Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCHI stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Your grandmother's next.
My first instinct was to call Dad.
My second was to drive straight to his house and demand an explanation.
Instead, I remembered Miles Wexler's warning.
Don't confront anyone without understanding what you're dealing with.
I took screenshots of the message and called him.
He answered on the second ring.
"Everett?"
"Someone just threatened Grandma."
His tone changed immediately.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
I described Delaney's phone call, the mysterious man named Bennett, and the anonymous message.
Miles listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said:
"Don't respond. Preserve the message and the number. I'm going to contact the appropriate authorities and make sure hospice knows there may be a security concern."
"Do you think Dad sent it?"
"We don't know who sent it."
"But you think this is connected?"
"It may be. We need evidence before reaching conclusions."
I appreciated his caution.
But I hated how helpless it made me feel.
Grandma was eighty-two years old and receiving end-of-life care.
She should have been spending her remaining time surrounded by peace, music, and people who loved her.
Instead, she was caught in the middle of a financial scandal created by her own son.
I drove to hospice that afternoon.
The receptionist informed me that the facility had updated Grandma's visitor permissions at her request.
Only approved visitors could enter without additional authorization.
I felt a small measure of relief.
When I reached her room, Grandma was resting.
A small portable speaker sat beside her bed, playing a recording of Debussy.
I pulled up a chair.
For several minutes, I simply listened.
Then she opened her eyes.
"You look worried."
I smiled faintly.
"You always say that."
"Because you always look worried when you're keeping something from me."
I told her about the threatening message.
She listened, then reached for my hand.
"Everett, I don't want you living in fear."
"Someone threatened you, Grandma."
"Then we take sensible precautions. We don't let fear make all our decisions."
I looked at her.
"How are you so calm?"
She smiled.
"At my age, you learn that panic rarely improves a situation."
Then she asked me to play something.
I glanced at the small keyboard I'd brought the previous week.
"What would you like?"
"Something you wrote."
I hesitated.
I hadn't told anyone about the composition I'd been working on.
It was a simple piece for piano.
Nothing extraordinary.
Just a melody inspired by summer afternoons at the lakehouse.
I called it The Last Light on the Water.
I sat at the keyboard and began to play.
Grandma closed her eyes.
For the next four minutes, the scandal disappeared.
There was no stolen piano.
No threatening message.
No missing money.
Only music.
When I finished, she was crying quietly.
"Grandma?"
She wiped her cheek.
"Your grandfather would have loved that."
I felt something loosen inside my chest.
For the first time since discovering the piano was missing, I remembered that music could still bring joy instead of pain.
After leaving hospice, I met Miles at his office.
A man in his late fifties was waiting there.
He wore a brown jacket, wire-rimmed glasses, and the expression of someone who hadn't slept well.
Miles introduced him.
"Everett, this is Daniel Bennett."
I froze.
Bennett.
The name Delaney had whispered.
Daniel stood.
"I understand you've been trying to find out who I am."
I looked toward Miles.
"What is he doing here?"
"Mr. Bennett contacted my office this morning."
Daniel took a slow breath.
"I was Calvin Whitaker's accountant for eleven years."
I stared at him.
"Was?"
He nodded.
"Until he fired me six weeks ago."
Miles gestured toward the chair.
"Please sit down, Everett."
I remained standing.
"Why did my sister hear my parents arguing about paying you fifty thousand dollars?"
Daniel's face tightened.
"Because Calvin owes me money."
"For what?"
"For consulting fees. But that's not why I'm here."
He opened a worn folder.
Inside were bank statements, spreadsheets, and copies of correspondence.
"I've been reviewing documents from my final months with Whitaker Development."
I looked at Miles.
"Is this about Grandma's property?"
Daniel nodded slowly.
"Among other things."
He pulled out a printed financial statement.
"Calvin's company has been losing money for almost two years. Several projects went over budget. One major investor withdrew. Hugh Ashb doesn't know the full extent of the losses."
I stared at the numbers.
Some of them were enormous.
Daniel pointed toward an account.
"This is where the additional money from the piano sale appears to have gone."
I leaned forward.
"Fifty-three thousand dollars?"
"Approximately. We're still verifying the transactions."
"What did Dad use it for?"
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"He transferred money into an account used to cover a short-term business obligation."
I frowned.
"That doesn't explain the threat."
"No," Daniel replied. "It doesn't."
Miles folded his hands.
"Mr. Bennett also discovered something in the company's archived records."
Daniel removed another document.
It was a loan application.
Grandma's name appeared near the bottom.
Loretta Whitaker.
The signature looked convincing.
But beside it was a date from three weeks earlier.
I knew exactly where Grandma had been that day.
Hospice.
She hadn't left her room.
Daniel looked directly at me.
"Everett, there's a reason I came forward."
"What reason?"
He swallowed.
"Because this isn't the first time your father's company has used your grandmother's name."
I felt my stomach drop.
He turned another page.
May you like
And there, beneath a transaction dated almost eighteen months earlier, was my own name.
Everett Whitaker.
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