PART 5: THE TWENTY-THREE MINUTES THEY TRIED TO ERASE
Dad stared at the DNA report until the words blurred beneath his tears.
“Grant is Harold’s son,” he whispered.
I did not know what to say.
For more than forty years, Dad had believed Grant was his child.
He had taught him how to ride a bicycle.
Paid for college.
Helped him buy his first car.
Stayed awake beside his hospital bed when his appendix ruptured.
Now one sheet of paper had revealed that his closest friend was Grant’s biological father.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Dad folded the report and placed it on the table.
“Grant is still the boy I raised.”
His voice trembled.
“Biology doesn’t erase forty years. But what he did to your mother might.”
Sheriff Mercer removed Mom’s letter from the safe-deposit box.
“This gives Harold a motive to protect Grant,” she said.

“And a reason to silence Mom,” I added.
Dad looked at the receipt for Mom’s immediate cremation.
“He carried her casket.”
His face hardened.
“He stood beside me at her funeral and told me I was lucky to have had such a faithful wife.”
The bank manager quietly left the room.
Sheriff Mercer called one of her detectives.
“Tell Harold’s attorney we opened Box 317. Tell him we found the DNA report, the medication records, and the cremation payment.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Giving Harold a reason to talk before Grant or Vanessa does.”
Her phone rang less than five minutes later.
Harold wanted to make a statement.
He asked for protection.
“Protection from whom?” Dad demanded.
“Grant,” Sheriff Mercer replied.
Dad let out a bitter laugh.
“He broke into Natalie’s house to help Grant, and now he’s afraid of him?”
“He’s afraid of spending the rest of his life in prison.”
We returned to the sheriff’s office.
Harold sat in an interview room with his attorney.
His wrists were cuffed to a metal ring beneath the table.
The man on the screen looked nothing like the friend I remembered.
He looked old.
Small.
Defeated.
Dad and I watched from the observation room while Sheriff Mercer entered.

She placed copies of the DNA report and funeral-home receipt in front of Harold.
His attorney leaned toward him.
“Do not answer until you understand the agreement.”
“There is no agreement yet,” the sheriff said. “If Mr. Pike wants consideration, he needs to tell us everything.”
Harold looked toward the dark observation window.
He could not see Dad standing on the other side.
But somehow, he seemed to know we were there.
“Eleanor and I made one mistake,” he said.
Dad flinched.
“It happened during the year Frank and Eleanor separated. Grant was born nine months later.”
“Did Frank know?”
“No.”
“Did you know Grant was your son?”
“I suspected it.”
“When did you become certain?”
Harold looked at the DNA report.
“One month before Eleanor died.”
“Eleanor told you?”
“She came to my office with the results. She said she had ordered the test after finding old letters I wrote to her.”
“Where did she find the letters?”
“Grant had them.”
Sheriff Mercer leaned forward.
“How did Grant get them?”
“He stole them from my house after my wife died.”
The pieces slowly came together.
Grant had discovered Harold’s letters.
He realized Harold might be his biological father.
Then he used that secret to demand money.
“How much did Grant take from you?” the sheriff asked.

“Almost ninety thousand dollars over three years.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I would have lost my business. My family. My reputation.”
“So instead, you helped him steal from Frank and Eleanor.”
Harold lowered his head.
“I notarized the power of attorney.”
“You knew it was forged.”
“Yes.”
“You helped change Eleanor’s prescription.”
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
“The request contains your signature.”
“Vanessa brought it to me. She said Eleanor’s doctor had approved it.”
“You were a funeral director for thirty-five years. You understood what that dosage could do to a woman with a heart condition.”
“I didn’t read the dosage.”
Sheriff Mercer stared at him.
“Try again.”
Harold swallowed.
“We only wanted her confused.”
Dad made a sound beside me.
I grabbed his arm before he could enter the room.
On the screen, Harold continued.
“Grant needed Eleanor to sign financial documents. She refused whenever she was alert.”
“So you increased her medication to impair her judgment.”
“I didn’t know Vanessa would give her so much.”
“What happened the night she died?”
Harold looked toward the observation window again.
“I told Frank I was having chest pains.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“You were never sick,” the sheriff said.
“No.”
“You used Frank to create an alibi.”
“I needed to get him out of the house so Grant and Vanessa could speak to Eleanor.”
“You mean pressure her into signing.”

Harold did not answer.
“What hospital did Frank take you to?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
“We checked their records. You were never admitted.”
“I told Frank to wait in the family area while I registered. Then I slipped through a side exit.”
“Where did you go?”
Harold’s attorney touched his arm.
“You do not have to answer that.”
Sheriff Mercer gathered the papers.
“Then we’re finished.”
“Wait.”
Harold’s face had turned gray.
“I went to Eleanor’s house.”
Dad stepped closer to the glass.
Sheriff Mercer sat down again.
“Why?”
“Grant called me. He said Eleanor had collapsed.”
“Why didn’t he call 911?”
“He was afraid the paramedics would find the medication.”
“What condition was Eleanor in when you arrived?”
“She was on the kitchen floor.”
“Was she alive?”
Harold hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“She was conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Was she speaking?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Harold stared down at his cuffed hands.

