Everything he had believed was hidden had been gathered, copied, and placed in careful order by the quiet man he had already buried.
Grant lunged for the recorder.
The officer caught him before he reached it.
Vanessa began to sob.
“I didn’t know he was drugging you,” she said.
Dad looked at her.
“Did you know he was making me sign papers?”
She said nothing.
“Did you know he told people I was unable to manage my own affairs?”
Her tears continued, but she did not deny it.
“Did you know he had arranged for you to inherit my property?”
“I thought you wanted me to have it.”
“You never asked.”
“I was your daughter.”
“You were.”
The words struck her harder than a shout.
Vanessa lowered her hands.
Dad looked past her at the photographs stacked by the door.
One showed Vanessa at six years old, sitting on his shoulders at a county fair. Another showed her at seventeen, holding a blue ribbon from a science competition. A third showed her on her wedding day, smiling while Dad adjusted her veil.
He had kept every photograph.
She had removed them from the walls before he was even buried.
“Why?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.”
Her face tightened.
“I was tired of being the one who had to take care of you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You called me every time something went wrong.”
“I called because you were my daughter.”
