grant said Leon could make the charge disappear or make it worse. I was terrified. I signed a statement saying I had misunderstood the situation.”
“And then you left.”
“Your mother told everyone I stole from her. Grant gave me twelve hours to leave town.”
I wanted to hate June for abandoning me. Part of me did.
Another part recognized the machinery of Grant’s control: secrets, debts, shame, and one frightened person persuaded to sacrifice another.
“Do you have proof?”
“I have a photocopy of the withdrawal authorization and a letter I wrote to an attorney. The attorney died years ago. I never filed anything.”
“Send them to Detective Ortiz.”
“I need to talk to a lawyer first.”
“Why?”
“Because the signature on the statement protecting Grant is mine.”
“You were threatened.”
“That does not erase what I did.”
Her answer was the first honest statement I had heard from a Holloway in days.
June agreed to contact an attorney and then Detective Ortiz. She would not tell me where she lived, and I did not press.
Before hanging up, she said, “Rachel, the red notebook may be Grant’s private ledger. He started keeping one when the contracting company began failing.”
“When was that?”
“Around the time your trust should have transferred to you.”
The next morning, Detective Ortiz called me to the station.
She and an investigator from the district attorney’s office showed me still images from Mr. Miller’s video. The angles were clear enough to show Grant taking Ava’s wrist and lowering the tongs. The actual contact lasted slightly under two seconds.
The burn did not require a long exposure.
Ortiz also showed me a photograph of the backyard camera recorder.
“The deletion was performed using your mother’s tablet,” she said. “At least according to the device log. We need forensic confirmation.”
“Can she be charged?”
“That depends on what she knew, who used the device, whether the deletion was intentional, and whether the footage can be recovered. We do not jump from a login record to a conclusion.”
“What about the notebook?”
“We are applying for a search warrant focused on evidence related to the assault, possible witness tampering, and deletion of recordings. The financial material is a separate issue unless we establish a connection.”
“Grant burned Ava because she saw it.”
“That is one theory. We need evidence.”
An officer entered and handed Ortiz a folder.
She read the first page, then looked at me.
“What?”
“Your brother contacted us.”
“Ethan?”
“He wants to correct his statement.”
“About what?”
Ortiz closed the folder.
“He says your father did not burn Ava because she fell near the grill.”
May you like
I waited.
“He says Grant had been searching for a missing page from the red notebook for almost an hour before the barbecue.”
