By the time we reached the parking lot, Dale’s Jeep was already turning onto the highway.
Mark stood near his Silverado, one hand braced against the hood, breathing hard.
“You let him go?” Aunt Carol shouted.
“He had a head start.”
“You were ten feet behind him.”
“He nearly backed over me.”
June walked straight past both of them.
She was looking at Robert’s message.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT DALE HAS.
Mr. Vernon had already called the police from inside the bank. He remained near the entrance, speaking with someone on his phone while a security guard reviewed the parking-lot cameras.
I followed June.
“What do you think he means?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask him.”
She looked at me.
“I just told my father I was turning evidence over to police.”
“Fair point.”
Mark came toward us.
“What did Robert say?”
June showed him.
His eyes narrowed.
“What does Dale have?”
“That’s the question.”
Aunt Carol snatched the phone before June could stop her.
“Carol.”
She read the message.
Then looked toward the road where Dale had disappeared.
“I knew that boy was trouble.”
Mark laughed sharply.
“Ten minutes ago you were defending everyone except June.”
“I did not defend Dale.”
“You called the forged signature a misunderstanding.”
“I was talking about Robert.”
“Who was caught searching Grandpa’s desk.”
Aunt Carol’s chin lifted.
“That is my brother.”
“And June’s father.”
Carol said nothing.
June took her phone back.
A patrol car pulled into the lot.
Then another.
The next hour became forms, questions, timestamps, names, and repeated explanations.
June sat inside the bank while an officer named Lieutenant Herrera photographed the trust records Grandpa had authorized for release. Mr. Vernon provided copies of the surveillance images, the attempted login report, and the forged transfer documents. June answered questions without embellishment.
No, she had not known about the trust before that afternoon.
No, she had never seen Prairie Heritage Holdings on Grandpa’s paperwork.
Yes, she recognized Robert Parker in the photographs.
Yes, Dale Parker was the registered owner of the LLC.
No, she did not know where Dale was going.
When Herrera asked whether she feared either man, June hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no.”
“No.”
“Do either of them have access to firearms?”
Every Parker in the room looked uncomfortable.
This was Kansas.
“That question needs a narrower definition of access,” Mark muttered.
Herrera looked at him.
Mark cleared his throat.
“Yes.”
June rubbed her forehead.
“Grandpa had rifles.”
“Where?”
“At the farm.”
“Locked?”
“In a gun cabinet.”
“Who has keys?”
June stopped.
Everyone looked at everyone else.
“I had one.”
“Past tense?”
“It’s on my key ring.”
“Who else?”
“Grandpa.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.”
Mark said, “Robert probably had one years ago.”
Aunt Carol nodded.
“Dad gave each of us a key to the house.”
June turned toward her.
“When?”
“When Mom was sick.”
“That was six years ago.”
“So?”
“Did you ever give yours back?”
Carol looked offended.
“No.”
Mark raised a hand.
“I still have mine.”
The room shifted again.
June stared at them.
“How many people have keys to Grandpa’s house?”
Nobody knew.
Lieutenant Herrera wrote something down.
“We need to secure the property.”
“I’ll go,” June said.
“No.”
The answer came from Herrera immediately.
She looked up.
“Why?”
“Because we have one family member fleeing, another potential suspect at an unknown hotel location, and property that may contain evidence.”
“That’s Grandpa’s house.”
“Exactly.”
June leaned back.
The words affected her.
Grandpa’s house.
Not hers.
Not yet, emotionally, no matter what the trust said.
Herrera continued.
“Do not go there until an officer clears it.”
June nodded reluctantly.
A second officer entered the room.
He whispered something to Herrera.
Her eyes moved toward Mark.
“Mr. Parker?”
Mark stood.
“Yes?”
“Your cousin’s vehicle was located.”
June rose.
“Where?”
“Abandoned near the old feed mill south of town.”
“Was he there?”
“No.”
“Did someone pick him up?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Herrera looked at the officer.
“Anything inside?”
“Phone.”
Mark frowned.
“He left his phone?”
“On the passenger seat.”
June stared at Robert’s message again.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT DALE HAS.
“What was Dale carrying when he left the bank?”
Everyone tried to remember.
Nothing obvious.
No bag.
No folder.
No briefcase.
