Chapter 2 - Four Cars in the Driveway
“You called the police on your family?” Evelyn demanded.
“No,” I said, lifting Lily. “I called my father.”
Daniel reached for my phone. I moved out of reach, and two men in plain coats appeared beyond the frosted entry glass. Behind them stood Dad, still wearing the brown jacket he kept beside his workshop door. The sight of him almost broke me.
Daniel opened the door only a few inches. “There must be a misunderstanding.”
A woman held up identification. “Investigator Mara Ellis. We have a warrant related to Harrington Development's financial records. No one leaves with company devices.”
Evelyn's eyes went from the warrant to Dad. “You did this?”
He passed her without answering and looked at my face. He saw the burn, the bruise, and Lily hiding against my neck. “Sarah,” he said softly. “Can you walk?”
I nodded, though my knees felt loose.
Daniel blocked the hallway. “You're not taking my daughter.”
“She isn't luggage,” Dad said. “Move.”
An investigator stepped between them. “Sir, let them pass.”
Evelyn pushed a silver tray toward the kitchen, where one of the maids stood frozen. “Nora, clean this mess. Immediately.”
“Don't touch anything,” Ellis said. Her gaze caught on the soup dripping from my sleeve. “We may need photographs.”
My father took Lily's tiny coat from its hook. He knew exactly where it hung. For years I'd told him not to visit because Evelyn found his presence embarrassing. He had come anyway each birthday, standing on the porch until somebody let him hand over a present.
As he buttoned Lily's coat, she whispered, “Grandpa, Grandma made Mommy fall.”
His jaw tightened. “I heard you, sweetheart.”
I followed him through the door and saw another car turn into the driveway. This one was Daniel's black sedan. But Daniel was beside me, still arguing.
A young man climbed out of the driver's seat holding a cardboard archive box. He took one look at Ellis and tried to retreat.
She called across the gravel. “Mr. Keene? You're right on time.”
May you like
The young man dropped the box. Its lid sprang open. Among the scattered folders lay a photograph of my father standing beside Daniel—dated six years before Daniel claimed he'd ever met him.
