Chapter 11 - The Lake House
I picked up the wooden ticket. It was no larger than a silver dollar. Embossed on the front were the words: Admit One - Midnight Carousel.
“What is this?” I asked, holding it up to Arthur.
Arthur frowned, leaning in to inspect it. “I have no idea. It was tucked inside the deed when the bank manager handed it to me. Perhaps a keepsake your father held onto?”
I rubbed my thumb over the painted gold trim. My father was not a sentimental man. He didn't keep keepsakes, especially not something as whimsical as a carnival token. If he had hidden this inside the deed to a ten-million-dollar stolen estate, it meant something.
I took the deed and the ticket down the hall to my mother’s office.
Sarah was reviewing quarterly reports when I walked in. I placed the deed on her desk.
“Arthur just gave me this,” I said.
Sarah looked at the document. Her eyes widened, and a slow, painful shadow crossed her face. “The Lake Geneva house. I haven't thought about that place in thirty years.”
“Dad stole it from you,” I said gently. “But he accidentally left it to me. It’s ours now, Mom. We can sell it, or keep it. It’s your family’s home.”
Sarah reached out and touched the old paper. “My grandfather built that house. I spent every summer there as a little girl. Richard always hated it. He thought it was too rustic. But he knew how much I loved it, which is why he took it.”
I placed the wooden ticket on the desk next to the deed. “Did this come from the house?”
Sarah stared at the token. The color instantly drained from her face. She dropped her pen.
“Mom?” I asked, alarmed by her reaction. “What is it?”
“Where did you find this?” she whispered, picking up the wooden ticket with trembling fingers.
“It was inside the envelope with the deed. Is it a carnival ticket?”
“No,” Sarah said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “It’s a locker key. From the Geneva train station.”
My pulse quickened. “A locker key? For what?”
Sarah looked up at me, her eyes wide with a fear I hadn't seen in her since the day I walked into her office.
“When Richard forced me out of your life,” she said slowly, “he didn't just threaten to have me committed. He demanded I hand over the original financial ledgers from his father’s company. Ledgers that proved his family’s original wealth wasn't made in manufacturing.”
“What was it made in?” I asked.
“Organized crime, Rebecca,” Sarah said grimly. “Your grandfather was a money launderer for the Chicago syndicate in the seventies. Richard inherited the dirty money and washed it through the manufacturing business. I found the ledgers. I hid them.”
I stared at her, stunned. The embezzlement, Evelyn’s gambling, the offshore accounts—it wasn't just poor management. Corruption was baked into the very foundation of my father’s legacy.
“I told Richard I destroyed the ledgers,” Sarah continued. “But I didn't. I hid them in a locker at the Lake Geneva train station, hoping I could use them as leverage one day to get you back. But I lost the token.”
I looked at the wooden ticket. “Dad found it.”
“And he hid it inside the deed,” Sarah realized. “Because he knew the authorities would never look at a property he technically didn't own.”
May you like
“If those ledgers are still in that locker,” I said, my mind racing, “they prove his entire empire was built on syndicate money. The feds would seize everything. Even this firm, if Arthur accepted any of that money over the years.”
Sarah stood up, grabbing her coat. “We have to go to Lake Geneva. Right now. Before the bankruptcy courts decide to audit the proxy trust and find this token themselves.”
