June stared at Albright long enough that the attorney finally lowered his eyes.
“Say it again.”
Albright rested both hands on Grandpa’s workbench. “If you voluntarily rescind your acceptance during the permitted period, Robert becomes contingent family trustee.”
Mark shoved away from the cabinet. “You’re telling me Grandpa put Robert in charge?”
“Under that narrow circumstance.”
“After suspecting him of fraud?”
“The provision predates Harold’s discovery of the forged documents.”
June looked from Albright to Vernon. “Then why didn’t Grandpa change it?”
“He did change other provisions,” Vernon said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Neither man answered.
Herrera stood near the machine-shed door, speaking quietly into her radio. The blue-and-red flashes from the patrol cars outside swept across the walls every few seconds, lighting Grandpa’s hanging wrenches, the old drill press, and June’s face in alternating bands.
Mark slapped one palm against the workbench. “This makes no sense.”
June looked down at the torn page in the green ledger.
“It does if Grandpa wanted Dad to think the clause still worked.”
Albright raised his head.
June saw his reaction.
“You know something.”
“Harold instructed me not to disclose certain amendments until specific conditions were met.”
“Another condition?”
“Yes.”
“What one?”
“A demand that you rescind.”
June held up her phone.
“I have one.”
Albright nodded.
“Then the condition has been met.”
He opened the sealed package he had brought from his office.
Inside were three envelopes, a flash drive, and a certified copy of a trust amendment.
June did not touch anything.
“Which one?”
Albright placed the amendment in front of her.
“Read the last paragraph.”
She did.
Once.
Then again.
Mark leaned over her shoulder.
“What?”
June started laughing.
It wasn’t relief exactly. There was too much fear left in the room for that.
But Grandpa had done it again.
“What does it say?” I asked.
June turned the document.
Robert remained named as contingent family trustee.
But only if Harold died without evidence of fraud, coercion, forgery, unauthorized financial access, or attempted interference with June’s acceptance.
If any such evidence existed, Robert was automatically disqualified.
The successor was not another relative.
It was Prairie State Bank’s institutional trust department, acting under independent supervision until June either resumed control or the assets transferred to the scholarship foundation.
Mark read the paragraph twice.
“So Robert can’t get it.”
“No,” Albright said.
“Even if June rejects everything?”
“Correct.”
June looked at the threatening message.
YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO UNDO IT.
“They don’t know.”
Vernon nodded.
“They appear to be working from an earlier version.”
“The documents Dad photographed.”
“Possibly.”
June stared at the amendment date.
August 22.
The same day Grandpa’s green ledger said:
RICHARD MOVED ACCOUNTS. ALBRIGHT UPDATED FILE.
Grandpa had known someone was watching.
He had left the old road visible while quietly building a wall behind it.
June sat down.
“Can we tell them?”
Herrera looked over. “Tell them what?”
“That Dad gets nothing if I rescind.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because right now they believe they have leverage.”
June understood.
“If they think I can still give Robert control, they have a reason to contact me.”
“Yes.”
“And if they find out Grandpa changed the clause?”
“They may disappear.”
Mark folded his arms. “Or get desperate.”
Herrera gave him a brief nod.
“That too.”
June looked toward the open shed doors.
Darkness had settled over the farm.
Somewhere beyond the cottonwoods, cattle shifted in the pasture. The sound was ordinary enough to be painful.
“What do they want me to do?”
“Wait for another message,” Herrera said.
“I hate waiting.”
“I gathered that.”
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
At 8:41 P.M., June’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
GO TO THE FARMHOUSE ALONE.
She showed Herrera.
Another message appeared.
BRING THE RESCISSION PAPERS.
Mark said, “Absolutely not.”
Herrera ignored him.
“Ask where they are.”
June typed.
WHERE ARE YOU?
The response came immediately.
YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW.
June looked at Herrera.
“What now?”
“Ask for proof Dale is safe.”
Mark frowned. “Why Dale?”
“Because he fled, but we don’t know whether he’s cooperating voluntarily anymore.”
June typed.
SHOW ME DALE.
Thirty seconds later, a photograph arrived.
Dale sat in what appeared to be a motel room. He was alive. No obvious injuries. His hands were visible.
Beside him stood Robert.
June zoomed in.
“What?”
She enlarged the background.
A framed photograph hung above the bed.
Mark leaned closer.
“I know that picture.”
“Where?”
“Sunflower Motor Lodge.”
Herrera turned.
“You’re sure?”
“My crew stayed there during a roofing job.”
“Location?”
“East side of Abilene.”
Herrera was already on the radio.
June looked again.
Something bothered her.
“Wait.”
She zoomed farther.
On the nightstand beside Dale was a digital clock.
6:17.
Her phone read 8:43.
“The picture isn’t current.”
Herrera stopped speaking.
June pointed.
“Unless that clock is wrong.”
Mark shook his head. “Could be.”