Just his phone, wallet, keys.
June looked at Mr. Vernon.
“Did he ever get near the conference-room documents before running?”
“No.”
“Could he have taken anything?”
“Not from the folder.”
“Then whatever Dad means, Dale had it before today.”
Mr. Vernon’s face sharpened.
“That would be my assumption.”
June turned to Herrera.
“There’s something you need to know.”
The lieutenant waited.
“Grandpa thought someone entered his house looking for financial records.”
“We have that statement.”
“What if they found something?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know.”
June looked at Grandpa’s surveillance photographs.
“But Dad’s message says Dale has something. Not knows something. Has.”
Herrera nodded slowly.
“That distinction matters.”
Aunt Carol folded her arms.
“Dale has always been dramatic.”
Mark stared at her.
“This isn’t a family argument anymore.”
“I know that.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Carol’s face tightened.
Mark stepped closer.
“You spent the entire afternoon talking about what Grandpa owed everyone.”
“That is not what I said.”
“You said the farm belonged to the family.”
“It did.”
“Grandpa sold it.”
“That doesn’t erase history.”
“No.”
Mark glanced toward June.
“But history didn’t drive him to appointments.”
Carol looked away.
June stopped them before another argument began.
“Can we not do this now?”
Mark nodded.
Carol didn’t.
Mr. Vernon’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, then looked at June.
“It’s Albright.”
“Put him on speaker.”
Mr. Vernon did.
The attorney’s voice came through crisp and irritated.
“June?”
“I’m here.”
“Richard told me what happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She blinked.
“I don’t know.”
“Good. Stop apologizing.”
That sounded enough like Grandpa that she almost smiled.
Albright continued.
“There is a sealed package in my office.”
June’s smile vanished.
“What package?”
“Harold left instructions concerning it.”
“Another envelope?”
“More substantial.”
Mr. Vernon looked surprised.
“You never mentioned this.”
“I was instructed not to unless one of three conditions occurred.”
June leaned forward.
“What conditions?”
“Someone challenged the will before probate.”
“That happened.”
“Not formally.”
“What are the others?”
“Evidence surfaced that someone attempted to transfer trust assets without authorization.”
The room went still.
“And the third?”
Albright paused.
“Robert Parker contacted me.”
June stared at the phone.
“When?”
“Seven minutes ago.”
Her breathing changed.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether you had accepted the trust.”
Mr. Vernon frowned.
“How would he know she had that option?”
“Exactly.”
June stood.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he say?”
“He advised me that if I cared about my license, I would stop helping Richard Vernon.”
Mark whispered, “Jesus.”
Albright continued as if threats from angry relatives were an administrative inconvenience.
“He also asked whether Harold’s blue ledger was still in my possession.”
Mr. Vernon went completely still.
June saw it.
“What blue ledger?”
Albright answered.
“I don’t have one.”
June looked at Vernon.
“But you know what it is.”
He took off his glasses.
“Possibly.”
“Richard.”
For the first time, he looked unsettled.
“Harold kept handwritten investment records.”
“In a blue ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He would not tell me.”
June stared.
“Why would Grandpa keep handwritten records when you had account statements?”
“Because they weren’t investment balances.”
“What were they?”
Mr. Vernon hesitated.
“Loans.”
Mark frowned.
“To who?”
“Family.”
Aunt Carol’s face changed.
June noticed.
“All of them?”
“Many.”
“How much?”
“Over decades? Substantial amounts.”
Mr. Vernon spoke carefully.
“Harold loaned money privately. Down payments. Business capital. Legal fees. Tuition. Emergency expenses. He kept records because he disliked formal loan documents between relatives.”
“That doesn’t sound like the man who documented everything.”
“He documented them. He simply did not always demand repayment.”
June looked toward Aunt Carol.
Carol’s face had gone pale.
“What?” June asked.
“Nothing.”
“Carol.”
“I said nothing.”
Mark stepped beside her.
“What did Grandpa loan you?”
She snapped, “That is none of your business.”
June understood.
The ledger was not merely financial.
It was a history.
Every promise.
Every request.
Every repayment that never happened.
Possibly every lie family members had told one another about what Grandpa had given them.
Mr. Vernon put his glasses back on.
