CHAPTER 4: THE SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX
The bank was in a small town. Quiet. Unassuming. The kind of place that had been around for a hundred years and would be around for a hundred more.
My father and I walked in together. We didn't look like we belonged. But that was the point.
We requested the safety deposit box.
The teller led us to the vault.
We opened the box.
Inside was a cassette tape. Old. Worn. Labeled only with a date.
I held it in my hands.
"This is it," I said.
"Yes."
"We need a tape player."
"We have one. Back at the farmhouse."
We drove back in silence.
I didn't know what to feel. Excited. Terrified. Hopeful.
All of it.
We arrived at the farmhouse. My father retrieved the tape player.
He inserted the tape.
The recording was scratchy. Low-quality. But the voices were clear.
"Charles, stop."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"You can't keep doing this. People are going to find out."
"People are going to find out if you keep talking."
"I'm going to the police."
"No you're not."
"Charles—"
"I'm sorry it has to be this way."
A crash. A scream. Then silence.
I felt the tears streaming down my face.
That was my mother's voice.
I had just heard her die.
My father reached over and turned off the tape.
"Now you know," he said.
"Now I know."
"What do you want to do?"
"Bring him down. Make him pay. And make sure he never hurts anyone else."
I looked at my father.
"What's our next step?"
"We take the evidence to the only person who can stop him."
"My grandmother."
May you like
"Yes."
END OF CHAPTER 4
