The following morning, Emily woke to twenty-three missed calls.
Some were from coworkers. Others came from local journalists who had somehow learned that the ownership of Miller's Family Diner was being challenged.
Frank had left four angry voicemails.
In the first, he accused her of conspiring against him.
In the second, he offered to restore her job if she refused to speak to the lawyers.
The third contained threats about her reputation.
The fourth was different.
He sounded frightened.
"Emily, please call me. There are things you don't understand."
She deleted none of the messages.
Jonathan Harrison had instructed her to preserve every communication.
At nine, Thomas and Walter arrived at her apartment.
Thomas carried a cardboard box containing copies of old records.
"I should have come sooner," he said.
Emily offered them coffee.
"You've said that several times."
"Because it's true."
Walter remained near the window while Thomas explained the next step.
A former company accountant named Harold Price had recently contacted the trustees. Harold had worked for Arthur Whitcomb and Richard Mercer during the years surrounding Daniel's death.
He claimed that financial records and incident reports had been altered.
More importantly, he believed he knew where the original documents were stored.
"Why didn't he speak before?" Emily asked.
Thomas sighed.
"Fear. Loyalty. Perhaps guilt."
Emily looked toward her father's photograph hanging above the kitchen table.
She had placed it there when she moved into the apartment.
Daniel stood beside an old pickup truck, smiling while holding a fishing rod.
For eighteen years, he had existed mostly through memories.
Now his life was becoming the center of a legal investigation.
"Where is Harold?"
"In a retirement community outside Erie."
"Then I want to meet him."
Thomas hesitated.
"He may not tell us everything."
"He knew my father."
"Yes."
"Then he owes me an explanation."
They drove north that afternoon.
The snow had stopped, leaving the highway lined with frozen trees.
When they reached Harold's residence, a nurse informed them that he was waiting in the common room.
Emily recognized him from the old company photograph.
He was much thinner now, with deeply lined cheeks and shaking hands.
Harold stood when he saw her.
For a long moment, he could not speak.
Then he whispered, "You have Daniel's eyes."
And before Emily could introduce herself, he began crying.