Chapter 8
It made the mansion seem less impressive.
And more alive.
Eventually Claire looked at me.
“You found something.”
I nodded.
“The notebook is gone.”
Her hand froze around her cup.
“But?”
“We found a key.”
I showed her the photograph on my phone.
She stared at Samuel Bennett.
“I’ve seen this.”
“Where?”
“Thomas had a copy.”
“Did he know my father?”
“No. Not personally.”
“Did he ever mention Dock 4?”
Her eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“When?”
“Near the end.”
“What did he say?”
Claire thought carefully.
“He said his grandfather used to tell him that when men build businesses together, they write two histories. The one they show accountants and the one that explains why everybody agreed.”
“What does that mean?”
“I never knew.”
“Did he mention a ledger?”
Her expression changed.
“He called it the blue book.”
The blue thread.
The rabbit.
Samuel Bennett’s jacket.
“Why blue?”
“I don’t know.”
Lily suddenly held up her rabbit.
“Bunny has blue.”
Every adult at the table became quiet.
Claire looked at the repair on the rabbit’s leg.
Then at me.
“What?”
“Who repaired that?”
“My mother.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where did the rabbit come from?”
“It belonged to Thomas.”
That surprised me.
“As a child?”
“Yes. His grandmother kept a box of his childhood things. She gave it to us after Lily was born.”
Lily hugged Bunny protectively.
“He’s mine now.”
“No one is taking him,” Claire said quickly.
I crouched beside Lily.
“Can I look at Bunny?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because he’s clearly very important.”
“Yes.”
“And important rabbits deserve proper inspection.”
After a long deliberation, she handed him over.
I turned the stuffed animal carefully.
The repair along the leg wasn’t merely stitching.
Beneath the thread, I could feel something rigid.
Tiny.
Flat.
Claire noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
We didn’t cut the rabbit open.
Lily would have declared war on the household.
Instead Mrs. Alvarez distracted her with the urgent question of whether strawberries belonged on pancakes, while Claire used a sewing kit to loosen three stitches.
A tiny folded piece of paper slid out.
No one spoke.
Claire unfolded it.
The paper was old.
Much older than Lily.
On it were six words written in faded ink:
Lake Federal. Box 317. Dock lease.
Daniel stared.
“You’re kidding.”
Claire looked as stunned as I felt.
“My mother repaired this rabbit.”
“Could the paper have already been inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said it belonged to Thomas.”
“Yes.”
“Who had it before him?”
“His grandmother.”
Samuel Bennett’s wife.
I looked at the key on the table.
Box 317.
Lake Federal.
Daniel was already searching.
“There was a Lake Federal Savings Bank in Evanston,” he said. “Closed in 2003. Records and safe-deposit assets went through two mergers.”
“Where are they now?”
He scrolled.
“North Lakes Trust.”
Claire whispered, “Thomas banked there.”
By noon, we had confirmation.
A safe-deposit box numbered 317 still existed.
It had been transferred twice through bank mergers.
The registered lessees were Samuel and Evelyn Bennett.
Both deceased.
Thomas Bennett had been listed as successor beneficiary.
And after Thomas’s death, rights passed to his estate.
To Claire.
The bank required documentation before allowing access.
For once, I didn’t try to accelerate the process.
Claire spent the afternoon gathering records from her attorney.
I spent mine studying Victor Kane.
The more I looked, the stranger Bennett Street became.
Twenty-two years earlier, my father had purchased the three warehouses from the Bennett family.
The price had been fair.
Surprisingly fair, considering my father’s reputation.
The Bennetts had retained certain lease rights for ten years.
Victor had acted as counsel on the transaction.
Arthur Vale, another man in the photograph, had controlled a transport company operating from Dock 4.
The company dissolved shortly afterward.
Nothing illegal jumped off the page.
Nothing dramatic.
Just old agreements.
Mergers.
Leases.
Property transfers.
The sort of boring paperwork most people ignored.
Which was exactly why important things could hide inside it for decades.
At six, Claire appeared in my office.
She wore jeans and a cream sweater Mrs. Alvarez had found for her.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“If you say that one more time, I’m resigning.”
“You can’t resign while on paid medical leave.”
“I don’t think that’s a real rule.”
May you like
“It is in this house.”
She folded her arms.
