Nobody spoke during the drive back to the hotel.
The folder sat on Grandma's lap.
The old boarding pass was inside it.
So was the handwritten note from Frank.
She kept one hand on top of everything.
As though someone might reach through the car and take it.
When we reached the hotel, she didn't go upstairs.
She walked directly to the lobby lounge.
"Coffee," she said.
I stared at her.
"Now?"
"Yes."
Danny smiled.
"Frank used to say difficult conversations required coffee."
Grandma looked at him.
"He said that?"
"To my mother."
She laughed softly.
"Then he was stealing my lines."
We sat around a small table.
Gene placed the folder in the center.
"Before we go any further, there is something you need to know."
Grandma looked at him.
"Go ahead."
"Robert Mercer Holt wasn't simply an archivist."
"Who was he?"
"He was the airline's director of maintenance compliance."
My stomach tightened.
"So he controlled the records."
"Yes."
"And his daughter was legal counsel."
"Yes."
Grandma shook her head.
"That cannot be a coincidence."
"It may not be."
She looked at me.
"I knew her."
"Elaine?"
"Not well."
"How?"
"She attended one of Frank's retirement dinners."
Grandma's expression became distant.
"She was charming."
Gene nodded.
"She was very good at being charming."
"Did Frank distrust her?"
"Not initially."
"Then when did that change?"
Gene opened the folder.
"After he discovered the discrepancies."
He pulled out another page.
"This was written three days before the flight."
The page contained Frank's handwriting.
He had written:
The numbers don't match.
I asked Robert for clarification.
He told me the system is being corrected.
But I don't think the problem is the system.
I think the problem is the person using it.
Grandma looked at the page.
"He suspected Robert."
"Yes."
"Then why did he fly?"
"Because he believed the issue could be resolved."
"That sounds like him."
Gene nodded.
"He wasn't looking for a scandal."
"What was he looking for?"
"The truth."
Danny leaned forward.
"And that's where I come in."
Grandma looked at him.
"How?"
"The boy in 34B wasn't random."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Danny looked at Gene.
Gene answered.
"His father worked for the airline."
"Who?"
"Robert Holt."
The room seemed to shrink.
I looked at Danny.
"You're saying you were Robert Holt's grandson?"
Danny nodded.
"My father was his son."
Grandma stared.
"So Frank knew who you were?"
"Not at first."
Gene explained.
"Frank learned during the flight."
"How?"
"The child's mother gave the flight attendant his emergency contact information."
Danny looked down.
"Frank saw the name."
I looked at the folder.
"Robert Holt."
Danny nodded.
"Frank knew immediately."
"Then why did he stay with you?"
"Because I was scared."
"That simple?"
Danny looked at me.
"Sometimes it is."
Grandma closed her eyes.
"Frank must have realized the connection."
"He did."
"Did he tell you?"
"I was nine."
Danny smiled sadly.
"I didn't understand any of it."
Gene continued.
"Frank realized the child was connected to the person he was investigating."
I looked at Grandma.
"So the boy wasn't just a frightened passenger."
"No," Gene said.
"He may have been the reason Frank decided to preserve the evidence."
Danny reached into the folder.
He removed a small photograph.
It showed a young boy sitting beside an airplane window.
The same boy.
The silver wings were pinned to his shirt.
On the back was handwriting.
"Do not let them erase this."
I stared.
"Frank wrote that?"
Danny nodded.
Grandma touched the photograph.
"He was trying to protect you."
Danny's eyes filled.
"Yes."
"From what?"
"From the same people he was investigating."
Gene nodded.
"Frank believed Robert Holt had been using his position to conceal irregularities."
"Did he have proof?"
"Pieces."
"Where?"
"Some were destroyed."
Grandma looked at the folder.
"And the rest?"
Gene tapped the table.
"Robert kept a private archive."
"Where?"
"We don't know."
"But you have the code."
"Yes."
"Then find it."
Gene looked at her.
"We've tried."
"For twenty-seven years?"
"Not continuously."
Grandma gave him a hard look.
"Then not hard enough."
Danny smiled.
"That's Frank talking."
She ignored him.
"Where did Robert live?"
Gene answered.
"New Hampshire."
"House?"
"Sold after his death."
"To whom?"
"We don't know."
Grandma leaned back.
"Then find out."
I looked at Gene.
"Can you?"
He nodded slowly.
"I already did."
Everyone became silent.
Gene pulled a folded document from his coat.
"The house was sold to a company."
"What company?"
"R.M.H. Holdings."
Grandma stared.