“Could be.”
She studied the image.
Dale wore the same shirt from the bank.
Robert wore his funeral suit but no tie.
On the bed lay Grandpa’s blue ledger.
Martin Keene was absent.
“Ask for video,” Herrera said.
June typed.
MAKE DALE SAY TODAY’S DATE.
No response.
Then:
STOP PLAYING GAMES.
June typed back.
YOU FIRST.
Mark looked at her.
“Maybe don’t antagonize criminals.”
“They’re family. It’s our native language.”
Herrera almost smiled.
Then June’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered on speaker.
Robert.
“June.”
“Dad.”
“Why are you making this difficult?”
The question struck her as so absurd that she looked around the room as though someone else might explain it.
“You forged Grandpa’s signature.”
“I did not.”
“You searched his files.”
“I explained that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Robert sighed.
“I’m trying to keep this from becoming worse.”
“Where’s Dale?”
“He’s fine.”
“Put him on.”
A rustling sound.
Then Dale.
“June.”
His voice sounded strained.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t sign anything.”
Robert swore in the background.
The line shifted.
“Dale?”
“Listen to me—”
Something struck something else.
Then Robert returned.
“He’s emotional.”
June stood.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Put him back.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Bring the rescission documents to the farmhouse.”
“You’re at Grandpa’s?”
“We will be.”
Herrera’s eyes sharpened.
June continued.
“Why there?”
“Because this started there.”
“No. It started when you decided Grandpa’s money belonged to you.”
Robert’s breathing changed.
“You have no idea what that man promised me.”
“Then tell me.”
“I gave him seven years.”
“You worked on the farm.”
“I gave him my twenties.”
“And he gave you three hundred thousand dollars to start a business.”
Silence.
June looked at the green ledger.
“Actually, more than that.”
“Carol talked.”
“Grandpa wrote it down.”
Robert’s voice hardened.
“He wrote down whatever made him look generous.”
“Did you repay him?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It feels like one.”
“I built value for that farm.”
“Then why didn’t you stay?”
“Because he controlled everything.”
June glanced at the old tools around her.
“And you’re angry because he stopped letting you control what happened after he died.”
Robert said nothing.
June pressed.
“What does Martin Keene get?”
A sharp silence.
Herrera looked up.
There.
Robert finally said, “Who?”
“Your accountant friend.”
“He wasn’t my accountant.”
“He came to Grandpa’s with you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Grandpa wrote down his plate.”
Another silence.
June’s voice softened.
“You keep underestimating him.”
Robert hung up.
Herrera immediately began issuing instructions.
Officers were sent toward the Sunflower Motor Lodge and the farm perimeter. Nobody approached the farmhouse yet.
June stared at her phone.
At 9:03, a new message arrived.
MIDNIGHT.
Then a photograph of a document.
June recognized Grandpa’s signature.
This one looked real.
Vernon leaned over her shoulder.
“What is that?”
Albright took the phone.
His face changed.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“What does it say?”
He enlarged the photograph.
It was a promissory agreement dated twenty-one years earlier.
Harold Parker acknowledged that Robert had contributed labor and capital to the family farm and promised Robert a fifty-percent beneficial interest upon Harold’s death.
Mark stared.
“That changes things.”
Albright shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
“Is the signature real?”
“It appears closer than the forged transfer.”
June felt something cold settle in her stomach.
“Could Grandpa actually have promised him half?”
Albright looked at her.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt because it complicated everything.
Robert might still have committed crimes.
But perhaps underneath them lay a genuine grievance.
June looked at the photograph again.
“Why wasn’t this in Grandpa’s files?”
“We don’t know.”
Vernon pointed to the bottom.
“There’s a second page.”
Only the top edge was visible.
June typed.
SEND PAGE TWO.
No response.
SEND THE WHOLE AGREEMENT.
Still nothing.
Albright’s eyes narrowed.
“That matters.”
“What?”
“If page one grants Robert an interest, page two may contain conditions.”
June remembered the missing page in the green ledger.
“Or a cancellation.”
Albright nodded.
Mark swore quietly.
“They’re showing only the part that helps them.”
June looked at the old cabinet.
Grandpa had warned her.
DO NOT TRUST THE LEDGER BY ITSELF.
CHECK THE NUMBERS AGAINST THE GREEN BOOK.
Maybe the warning extended beyond ledgers.
Never trust half a record.
Her phone vibrated again.
This time the sender was Dale’s number.
One sentence.
PAGE TWO IS IN GRANDPA’S BIBLE.
June looked toward the farmhouse.
Then another message arrived.
DON’T LET ROBERT GET THERE FIRST.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Missing Second Page Was Hidden Inside Grandpa’s Bible, but Robert Reached the Farmhouse Before June Could Reach the Bedroom
Grandpa’s Will Gave Every Grandchild One Dollar, Then the Attorney Set a Sealed Envelope in Front of June
Part 9 of 16
