I swallowed and forced myself back into the room. “I went into Robert’s study before coming here,” I said. “The bottom desk drawer had been opened.”
Arthur’s face sharpened instantly. “Was anything missing?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” I admitted. “But one folder is gone.”
Arthur leaned forward. “That’s not good.”
“Why?”
Because Robert told me he kept copies of certain records in that drawer, Arthur said.
“What kind of records?”
Arthur hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice dropped. “The kind that suggested someone in your family attempted to forge Robert’s signature.”
The air seemed to thin. “Forge?” I repeated.
Arthur nodded once. “Robert caught it before it went through.”
My stomach dropped so hard it felt physical. “Who did it?”
“We weren’t certain,” Arthur said carefully. “Robert didn’t want to accuse anyone without proof.”
I stared at him, and a question rose in me like bile, but I forced myself to phrase it differently, because my heart couldn’t handle the worst version yet.
“Did Robert believe someone wanted to… harm him?” I asked.
Arthur didn’t answer immediately. He opened his briefcase again and pulled out a small black USB drive, placing it gently on the table.
“Robert believed someone was preparing to steal everything he built,” Arthur said. “And this contains the evidence he started collecting.”
The USB drive sat between us like a dark seed. Small. Silent. Heavy.
“What’s on it?” I whispered.
Arthur glanced around the diner. Two truck drivers sat at the counter. A young couple talked quietly in a booth. Linda the waitress wiped down a table. No one was paying attention, but Arthur lowered his voice anyway.
“Your husband spent the last six weeks documenting what he found suspicious,” he said. “Financial records. Security footage. Phone recordings.”
My pulse jumped at the word recordings.
Arthur opened his briefcase again and pulled out a slim laptop. “We need to see it,” he said.
My hands were cold. “Now?”
Arthur nodded. “Now.”
He plugged the USB drive into the laptop. The screen lit up, a folder appeared, and Arthur clicked it open. Inside were video files, audio recordings, scanned documents. Robert’s handwriting labeled the folders the way he labeled everything—clean, precise, like he believed order could hold back chaos.
Arthur opened the first video.
The screen flickered, then showed the inside of my house.
Robert’s study.
The timestamp read three weeks ago.
I leaned forward. “That’s the camera above the bookshelf,” I said. I hadn’t even known it existed.
“Robert installed it,” Arthur replied. “Quietly.”
On the video, the study door opened.
Daniel walked in.
My breath caught. He looked around the room, closed the door behind him, then went straight to Robert’s desk. He opened drawers. He searched, fast and practiced like he already knew what he was looking for.
Arthur paused the video. “Robert saw this and started paying attention.”
“Why would Daniel search his desk?” I asked, my voice cracking on the word why.
“That’s what Robert wanted to find out,” Arthur said.
He opened the second video. Same room, different night, two weeks ago. The door opened and Laura stepped inside. She looked nervous, closed the door, went to the desk. She pulled a folder, opened it, read quickly, then put it back exactly where she found it.
“She didn’t take anything,” I said.
“No,” Arthur agreed. “But she was looking.”
Arthur opened an audio file. The laptop screen stayed black while voices filled the booth.
Robert’s voice, calm but firm: “I told you already—I’m not signing that.”
Daniel’s voice, frustrated: “You’re being stubborn, Dad.”
“I’m being careful.”
“You’re slowing everything down.”
“What exactly am I slowing down?”
A pause. Then Daniel again, lower: “The expansion.”
“The expansion doesn’t require this paperwork.”
“You wouldn’t understand the details.”