“She kept asking for Natalie.”
My throat tightened.
Mom had been alive.
She had known I was the only person who would protect her.
And the three people standing around her had refused to call me.
Sheriff Mercer slid the audio transcript across the table.
“The recording contains twenty-three minutes between Eleanor’s collapse and the emergency call. What happened during those twenty-three minutes?”
“I tried to help her.”
“Then why did you arrange an immediate cremation?”
“Grant panicked.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He said the hospital would perform a toxicology test.”
“So you destroyed the body before anyone could discover what was in her system.”
“I didn’t kill Eleanor.”
“You altered the removal time on your funeral-home records.”
“I was protecting Grant.”
“You falsified the cremation authorization.”
“Vanessa signed it.”
“You accepted ten thousand dollars in cash.”
“That was for the funeral.”
“The funeral had already been paid through Eleanor’s burial policy.”
Harold looked at his attorney.
The attorney remained silent.
Sheriff Mercer stood.
“Grant says you changed the medication. Vanessa says you gave Eleanor something after you arrived. Both of them say you were the last person to touch her before she stopped breathing.”
Harold slammed both hands on the table.
“They’re lying!”

Dad pulled away from me and opened the observation-room door.
“Frank, stop!” I shouted.
He walked into the interview room before the deputy could reach him.
Harold stared at him.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Dad placed the DNA report on the table.
“Was he worth it?”
Harold’s face collapsed.
“Frank—”
“I raised your son while you stole from me.”
“I never asked you to raise him.”
“No. You only watched me love him.”
Harold lowered his eyes.
Dad stepped closer.
“You helped him poison my wife.”
“I didn’t.”
“You kept her from receiving help.”
“I tried to save her.”
“Then tell me what happened during those twenty-three minutes.”
Harold began crying.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Grant will destroy both our families.”
Dad struck the table with his palm.
“Our families are already destroyed!”
A deputy guided Dad out of the room.
Harold’s attorney ended the interview.
But as the door closed, Harold shouted one final sentence.
“Eleanor recorded more than you know!”

Sheriff Mercer stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Harold refused to answer.
We returned to the evidence room.
The safe-deposit box had been placed beneath a bright examination lamp.
Investigators had removed every document and photographed every page.
An evidence technician held up a thin piece of black plastic.
“This was attached beneath the metal handle.”
It was another flash drive.
Much smaller than the first.
Mom had hidden it where someone searching quickly would never notice.
The technician connected it to an isolated computer.
Three video files appeared.
The first showed Grant removing money from Mom’s desk.
The second showed Vanessa photographing Dad’s banking information.
The third was dated the night Mom died.
Sheriff Mercer pressed play.
The video came from a hidden camera inside Mom’s kitchen.
Grant stood beside the table holding several documents.
Vanessa blocked the doorway.
Mom sat in a chair, breathing heavily.
“You are not getting my signature,” she told them.
Grant leaned over her.
“You’re going to lose the house anyway.”
“It isn’t your house.”
“It will be when Dad dies.”
Mom looked directly toward the hidden camera.
“Natalie will see everything.”
Vanessa grabbed Mom’s medication bottle.
“She won’t believe you.”
“She will when she hears the recording.”
Grant knocked the bottle from Vanessa’s hand.
Pills scattered across the floor.
Mom tried to stand.
Her knees buckled.
She reached for the table, missed it, and collapsed.

For several minutes, Vanessa cried while Grant searched Mom’s pockets and drawers.
Neither called an ambulance.
Then someone knocked on the back door.
Grant opened it.
Harold entered carrying a small medical bag.
Dad gripped my hand.
On the video, Mom lifted her head.
“Frank trusts you,” she whispered.
Harold knelt beside her.
“I’m sorry, Eleanor.”
“Call Natalie.”
“I can’t.”
Grant pointed at Mom.
“She knows everything.”
Harold checked her pulse.
“She needs an ambulance.”
“If you call one, the police will find the pills,” Vanessa said.
Grant crouched beside Harold.
“Can you make this look like her heart failed?”
Harold stared at him.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You’re asking me to murder your mother.”

Grant leaned closer.
“I’m asking you to protect your son.”
Harold’s hands began shaking.
Then he opened the medical bag.
Dad turned away from the screen.
Harold removed a small vial and a syringe.
Mom saw it.
With the last of her strength, she reached toward the hidden camera.
“Natalie,” she whispered.
Harold filled the syringe.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Grant locked the kitchen door.
Then Harold looked at the two children he was protecting and said the sentence that finally revealed what happened during those missing twenty-three minutes.
“Once I give her this, Eleanor will never tell anyone the truth.”
And the video showed him lowering the needle toward my mother’s arm….

Click Here to continue read next: PART6: My sister called at 6:30 a.m. and said, “Dad died last night.” I looked across the kitchen—Dad was sitting three feet away, drinking my coffee and eating my bacon.