Chapter 6 - SOMEONE OPENED THE SAFEThe study safe was hidden behind a framed aerial photograph of the first property Everett ever developed.
He had installed it twenty-one years earlier.
Nothing valuable in the sentimental sense was kept there.
No jewelry.
No cash.
Only documents.
Original operating agreements.
Trust records.
Property deeds.
Succession instructions.
When Everett opened it after breakfast, he immediately noticed the spacing was wrong.
Folders he always kept upright were leaning.
A blue binder was turned backward.
Someone had been inside.
He removed everything.
Two copies of the Holloway Family Trust schedule were missing.
So was a shareholder restriction agreement.
He called Lorraine into the room.
She arrived pale.
“What now?”
Everett held up the empty space.
“Which documents did you photograph?”
Her eyes moved to the shelf.
“The trust.”
“All of it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
She swallowed.
“The first pages. The beneficiary schedule. Maybe the company ownership pages.”
“And this?”
He showed her the shareholder agreement.
“No.”
“Did you remove anything?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Everett believed she believed what she was saying.
That no longer meant it was true.
“Who did you send the photographs to?”
“Preston.”
“Directly?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did Celia know?”
“I don’t know.”
Everett stared.
“Lorraine.”
“She may have been in the room when Preston called.”
His jaw tightened.
“What exactly did Preston ask?”
“He wanted to know what happened to his shares if something happened to you.”
“Something happened.”
“He meant if you died.”
Everett looked away.
Lorraine’s voice softened.
“I know how that sounds now.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you do.”
She sat.
For the first time, she looked smaller than he remembered.
“Everett, I made a mistake.”
“You made several.”
“I was trying to prevent a family crisis.”
“And instead you helped create one.”
She looked down.
He hated the cruelty in his own words.
But he did not take them back.
“Why were you seeing an elder-law attorney?”
Her head lifted sharply.
“Who told you?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She stood.
“I wanted advice.”
“About?”
“What could happen if you refused to step back.”
Everett felt the air leave his lungs.
“You wanted to know how to force me out.”
“No.”
“That is precisely what you just said.”
“I wanted to understand the options.”
“Options for whom?”
“For all of us.”
He stared.
The distance between them felt enormous.
Lorraine gripped the edge of the desk.
“Preston told me the board was terrified.”
“The board was not terrified.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You could have asked me.”
“You would have dismissed it.”
“You didn’t give me the chance.”
She began to cry.
Everett looked away.
He could handle anger.
Tears complicated things.
But he would not let tears replace accountability.
“Did the attorney recommend incompetency proceedings?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“That nothing should happen without an independent medical evaluation and your own counsel.”
Everett turned.
“And?”
“She said she was uncomfortable.”
“With what?”
Lorraine hesitated.
“Preston wanted to know whether family testimony could be enough.”
Everett’s face hardened.
“He wanted you to testify against me.”
“He asked what would happen if multiple family members said you were declining.”
“Did you agree?”
“No.”
“Did Celia?”
“I don’t know.”
Everett closed the safe.
“I want the attorney’s name.”
Lorraine gave it to him.
He wrote it down.
Then his phone rang.
Security.
Everett answered.
“Mr. Holloway, we pulled the upstairs footage.”
“And?”
“There’s a problem.”
“What?”
“The section between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m. is gone.”
Everett looked at Lorraine.
“Deleted?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“We’re checking.”
“Can you recover it?”
“Possibly. The local system overwrites temporary files, but there may be cloud backup.”
“Do it.”
He hung up.
Lorraine looked frightened.
“What happened?”
“The camera footage from the night Celia went upstairs has been deleted.”
Lorraine sat again.
Everett watched her.
“Still think this is just about business continuity?”
She said nothing.
That afternoon, he called the elder-law attorney.
Her name was Margaret Sloan.
She refused to discuss specifics without Lorraine’s consent.
Everett respected that.
But she did say one thing.
“Mr. Holloway, if you are concerned someone is trying to establish incapacity improperly, you should retain independent counsel immediately.”
“I already have.”
“Good.”
“Did you believe I was incompetent based on what you were told?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the description sounded strategic.”
Everett’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Strategic.”
“Yes.”
“In what sense?”
“I can’t disclose a consultation.”
“Understood.”
Another pause.
Then Margaret said carefully:
“I can say generally that families sometimes confuse inconvenience with incapacity.”
Everett understood.
Preston had not described a man who could not function.
He had described a father who would not cooperate.
That evening, Onyx sat near the staircase while Everett read.
The house was quiet.
Then the bird spoke.
“He won’t remember.”
Everett froze.
Onyx clicked his beak.
“He won’t remember by morning.”
Everett stared at him.
A chill moved through his chest.
Because suddenly, several mornings came back to him.
Mornings when he had awakened heavy-headed.
Mornings when his mouth was dry.
Mornings when Lorraine joked that he had slept like the dead.
He slowly looked toward the staircase.
Then toward the hallway leading to the kitchen.
May you like
For the first time, he wondered whether his family had been trying to make him look confused.
Or whether someone had been trying to make him confused for real.
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