Chapter 6 - Franklin Finally Returned—But the First Thing He Said Was That My Own Mother Had Once Saved His LifeFranklin appeared two days later.
He walked into the police station carrying the same blue passbook.
I almost cried when I saw him.
“Where were you?”
“Safe.”
“You disappeared!”
“I had to.”
“You could have called.”
“I couldn't risk it.”
I stepped toward him.
“You knew my mother.”
He stopped.
“Yes.”
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
I showed him her letter.
His eyes filled with tears.
“She kept her promise.”
“So did you.”
“I tried.”
“Then why now?”
He looked at me.
“Because I am eighty-two.”
He smiled sadly.
“I don't have another twenty years to wait.”
We sat together.
Franklin finally told me everything.
David had been stealing.
His son Michael had been manipulated.
His wife had protected him.
My mother had discovered the truth.
And Richard Vale had built the entire fraudulent network.
But Richard Vale was dead.
His daughter had inherited his law firm.
Eleanor.
I stared.
“Eleanor?”
Franklin nodded.
“She knows everything.”
“Then why is she helping us?”
“She isn't.”
My stomach dropped.
Franklin reached into his coat.
He pulled out a document.
“The betrayal didn't end with Richard's death.”
He showed me a trust agreement.
The current beneficiary was Michael Hale.
But the trustee was Eleanor Vale.
“She controls the money.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael gave her control decades ago.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he believed I stole his inheritance.”
I shook my head.
“This is insane.”
Franklin nodded.
“Family often is.”
Then he handed me another document.
My mother's original accounting records.
They showed that the missing inheritance had never been stolen.
It had been hidden.
And the final account contained over $18 million.
I stared at the number.
“Where is this money?”
Franklin smiled.
“That's what everyone has been searching for.”
“Where?”
He looked at me.
“In the one place nobody would ever search.”
“Where?”
“Your mother's house.”
I froze.
“My mother sold that house.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“That's what everyone believed.”
He handed me a key.
A familiar brass key.
“Your mother never sold it.”
I stared.
“Then who owns it?”
May you like
Franklin answered:
“You.”
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