"His initials."
"Yes."
"Who owns it now?"
Gene shook his head.
"That's where things get complicated."
"Again?"
"Yes."
He placed another document on the table.
"The company still exists."
"After twenty-seven years?"
"Yes."
"Who runs it?"
Gene looked at me.
"A trustee."
"Who?"
"Elaine Mercer."
My grandmother's face went completely still.
"The woman who came to my house."
Gene nodded.
"She inherited control of the company."
I looked at the documents.
"So she still has access to the property."
"Or its records."
"Then why haven't you confronted her?"
"Because we didn't have enough evidence."
Grandma leaned forward.
"You have Frank's note."
"That's evidence."
"You have the maintenance records."
"Copies."
"You have the component."
"Yes."
"And the code."
"Yes."
She looked at him.
"What else do you need?"
Gene's voice softened.
"The private archive."
Grandma stared at him.
"Then let's find it."
The next morning, we drove to the address.
The property was outside the city.
A narrow road led through trees.
At the end stood an old house.
It had been renovated.
New windows.
New roof.
Fresh paint.
But the stone foundation remained.
Gene parked across the street.
"We can't enter."
Grandma looked at the house.
"I don't want to."
I turned.
"Then why are we here?"
She pointed.
"Because Frank wrote the code."
She opened the folder.
The letters R.M.H. were visible.
"Maybe he wasn't pointing to the person."
"What do you mean?"
"He was pointing to the house."
Gene looked at her.
"The initials?"
She nodded.
"Maybe."
Danny pulled out his phone.
He opened a photograph.
It showed an old floor plan.
"Peter sent this."
I looked.
The house had a basement.
One room was marked with a handwritten note.
Storage.
Grandma stared at it.
"Frank loved hidden rooms."
I smiled.
"He did?"
"He thought every old house had one."
Gene looked toward the property.
"We need permission."
Grandma shook her head.
"No."
Everyone looked at her.
"I know someone who can give us permission."
"Who?"
She took out her phone.
"Elaine."
I stared.
"You're calling her?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Grandma dialed.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a woman's voice answered.
"Hello?"
Grandma's face changed.
She had not heard that voice in twenty-seven years.
"Elaine."
Silence.
Then:
"Ruth?"
Grandma's fingers tightened around the phone.
"Yes."
Another silence.
"I thought you were dead."
I felt my stomach drop.
Grandma's voice remained steady.
"I'm not."
Elaine exhaled.
"What do you want?"
"To see what my husband left behind."
The silence on the other end became longer.
Then Elaine said something that made Grandma's expression change completely.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Grandma looked at me.
"Why?"
Elaine answered.
"Because Frank wasn't the only one who knew about the archive."
The call ended.
Grandma lowered the phone.
Danny stared at her.
"What did she mean?"
Grandma looked toward the house.
"I don't know."
Gene opened the car door.
"Then we find out."
We crossed the street.
The front gate was locked.
But Grandma didn't stop.
She walked along the side of the house.
At the rear was a small stone stairway leading down.
The basement door was old.
The lock had been replaced.
Gene examined it.
"This is newer."
"How new?"
"Within the last few years."
Grandma touched the door.
"Then someone still uses this place."
I looked through the window.
The room beyond was dark.
But something reflected the sunlight.
A metal filing cabinet.
Then another.
And another.
My heart started pounding.
"The archive."
Gene looked through the glass.
"Maybe."
Grandma stepped back.
"We need to get inside."
Danny looked at her.
"How?"
She smiled.
"Frank always kept spare keys."
I laughed.
"To other people's houses?"
"No."
She reached into her purse.
"To his own."
She produced a small key ring.
There were six keys.
One was old brass.
She held it up.
"I've carried this for twenty-seven years."
Gene stared.
"What does it open?"
Grandma looked at the basement door.
"I don't know."
She inserted the key.
It turned.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside, the air smelled of paper and dust.
A single light flickered overhead.
There were shelves along every wall.
Boxes.
Files.
Photographs.
Maintenance records.
And on the far wall, written in black marker, were three words.
FRANK WAS RIGHT.
Grandma stepped inside.
Then stopped.
Because beneath those words was a date.
March 14, 1999.
And directly below it was another sentence.
HE NEVER MADE IT HOME.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Archive Finally Explained the Missing Records, but One Photograph Proved Someone Had Been Waiting for Grandma to Return
She Had Waited Twenty-Seven Years to Fly Again, So Why Was She Willingly Giving Away the Seat I Had Sacrificed to Buy?
Part 7 of 12
