Part 8
I closed the door behind me, locking it from the inside to ensure absolute privacy.
The room was spacious, filled with antique mahogany furniture and heavy velvet curtains that blocked out most of the morning light.
I walked over to the grand windows and pulled the cords, letting the sunlight flood the dusty space.
Grandma Grace’s writing desk sat in the corner, untouched since her passing.
Patricia had tried to access this desk multiple times, but Grandma had installed a custom biometric digital lock underneath the vintage woodwork—a detail Patricia’s technologically illiterate mind could never bypass.
I reached under the lip of the desk, finding the small metallic strip.
I pressed my thumb against it.
With a soft electronic click and the mechanical whir of an old tumbler mechanism, a hidden drawer at the back of the desk popped open.
Inside lay a thick, leather-bound journal and a collection of old photograph negatives.
I picked up the journal, flipping through the pages. It was Grandma Grace’s personal diary from the last ten years of her life.
As my eyes scanned the elegant, cursive handwriting, the true depth of Patricia’s malice began to unravel.
“October 14th,” one entry read. “Patricia brought in a new medical team today. They are restricting my access to the telephone. She thinks I don’t notice her swapping my regular heart medication with a heavy sedative before the board meetings. She wants me compliant. She wants me gone so she can finalize the transfer of Myra’s legacy. I must hide the secondary audit where she cannot find it.”
My grip tightened on the leather binding until my knuckles turned white.
It wasn't just financial greed.
Patricia had been actively accelerating Grandma Grace’s decline, keeping her chemically subdued to systematically strip away our family's assets.
I turned the page, finding an entry dated just days before Grandma passed.
“Myra must know the truth about her mother’s accident. It was never a brake failure. I found the maintenance records Patricia tried to incinerate.”
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A cold sweat broke out across my neck.
My mother’s fatal car accident ten years ago... wasn't an accident.
