Chapter 2 - THE SILVER WATCH
The ballroom went completely silent.
Four hundred people watched my thirteen-year-old daughter standing on the auction platform, holding up a faded photograph.
The auctioneer, a tall man in a tuxedo, looked nervously at my husband.
“Mr. Carter?”
William’s face was dark red. He stepped toward Grace, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that still carried through the microphone. “Grace, put the picture away and get off the stage. Now.”
“No.” Grace’s voice trembled, but she didn’t move. “Turn it over.”
Melissa, standing slightly behind William, let out a tight, condescending laugh. “Sweetheart, this isn’t a game. The buyers are waiting.”
“Turn it over,” a booming voice echoed from the front table.
It was Arthur, our company’s head accountant. He had been with us since the beginning. He stood up, adjusting his glasses. “The girl asked a question, William. Let’s see the back of the quilt.”
William glared at Arthur, but the crowd began to murmur. With four hundred wealthy donors watching, he had no choice. He forced a strained smile and nodded at the two attendants holding the display.
They carefully unhooked the quilt and flipped it around.
I gasped.
I had never seen the back. Mom had always kept it folded or draped over her lap.
Stitched into the plain white backing fabric, in bright crimson thread, were the words: For Grace. The truth is in the lining. Love, Grandma.
“What is this?” William muttered, stepping closer.
“Feel the bottom right corner,” Grace told the auctioneer.
The auctioneer reached out, pressing his fingers into the thick batting of the final yellow square. His eyes widened. “There’s something hard inside.”
“Cut it open,” Grace said. She reached into her little white purse again and pulled out a small pair of sewing scissors. My mother’s scissors.
“Absolutely not!” William snapped, lunging forward to grab her wrist.
I was out of my chair in a second, my heels sinking into the carpet as I sprinted toward the stage. “Don’t you touch her, William!”
The crowd gasped. I shoved past Melissa and pulled Grace behind me.
“Cut it,” I told the auctioneer, my voice shaking with adrenaline.
The man hesitated, then took the scissors. He snipped the crimson thread.
A heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch slipped out of the lining and clattered onto the wooden stage.
William stepped back, the blood draining from his face.
I recognized the watch instantly. It had belonged to William’s grandfather. Ten years ago, when our business was struggling to open its fifth location, William claimed the watch had been stolen from his office. He filed an insurance claim for fifty thousand dollars. It had saved the company from bankruptcy.
“That’s impossible,” William choked out.
“My grandma found it hidden in your desk drawer at home,” Grace said, her voice ringing clear in the silent room. “She hid it because she knew you were going to sell it again. Or worse.”
Melissa stared at William in shock. “You told me you pawned that watch in college.”
A collective murmur swept through the ballroom.
I picked up the heavy silver watch. The latch was slightly loose. My thumb grazed the release button, and the casing popped open.
Inside, replacing the glass face, was a tightly folded piece of paper.
I pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a deposit slip from a bank in the Cayman Islands.
The deposit was for three hundred thousand dollars.
May you like
And the account name wasn’t William’s.
It was mine.
