My breath stopped.
“How old was she?”
“Fifteen.”
The same age I had been when Grandpa died.
Melanie had been a child.
But children could be manipulated.
Children could also lie.
“What’s on the tapes?”
“We haven’t listened to all of them.”
“All?”
“There are seventeen.”
The prosecutor’s voice came through the phone.
“One is labeled with the date two days before your grandfather’s death.”
Wyatt’s hand found mine.
“Play it,” I said.
“Sadie,” Lena warned, “you may not be ready.”
“I have spent twelve years believing a lie. Play it.”
There was a pause.
Then static filled the speaker.
My grandfather’s voice emerged, weak but unmistakable.
“If anything happens to me, Arthur is responsible.”
Arthur.
My father.
The recording continued.
“He has taken money from the company. Marianne knows. She helped him hide it.”
My mother.
A chair scraped in the background.
Then Grandpa spoke again.
