Chapter 18 - The Last Door at Bay Street
The police found them inside the old terminal office. Through an upper window we could see the fluorescent light flickering over a desk. The detective kept Dad and me well behind the barrier while negotiators moved closer.
Mom later told me what happened. Grant demanded her notebook because he'd learned she'd written down every suspicious visit and phone call. He believed it would tie him to the forged authorization and the foundry records. He also wanted Dad to sign a statement taking responsibility for every transaction.
"You can blame an old man for a business mistake," Grant told her. "People will believe it."
"You mean you'll make them believe it," Mom replied.
Harper stood by the office door with her hands over her ears. She'd brought Mom there after lying about the fire, but Grant had taken her keys. Now she was frightened of the man she'd been helping.
Mom looked straight at her. "You can still open that door, young lady."
"He'll ruin me," Harper whispered.
"You've already done terrible things," Mom said. "You don't have to do another."
Grant stepped forward and caught Mom by the injured wrist. She cried out. Harper moved before he could pull her closer. She pushed his arm away, got to the door, and yanked the bolt.
The police were there within seconds. Grant tried to shove past Harper, but officers stopped him. Mom was brought outside and treated by paramedics, shaken but conscious. Harper was detained too. Opening the door didn't erase what she'd done.
I ran to Mom when the detective cleared me to approach. She pressed her forehead against mine the way she had when I was a boy with a fever.
"You all right?" she asked.
"You were the one trapped in there."
"I know. I was worried about you anyway."
She pulled a folded sheet from her sleeve. While Grant had been shouting, she'd managed to keep one page from her notebook: a list of dates, account numbers, and a meeting where she'd seen him direct Harper to obtain access to her trust.
The detective photographed it. The rest would have to be checked against independent records. The burning foundry, the false papers, and the kidnapping would each require evidence, not just our anger.
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When I looked across the parking lot, Harper was sitting in the back of a patrol car. She met my eyes once and lowered her head.
Then the fire investigator called the detective. A camera near the foundry had captured the gray truck's license plate, and it was registered to an Alder Ridge contractor.
