Chapter 6 - The Price of Staying Quiet
Rina wanted to call the police immediately. Grandma made us photograph the envelope first.
"Don't touch the flap," she said. "And don't run outside after whoever dropped it."
The headlights were already gone. Inside the bakery, the refrigerator compressor hummed. I could hear my own breathing.
We called the nonemergency number. Officer Mae Holloway arrived twenty minutes later, took the letter, and listened without interrupting as we explained the missing box and suspicious invoices.
"A threat doesn't tell us who wrote it," she said. "But I can document this, and you should talk to an attorney first thing tomorrow. Preserve everything."
She gave us an incident number. I wrote it on the back of my hand because I was afraid to lose the paper.
At dawn, I finally went to Grandma's house. She made tea neither of us drank. The crooked candy door sat in a saucer between us.
My phone rang. Dad.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"Safe."
"Corinne says you're telling people she's stealing."
"Rina showed me invoices to her brother's company."
He fell silent.
"Dad, are you listening?"
"I am. And I need you to stop before we all get hurt."
I gripped the phone. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning. I signed a short-term note to cover payroll. If this sale falls through, they can come after the house."
"Who can?"
"The lender."
"Name him."
"Grant Kessler."
I looked at Grandma. She had heard every word through the speaker.
"Corinne's brother loaned you money after his company took it from us?" I asked.
"I didn't know about the invoices," Dad whispered.
"Then help me fix it."
"If I tell the truth, we could lose everything."
I waited for him to remember that I was part of everything. He didn't.
After the call, Grandma rose stiffly and walked to the hall closet. She returned with a long cardboard tube and set it on the table.
May you like
"Your mother drew these plans before she died. I think it's time you saw them."
Inside was an architectural sketch for the bakery's renovation. In the lower right corner, beneath Mom's careful handwriting, was a note: NEVER SELL TO MERCER.
