Chapter 5 - The Lawsuit My Father BuriedSeven years.
My father had known Adrian Voss for seven years.
Maybe longer.
Yet when I'd asked him about the man who was trying to use my lake house as collateral for a quarter-million-dollar loan, he'd acted as though Adrian were a stranger.
I stared at the dismissed lawsuit on Rachel's phone.
The case had been filed in Cook County.
My father was listed as the plaintiff.
Adrian Voss and a company called Meridian Development Holdings were named as defendants.
The complaint alleged breach of contract, misrepresentation, and the improper retention of investment funds.
The amount in dispute was $118,000.
I felt sick.
“Rachel, my parents told me they had no investments.”
She continued scrolling.
“Apparently, they did.”
“Or they were pretending to.”
She looked up.
“That's possible.”
I took out my phone and called my father.
This time, I didn't wait for him to invent an explanation.
“Dad, I found your lawsuit against Adrian Voss.”
His breathing changed.
“Where?”
“Public court records.”
“Meredith, you shouldn't be digging into things you don't understand.”
I almost smiled.
That was a remarkable statement to make to a woman who had spent a decade drafting and litigating commercial agreements.
“Then help me understand.”
He sighed.
“It happened a long time ago.”
“Seven years.”
“Yes.”
“You sued Adrian for a hundred and eighteen thousand dollars.”
Silence.
“Where did that money come from?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad?”
“Part of it was ours.”
“And the rest?”
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered:
“Your grandmother's.”
I closed my eyes.
I had suspected it.
But hearing him say it still hurt.
“Grandma Evelyn's money?”
“She agreed to invest.”
“Did she?”
He said nothing.
I walked toward the window.
The Mercers' cars were gone.
The driveway was empty again.
For the first time since arriving, my lake house was quiet.
“Dad, I spoke to Thomas Bellamy.”
The silence became absolute.
“He told me Grandma removed Mom as trustee after discovering an unauthorized withdrawal.”
My father exhaled slowly.
“That was complicated.”
“No. Taking money without authorization is straightforward. The complications come afterward.”
He didn't respond.
“Did that forty-two thousand dollars go to Adrian?”
“Yes.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Did Grandma know what it was being used for?”
“Not initially.”
I felt the familiar ache of disappointment.
My grandmother had trusted my parents.
Just as I had.
And they had apparently exploited both relationships.
“Why did you dismiss the lawsuit?”
“Because Adrian threatened to countersue us.”
“For what?”
My father hesitated.
“He claimed we had misrepresented where the money came from.”
I closed my eyes.
“So you dropped it.”
“We couldn't afford another legal fight.”
“And Grandma?”
“She knew we'd made a mistake.”
“Did you repay her?”
Another silence.
My stomach sank.
“Dad.”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
He didn't answer.
Then a terrible possibility occurred to me.
“Did Grandma forgive the debt?”
“No.”
“What did she do?”
My father's voice broke.
“She sold part of her investment portfolio to cover the loss. I promised to repay her, but she died before I could.”
I turned away from the window.
My grandmother had spent her entire life saving carefully.
She drove a twelve-year-old Buick.
She clipped grocery coupons.
She repaired furniture rather than replacing it.
And my parents had apparently treated her savings as another resource available for their convenience.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
I believed him.
For once, I actually believed him.
But shame was not the same thing as accountability.
“Dad, were you involved in transferring my lake house this week?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my signature was false?”
He took a ragged breath.
“I didn't see you sign anything. Your mother said she had your permission.”
“You signed a statement saying you witnessed me sign.”
“I know.”
“And you didn't question why I wasn't there?”
He began crying quietly.
“I wanted to believe her.”
I sat down.
For a moment, I saw the man who had taught me to ride a bike.
Then I remembered the false deed.
“Dad, there's a difference between believing someone and refusing to question them.”
He said nothing.
I waited.
Finally, he whispered:
“I know.”
I looked toward Rachel.
She was listening without interrupting.
“Will you cooperate with an investigation?”
My father went silent again.
“Dad, I'm asking whether you're willing to tell the truth, even if it means admitting what you've done.”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
I wasn't sure I believed him.
But it was the first useful answer he'd given me.
“Then preserve every document, text message, and email involving Adrian, Mom, Sabine, and Kellan Family Properties.”
“Meredith—”
“And don't sign anything else.”
“I won't.”
“I'm serious.”
“I understand.”
I almost ended the call.
Then he said:
“There's something you need to know about Adrian.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He didn't come back into our lives because of Sabine.”
My pulse quickened.
“Then why?”
“Your mother contacted him.”
“When?”
“Last September.”
I stared at the wall.
Eight months before the canceled anniversary vacation.
“Why would she do that?”
My father spoke so quietly that I could barely hear him.
“She said she had found a way to recover the money we lost years ago.”
“How?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Dad.”
“She wanted him to help us get financing.”
“Against what?”
My father hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Your lake house.”
I felt the room turn cold.
My mother had been planning to use my property months before she asked for the emergency door code.
Before the anniversary reservations.
Before Sabine's supposed financial emergency.
Before any of it.
I ended the call and looked at Rachel.
“She contacted Adrian last September.”
Rachel frowned.
“That's a significant timeline.”
“She was planning this for months.”
“Possibly. We need the records before we decide exactly what she planned.”
I nodded.
Then my email chimed.
Thomas Bellamy had sent a scanned copy of my grandmother's sealed letter.
I opened the attachment.
The first line made my throat tighten.
My dearest Meredith,
If you are reading this letter, someone has tried to make you feel guilty for protecting something that belongs to you.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Grandma.
Even after death, she knew.
I continued reading.
Your parents are not evil people. But they have developed a dangerous habit of treating every financial mistake as someone else's responsibility.
Your mother believes that love gives her authority over the people who love her. Your father believes that keeping the peace is more important than telling the truth.
Both beliefs have caused more harm than either of them understands.
Tears blurred the words.
I am leaving you the lake house because it should remain a place where you can make decisions without asking anyone's permission.
Never let anyone convince you that accepting mistreatment is the price of belonging to a family.
I read that sentence three times.
Then I continued.
There is one additional matter I want you to know.
My heart accelerated.
Several years ago, Marjorie asked me to use the lake house as security for a business investment. I refused.
Afterward, I discovered that someone had attempted to obtain copies of my financial records without permission.
I instructed my attorney to preserve everything.
At the bottom of the letter, Grandma had written:
If they ever try again, ask Thomas about the blue folder.
I looked up.
“Rachel.”
She turned.
“What?”
“There's another folder.”
I called Thomas immediately.
He answered on the second ring.
“Meredith?”
“Grandma mentioned a blue folder.”
His voice changed.
“Yes.”
“What's in it?”
He hesitated.
“Records I hoped you'd never need.”
My pulse quickened.
“What records?”
“Bank statements, correspondence, and a sworn statement from someone who witnessed an earlier attempt to misuse Evelyn's property.”
“Who?”
Thomas was silent for a moment.
Then he said:
“Your mother wasn't the person who originally suggested using the lake house.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who did?”
“Adrian Voss.”
I stared at Rachel.
Thomas continued.
“And Meredith, there's something else. One of the documents in that folder contains your father's signature.”
I closed my eyes.
“What document?”
“A signed acknowledgment that he knew the proposed transaction was unauthorized.”
My breath caught.
Thomas's voice softened.
“He signed it seven years ago.”
And suddenly, the truth became impossible to ignore.
My father hadn't simply made a mistake this week.
May you like
He had known exactly what kind of scheme Adrian was capable of.
For seven years.
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