Part 2 — The Red Suit
Eric read the first line twice.
Then he stopped.
His eyes moved across the page, but he didn’t turn it.
“Eric?” I whispered.
He swallowed hard.
“What does it say?”
He looked at Mr. Lawson.
The attorney shook his head.
“Your father wrote it for him. Let him read it.”
Eric lowered his eyes again.
I stood beside him, suddenly aware of how strange the cemetery had become.
People were still gathering around Dad’s grave.
Flowers were being placed beside the headstone.
Cars were leaving.
But the three of us stood several yards away, staring at a letter hidden inside a red suit my father had apparently chosen years ago.
Finally, Eric spoke.
“Dad says he lied to us.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
Eric continued reading.
Then his face changed.
Not sadness.
Fear.
He handed me the letter.
I took it.
The handwriting was unmistakably Dad’s.
Sarah never knew because I couldn’t risk both of you knowing at the same time.
Eric, you were the one who found the first piece.
Sarah, you were the one I trusted to finish it.
If you’re both reading this together, then something has gone very wrong.
I looked up.
“What first piece?”
Eric didn’t answer.
Mr. Lawson looked toward the road.
“Your father was afraid someone was watching him.”
I stared at him.
“Someone?”
He nodded.
“For nearly eighteen months.”
My fingers tightened around the letter.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“I know.”
Mr. Lawson opened the thick envelope.
Inside were bank statements, property records, photographs, copies of emails, and several pages of handwritten notes.
He separated them into two piles.
“One belongs to Eric.”
He tapped the first pile.
“The other belongs to you.”
I frowned.
“Why would Dad divide them?”
“Because he believed neither of you could be trusted with the whole story until the right moment.”
Eric laughed bitterly.
“So he made us solve a scavenger hunt at his funeral?”
Mr. Lawson looked directly at him.
“Your father wasn’t trying to entertain you.”
The humor disappeared from Eric’s face.
“He was trying to protect you.”
I looked at the red jacket hanging over Eric’s arm.
“Why the suit?”
Mr. Lawson hesitated.
“Because your father needed to know whether Eric had discovered the hidden room.”
Eric looked at me.
“I found it two weeks ago.”
“What?”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad’s notes were inside.”
My heart began pounding.
“What notes?”
Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I found this behind the bookcase.”
He opened it.
There were only four words.
DON’T TRUST THE ACCOUNTANT.
I stared at him.
“Dad’s accountant?”
Eric nodded.
Mr. Lawson’s expression had gone completely still.
“What’s his name?”
“Martin Hale.”
The attorney closed his eyes.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Mr. Lawson said quietly,
“Your father fired him eleven months ago.”
“Why?”
“Your father never told me.”
Eric looked at the documents.
“Then why are there bank statements here?”
Mr. Lawson picked one up.
“Because these aren’t your father’s personal accounts.”
I looked closer.
The account holder’s name wasn’t Dad.
It was a company I’d never heard of.
Redbridge Holdings.
“What’s that?”
Mr. Lawson stared at me.
“That’s the question your father spent the last year trying to answer.”
He opened another document.
Redbridge Holdings had been receiving transfers from several businesses Dad owned.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
Thousands.
Then hundreds of thousands.
And eventually millions.
My mouth went dry.
“Dad was stealing from his own companies?”
“No.”
Mr. Lawson shook his head.
“He was trying to find out who was.”
Eric stepped closer.
“Where was the money going?”
The attorney placed another document on top.
“Here.”
A list of names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Eric Bennett.
My brother went pale.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Eric?”
“I didn’t do this.”
Mr. Lawson raised his hand.
“Listen before you assume anything.”
Eric’s breathing became faster.
“The transfers were made using your identity,” the attorney said. “But your father discovered something important.”
“What?”
“The money wasn’t going into an account you controlled.”
Eric stared at him.
“Then whose account?”
Mr. Lawson slowly turned the page.
There was another name.
My name.
Sarah Bennett.
I felt the ground shift beneath me.
“No.”
Mr. Lawson nodded grimly.
“Your identity was being used too.”
Eric looked at me.
“You knew about this?”
“I swear I didn’t.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why are our names on these documents?”
Mr. Lawson didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he opened the final envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Dad stood beside a much younger man outside a warehouse.
I recognized the warehouse immediately.
It belonged to Dad’s company.
But the man standing beside him wasn’t an employee.
I had never seen him before.
Eric took the photograph.
Then he froze.
“That’s impossible.”
“What?”
Eric turned the photograph toward me.
“Sarah…”
I looked.
On the back of the photograph, Dad had written a date.
June 14, 2008.
And underneath it:
The day I made the deal that saved our family.
I looked at Eric.
“What deal?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Mr. Lawson’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I do.”
We both turned toward him.
He looked older than he had five minutes earlier.
“Your father didn’t build this family business alone.”
He paused.
“There was another man.”
“Who?”
Mr. Lawson looked at the photograph.
“Your grandfather’s business partner.”
I frowned.
“My grandfather died before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“So did his business partner.”
Mr. Lawson nodded.
“That’s what everyone believed.”
Eric stared at him.
“You’re saying he’s alive?”
Mr. Lawson didn’t answer.
He reached into the envelope one last time and removed a small black-and-white photograph.
This one was recent.
A man stood outside a restaurant.
Older.
Gray-haired.
But unmistakably the same man from the 2008 photograph.
My breath caught.
“Who is he?”
Mr. Lawson looked at me.
“That’s the man your father was afraid of.”
Eric turned the red jacket over in his hands.
“Why would Dad leave this for me?”
The attorney looked at the suit.
“Because your father knew that man would eventually come looking for what he believed belonged to him.”
I stared at the photograph.
“What belongs to him?”
Mr. Lawson’s face hardened.
“Your family’s company.”
Eric suddenly looked down at the letter.
“There’s more.”
He unfolded the final page.
His voice trembled as he read Dad’s last sentence aloud.
“Sarah, if he comes back, don’t give him the company.”
He stopped.
I waited.
“What?”
Eric looked at me.
“Dad wrote something underneath.”
“What does it say?”
Eric slowly turned the page toward me.
My father’s final words were written in large, uneven handwriting.
Because the company was never really ours.
I stared at the sentence.
Then Mr. Lawson whispered,
“Your father didn’t leave you an inheritance, Sarah.”
He looked at Eric.
“He left you both a debt.”
And somewhere beyond the cemetery gates, a black car had stopped.
Someone was watching us.