Chapter 8 - What the Grandparents HidSarah did not speak to her parents for most of the next day.
They shared the same house.
They ate at the same table.
But something had fractured.
Diane finally entered Sarah’s room after midnight.
“There’s more.”
Sarah looked up.
“Of course there is.”
Diane sat carefully.
“Grant came here after Arthur’s funeral.”
Sarah remembered.
She had taken Ethan home early that night.
“What did he want?”
“Your father.”
Robert appeared in the doorway.
He had clearly been listening.
“He asked me whether Arthur had sent me anything.”
Sarah stared.
“What did you say?”
“I lied. I told him no.”
“Then you knew the letter mattered.”
“I knew Grant thought it mattered.”
“That should have been enough!”
Robert’s voice cracked.
“I was afraid.”
Sarah stopped.
She had rarely heard her father admit fear.
“Grant told me Arthur had become obsessed with accusing him of theft. He said if we spread Arthur’s claims, Hale Ridge could collapse and Ethan’s inheritance would disappear.”
“So you protected the company.”
“I thought I was protecting Ethan’s future.”
Sarah laughed once.
It sounded bitter even to her.
“Everyone keeps protecting Ethan’s future while nobody protects Ethan.”
Robert lowered his head.
Diane reached for Sarah’s hand.
She pulled away.
The next morning Ethan attended his first trauma-therapy session.
Sarah waited outside.
When he emerged, he looked exhausted.
“What did you talk about?”
“You.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Should I be worried?”
“A little.”
He almost smiled.
It was the first time she had seen that expression since the cliff.
Then it disappeared.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did you know Dad was bad?”
The question stopped her.
“I knew he could be selfish. Controlling. Angry.”
“But did you know he could do that?”
“No.”
“Why did you let me go with him?”
Sarah felt as if someone had opened her chest.
She could have defended herself.
Grant had shared legal custody.
He had lied about the trip.
No court had found him dangerous.
She had refused other trips before.
None of that mattered to a ten-year-old asking why his mother had not stopped his father.
“I believed him,” she said.
Ethan looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making you sad.”
Sarah knelt.
“No. You never apologize for asking me something hard.”
He nodded.
She forced herself to continue.
“I should have listened more closely to things that made me uncomfortable. That part is mine.”
Ethan leaned against her.
It was not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was contact.
Ortiz called that afternoon.
The financial investigators had identified Summit Peak Logistics’ hidden owner.
Not Grant.
Caleb Mercer.
Hale Ridge Outfitters’ chief financial officer.
Grant’s closest friend since college.
Sarah knew him.
Caleb had attended Ethan’s birthdays.
He had brought Arthur soup after surgery.
He had stood beside Grant at Arthur’s funeral.
“He owns the shell company?”
“Through two holding entities, yes.”
“Then Caleb stole the money.”
“Possibly with Grant.”
“Can you prove it?”
“We’re getting there.”
Ortiz paused.
“Sarah, did Ethan ever mention Caleb being around recently?”
Sarah thought.
“No.”
From the doorway Ethan said, “He was.”
Sarah turned.
“When?”
“The night before the mountain.”
He walked into the room.
“Mr. Caleb came to Dad’s house.”
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
“About what?”
“I couldn’t hear all of it.”
“Try.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Mr. Caleb said, ‘I didn’t agree to that.’”
Sarah’s skin chilled.
“What did Grant say?”
Ethan opened his eyes.
“Dad said, ‘You agreed when you took the money.’”
Ortiz was silent on the phone.
May you like
Then Ethan added:
“Mr. Caleb said, ‘Money is one thing. The kid is another.’”
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