Grady arrived at my house just after midnight.
Detective Morales was still there, and I almost sent my son away when I saw him standing beneath the porch light.
Then I noticed his hands.
They were shaking.
“Let him in,” Morales said.
Grady stepped inside.
His eyes went directly to the dining room floor.
“You found it.”
I stared at him.
“You knew.”
He swallowed.
“I knew there was something here.”
“How long?”
“Since I was seventeen.”
Morales folded his arms.
“Sit down.”
Grady sat.
I remained standing.
“What did my father tell you?”
“He said there were things about the family I wasn't old enough to understand.”
“You were seventeen.”
“I know.”
“What happened in 1994?”
He looked at me.
“I don't remember everything.”
“That isn't good enough.”
“I remember Dad taking me to this house.”
My heart tightened.
“My father was dead before you were seventeen.”
Grady shook his head.
“I'm not talking about Grandpa Thomas.”
I stared at him.
“My father was dead.”
“I know.”
“Then who took you here?”
Grady looked at the detective.
“Your father.”
I felt cold.
“My father died when you were six.”
Grady lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
Silence.
Morales leaned forward.
“Then explain.”
Grady rubbed his palms together.
“When I was seventeen, I found a letter in your father's desk.”
“My father had been dead eleven years.”
“I know.”
“What letter?”
“It was addressed to me.”
That made no sense.
“Show me.”
“I don't have it.”
“Where is it?”
“Kelsey destroyed it.”
My voice hardened.
“When?”
“About a year ago.”
“Why?”
“She found it while going through my things.”
“What did it say?”
Grady closed his eyes.
“It said Dad had left something in the house.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
“You knew about the hidden notebook.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about the key.”
“Yes.”
“You knew there was something under the floor.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
He looked toward the window.
“Everyone.”
Morales asked, “What happened after your father gave you the key?”
Grady looked at him.
“I never said he gave me the key.”
“You told your mother he did.”
“I said he gave me a key.”
“Then who gave it to you?”
Grady looked at me.
“My grandfather.”
The room went silent.
I sat down.
“Your grandfather?”
“He wasn't supposed to.”
“What does that mean?”
“He told me never to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because he said you'd leave.”
I stared at my son.
“Leave where?”
“Anywhere.”
Morales opened the evidence bag containing the notebook.
“Was this the book?”
Grady looked at it.
His face changed.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw it when I was seventeen.”
I leaned toward him.
“What did it contain?”
“Names.”
“Whose?”
“People who paid Grandpa.”
“For what?”
Grady swallowed.
“Property.”
I remembered the survey.
The payments.
The addresses.
The hidden room.
“Your grandfather was buying property illegally?”
“I don't know.”
“You do know.”
“I know he moved money.”
“For what?”
“Land.”
Morales interrupted.
“Was your father involved?”
Grady shook his head.
“No.”
“What about your mother?”
“No.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because Grandpa wasn't alone.”
The room became very still.
“Who was with him?”
Grady looked at me.
“I never knew all the names.”
“Give me the ones you remember.”
He hesitated.
“Nathan.”
I stared at him.
“Nathan Ellis?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“He knew my grandfather?”
Grady nodded.
“Not well. His father did.”
Morales wrote something down.
“Who was Nathan's father?”
“Peter Ellis.”
I knew the name.
I didn't know why.
Then I remembered a photograph in my father's study.
A man standing beside my father at a company picnic.
Peter Ellis.
I had thought he was an old employee.
Maybe he had been more.
Grady continued.
“Grandpa used Nathan's father to move medical equipment.”
I frowned.
“Medical equipment?”
“That's what they called it.”
“What was it really?”
“I don't know.”
“Grady.”
“I was seventeen.”
“You've had eighteen years to find out.”
His eyes filled.
“I tried.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because every time I tried, someone got scared.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“Kelsey.”
I stared at him.
“What did Kelsey know?”
“She knew about the notebook.”
“How?”
“She found the letter.”
“The one from your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She wanted money.”
My chest tightened.
“From whom?”
“Anyone who would pay.”
I understood then.
Kelsey's debts hadn't started with gambling.
They had started with leverage.
She had discovered a family secret.
She had realized that my identity and property could be used as collateral.
But something still didn't fit.
“Why did you marry her?”
Grady looked at me.
“I loved her.”
I almost answered.
Then I stopped.
He was my son.
Whatever mistakes he had made, this wasn't the moment to humiliate him.
Instead I asked, “Does she know about the basement?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know about the notebook?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know what happened in 1994?”
“I think so.”
Morales looked up.
“What happened that year?”
Grady's face tightened.
“I saw someone leave this house.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You were seventeen.”
“I was scared.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall.”
“Anything else?”
“Dark coat.”
“Face?”
“I didn't see it.”
“Vehicle?”
“Black pickup.”
Morales wrote it down.
I remembered the black SUV Kelsey had mentioned.
The vehicle outside my house.
Maybe it wasn't coincidence.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I looked at the screen.
A photograph.
The photograph showed Grady at seventeen.
Standing beside my father's truck.
The same photograph I had found earlier.
But this version had been taken from behind.
There was a second person in the frame.
A man.
His face was partly visible.
Grady saw it.
He stood abruptly.
“Where did you get that?”
“I don't know.”
Morales took the phone.
He zoomed in.
The man wore a dark coat.
A black pickup was visible behind him.
Grady whispered, “That's him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
The detective looked at me.
“Do you have any old family photographs?”
“Yes.”
“Bring them.”
I went upstairs.
In my father's old album, I found the picnic photograph.
Peter Ellis stood beside my father.
I held it up.
Grady stared.
“That’s him.”
“Peter?”
“No.”
“The other man.”
There was another person behind them.
Partly hidden by a tree.
I had never noticed him.
Morales took the album.
He compared the faces.
“Could be the same person.”
Grady sat down again.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something else.”
I waited.
“Kelsey wasn't the person who found the notebook.”
“Who was?”
Grady looked at Morales.
“My father.”
My breath stopped.
“Your father died when you were six.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Grady's voice dropped.
“My biological father.”
I couldn't speak.
Morales looked from him to me.
“What are you saying?”
Grady stared at the floor.
“My father wasn't Thomas.”
The room seemed to move.
My son had just told me that the man I had buried was not his biological father.
And somehow, the hidden notebook, Nathan Ellis, Kelsey, and the mysterious photographs all seemed to lead back to the same question.
Who was Grady's real father?
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The DNA Report Wasn’t the Shock I Expected; It Was the Date on the Original Record That Made Me Question My Entire Marriage
My Son Told Me to Stay Away From His House, So I Went to the Dealership and Discovered a Name I Had Never Authorized
Part 6 of 24