“Harold once told me the ledger was his memory when people’s memories became convenient.”
“That sounds like him,” June said.
Albright’s voice came through the speaker.
“The sealed package contains instructions about that ledger.”
June closed her eyes.
“Of course it does.”
“I need you at my office.”
Herrera spoke.
“Not yet.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She stepped closer to the phone.
“This is Lieutenant Herrera with Salina Police. We are investigating suspected financial crimes involving Mr. Parker’s estate.”
Albright’s tone changed.
“Understood.”
“Do not open or move the package.”
“I won’t.”
“An officer will meet you.”
June rubbed both temples.
“Can I go?”
Herrera shook her head.
“After we know Robert’s location.”
“My father isn’t going to hurt me.”
She stopped.
The sentence sounded wrong now.
Herrera did not challenge her.
Instead she asked, “When did you last know that for certain?”
June looked down.
Nobody answered for her.
Half an hour later, officers located Robert’s hotel.
His rental car was gone.
His room was empty.
The front desk clerk said he had checked out twenty minutes earlier.
June called him.
Straight to voicemail.
She sent one message.
WHERE IS DALE?
No answer.
Then another.
WHAT IS THE BLUE LEDGER?
Nothing.
Mark paced.
Aunt Carol sat staring at her broken shoe.
Finally June turned toward her.
“You know.”
Carol looked up.
“Know what?”
“The ledger.”
“No.”
“Your face changed.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something.”
Carol stood.
“I am tired of being questioned like I committed a crime.”
“Then answer me like you didn’t.”
Carol’s mouth tightened.
Mark stopped pacing.
Even Mr. Vernon watched.
June kept her voice calm.
“What did Grandpa lend you?”
Carol looked toward the windows.
“Money.”
“How much?”
“That is private.”
“Robert threatened Grandpa’s attorney over a ledger that tracks private loans.”
Carol’s eyes flashed.
“Your father has always been controlling.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because Dale disappeared.”
“Dale isn’t my son.”
“No. But you knew something when Richard mentioned those records.”
Carol held herself rigid for several seconds.
Then she sat.
“When your uncle Robert started Parker Development, Dad gave him money.”
June frowned.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
Carol stared at the carpet.
“Three hundred thousand.”
Mark’s eyebrows rose.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Did Robert repay it?”
Carol didn’t answer.
June understood.
“What else?”
“Dad helped Dale.”
“With Prairie Heritage Holdings?”
“No. Before that.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Carol.”
“Maybe two hundred.”
Mark cursed.
June stared.
Grandpa in his dented pickup.
Grandpa washing freezer bags.
Grandpa comparing canned peaches.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars had apparently flowed quietly out of his accounts toward relatives who later assumed he had little left.
Carol continued.
“Robert always believed Dad owed him more.”
“Why?”
“Because Robert worked the farm after high school.”
“For how long?”
“Seven years.”
“And then?”
“He left.”
“To start his business?”
“Yes.”
“With Grandpa’s money.”
Carol looked away.
June sat back.
A pattern was emerging.
Not greed beginning after Grandpa died.
Greed with roots decades old.
“What’s in the ledger that Robert doesn’t want seen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
Carol’s lips pressed together.
“Dad wrote notes.”
“What kind?”
“Comments.”
Mark frowned.
“About loans?”
“About people.”
June almost smiled.
Of course he had.
“What comments?”
Carol looked embarrassed.
“He wrote why someone asked. Whether they paid him back. Whether they lied.”
The room went silent.
Mr. Vernon looked thoughtful.
“That explains why Robert wants it.”
June’s phone vibrated.
Everyone jumped.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
No text.
June opened it.
The image showed Grandpa’s blue ledger lying on the hood of a vehicle.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
STOP DIGGING.
June zoomed in.
In the upper corner of the photograph, reflected faintly in the vehicle’s windshield, was a white farmhouse.
Grandpa’s.
Herrera saw it.
She reached for her radio.
June was already standing.
“Dale went back to the farm.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Police Found Grandpa’s House Open and His Ledger Missing, but a Note Beneath June’s Wednesday Grocery List Changed the Investigation
Grandpa’s Will Gave Every Grandchild One Dollar, Then the Attorney Set a Sealed Envelope in Front of June
Part 6 of 16
