Chapter 4
Later that day, nobody came downstairs to call me for dinner.
After they finished playing bridge, they just left. No one bothered to ask if Grandpa wanted some water or even checked if I was still around.
The lights upstairs went out, footsteps thundered down the stairs, and the front door slammed shut. Once again, it was just the two of us left in the yard.
Grandpa got up to pour himself some water. I wanted to help, but he waved me off.
He moved slowly, his slippers scraping softly against the floor.
I sat in the yard, listening to the silence of the empty house.
The fan kept spinning, whining with every turn. The cicadas kept screeching, their noise really getting on my nerves.
When Grandpa saw me off that day, he paused at the door and said, "Clara, I've already talked to the school about your tuition. Just focus on your studies and don't worry about anything else."
I thought he meant some kind of financial aid. It wasn't until much later that I realized Grandpa had asked Lawyer Morrell to set up a 'scholarship' for me under the school's name, and it kept coming for four years straight.
I snapped back to reality.
Everyone in the living room was staring at me.
Uncle George's expression was tense, like he was biting his tongue.
I kept reading the letter.
"I built Hartwell Building Supplies from the ground up. These past years, I left the company in your Uncle George's hands and the others to manage. I'm too old to bother with it now. But there are some things I need to make sure you're aware of."
When reading this, my heart skipped a beat.
"The USB drive holds your Uncle George's financial records from the past five years. He secretly embezzled 650 thousand dollars from the company and funneled it into his own investment firm. That firm's gone bankrupt now. He lost it all." I kept reading the letter.
Everyone in the living room instantly turned their gaze to Uncle George.
Uncle George's face shifted from pale to a dark, stormy gray.
"George, what the hell is going on?" Uncle Robert's voice trembled. His cigarette shook in his hand, and a long ash fell to the floor.
"You embezzled from Dad's company?" Uncle Thomas shot to his feet.
Uncle George opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
He kept staring at the letter in my hand, eyes darting away.
His grip on the armrest was so tight his knuckles went white.
After a long, heavy silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and barely recognizable.
"Clara, I'm Uncle George. When your dad passed, I helped with the arrangements. Please...don't shut me out like this," he said.
"My mom handled everything after my dad died," I said, my tone icy. "When you showed up at the funeral home, all you brought was a one-hundred-buck wreath."
Uncle George's throat looked like it was being squeezed tight.
"My mom asked you to look into the company's accounts, to see if Dad had any shares or dividends. You told her he was never listed as a shareholder," I said, locking eyes with him. "After that, you stopped answering her calls."
Uncle George stepped back and dropped heavily onto the couch. The cushion sank deep, and the springs groaned loudly.
I lowered my head and kept reading the letter.
"George owes the company that money, but he can't pay it back. His investment firm is buried in debt. I didn't confront him face-to-face, just to spare him a bit of dignity. But Clara, you need to keep these accounts in mind. Don't let this slip by you."
I flipped to the third page.
"The USB drive is just the beginning. There are records on the others, too—your Uncle Robert and Uncle Thomas. Over the years, they've been borrowing money, incurring debts, and hiding income, all under the Hartwell Building Supplies name. I've kept track of every single transaction."
"I may be old, but I'm not senile. This company is my life, and I won't let it fall into the hands of fools."
"Take your time with the ledger. There's a paper tucked inside, something I set aside for you ten years ago. It's worth more than everyone in this house put together."
"Clara, keep it safe. Don't worry. I've made sure everything's taken care of for you."
The last line of the letter read: "I'll always love you."
After reading the last line, I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
The paper felt so light in my hand, almost like it wasn't even there.
The living room was dead silent.
I leaned down and pulled the USB drive out of the safe.
It was black, with a sticker label on the casing that said "2015-2020."
The label was worn, and the writing had faded.
"I'll grab a computer," Aunt Eleanor said, getting to her feet.
"No need," Lawyer Morrell replied, pulling a laptop from his briefcase. He flipped it open and plugged in the USB drive.
The screen came to life, and a folder popped up on the desktop, packed with dozens of Excel files.
Each one was tagged with a date, running from 2015 to 2020, all lined up by year.
Lawyer Morrell turned the laptop so everyone could see.
"These are the detailed financial records for Hartwell Building Supplies from 2016 to 2020," he said, clicking open the first file. "Mr. Hartwell had an accounting firm audit everything before he passed away. All the irregular entries are marked in red."