Chapter 5: The Recording Nobody Was Supposed to Find
My father didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
At four in the morning, I found him sitting on the living room floor with the wooden jewelry case open in front of him.
The photograph of my mother lay beside an old cassette tape.
There was a small handwritten label across it.
*September 11 — Westbridge Security Office.*
“Is that it?”” I asked.
My father looked up.
“Yes.””
I sat beside him.
“Why didn't you show me before?””
He turned the cassette between his fingers.
“Because I couldn't prove what it contained. Your mother gave it to me shortly before the accident. She told me to keep it hidden until I understood what was happening.””
“And now?””
“Now I think someone has been waiting for me to destroy it.””
He stood and walked to the cupboard.
From behind a stack of old blankets, he pulled out a portable cassette player.
The plastic was yellowed with age.
He inserted the tape.
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then a woman's voice filled the room.
“Security log, September eleventh. Time, 9:42 p.m.””
My mother's voice.
I stopped breathing.
She sounded exactly like the woman in my childhood memories.
Calm. Gentle. Slightly breathless.
“I am making this recording because the original financial records have been altered. I have copies of the transfers, but someone has been inside my office.””
There was a pause.
Then another voice.
A man's.
“You shouldn't be doing this, Elizabeth.””
My father grabbed the edge of the table.
I recognized the voice from family photographs and graduation ceremonies.
It was Richard's father.
Arthur Whitmore.
My grandfather.
My mother answered.
“You told me the money was being used to support the school.””
“It is.””
“Then why are the scholarship accounts empty?””
A chair scraped across the recording.
Arthur sighed.
“Because I had to move the money temporarily.””
“Into your private company?””
“Watch your tone.””
“I have the bank statements, Father.””
Silence.
Then Arthur spoke again.
“You have no idea what you're risking.””
“I know exactly what I'm risking. Children are losing scholarships because you wanted another property.””
I covered my mouth.
The recording continued.
“You will destroy this family,” Arthur said.
Elizabeth answered without hesitation.
“No. You are destroying it.””
There was a loud sound.
A door slamming.
Then the recording ended.
My father switched off the player.
I stared at him.
“That proves he knew.””
“It proves he was involved,” Dad said.
“It doesn't prove what happened afterward.””
“Why didn't you give this to the police?””
“I tried.””
He pulled a folded newspaper clipping from the jewelry case.
It was dated October 2008.
The headline read:
*WESTBRIDGE FOUNDATION INVESTIGATION CLOSED AFTER KEY WITNESS DIES.*
I read the article.
My mother's name appeared in the second paragraph.
Below it was a statement from the police claiming there was insufficient evidence of wrongdoing.
“They closed it?””
“Yes.””
“And you just accepted that?””
My father looked at me.
“No.””
He reached into the case again and pulled out a small key.
“Your mother told me there was another copy. She said if anything happened to her, I should look inside the old library clock.””
I frowned.
“What clock?””
“The grandfather clock in Westbridge's original library.””
“It's still there?””
He nodded.
I remembered it.
A massive wooden clock stood in the library entrance. Students used it as a meeting point. It had been there for decades.
“Why didn't you go?””
“I tried. The library was renovated, and the clock was moved into storage. When I finally found it again, the room had been sealed.””
I stared at him.
“Dad, we need to go there.””
He shook his head.
“Not until we know who sent that message.””
At seven thirty, Richard arrived.
He looked as though he had aged ten years overnight.
“I know about the recording,” he said.
My father stiffened.
“How?””
“Someone called me at six this morning.””
“Who?””
Richard placed his phone on the table.
“Bryce.””
I almost laughed.
“Of course.””
Richard ignored the comment.
“He asked me whether the old security archive still existed.””
My father went pale.
“What did you tell him?””
“That I didn't know.””
I folded my arms.
“Why would Bryce care about a twenty-year-old recording?””
Richard hesitated.
“Because he knows about the trust.””
“That doesn't explain anything.””
Richard looked at my father.
“Daniel, I think my son has been talking to someone from the board.””
My father frowned.
“Who?””
“Margaret Collins.””
The name meant nothing to me.
Richard explained.
“She was the foundation's legal adviser when your mother died. She later became the school's chief financial officer. She has been managing the trust records for fifteen years.””
My father stood.
“She's still there?””
Richard nodded.
“She is.””
My father looked toward the window.
“Then she knows where the original documents are.””
I grabbed my jacket.
“Let's go.””
Richard frowned.
“Where?””
“To Westbridge.””
My father hesitated.
Then he took the small key and slipped it into his pocket.
We arrived at the school shortly after nine.
The hallways were nearly empty. Graduation decorations still hung from the ceiling, and the maintenance staff were preparing the auditorium for the following morning's board ceremony.
I felt strange walking through the building with my father.
For years, I had watched him push his cleaning cart through these halls.
Now I was beginning to understand that he had once helped build the institution itself.
We reached the old library.
The grandfather clock was gone.
In its place stood a modern display cabinet filled with school trophies.
My father approached the librarian.
“Excuse me, where was the old clock moved?””
She looked at him.
“Mr. Mercer?””
He nodded.
Her expression changed.
“I'm sorry. I thought you knew.””
“Knew what?””
“It was taken away last month.””
“By whom?””
She checked the inventory on her computer.
“Mrs. Collins authorized its removal.””
My father gripped the counter.
“Where did she send it?””
The librarian hesitated.
“To the school's storage facility.””
“Which one?””
She lowered her voice.
“Mr. Mercer, the records say it was transferred to a private warehouse owned by Whitmore Holdings.””
Richard closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
“Your family took it?””
He didn't answer.
Then my phone vibrated again.
This time, the message contained a photograph.
It showed the grandfather clock lying on its side in a warehouse.
A red circle had been drawn around a broken section of its wooden base.
Underneath was one sentence.
*Your mother wasn't the only Mercer who knew too much.*
I looked at my father.
He had gone completely still.
Then he whispered:
“That's not the clock your mother hid the evidence in.””
I turned toward him.
“What?””
He stared at the photograph.
“That's a replacement. The original disappeared twenty years ago.””
Before I could ask another question, the librarian called out.
“Mr. Mercer?””
She was holding a document.
“I found something else in the transfer records.””
She handed it to him.
The authorization form carried Margaret Collins's signature.
But the date was from last week.
May you like
And beneath the signature was a handwritten instruction:
*Destroy contents before board inspection.*
