Chapter 18: The Hidden File
I turn on my flashlight while grabbing a lemon lozenge off the table by the back door. The lozenge helps soothe my dry throat, but it doesn’t help my nerves. My arm moves back and forth, shining the flashlight’s narrow beam across the empty hallway. There are several rooms, offices of the other associates, which connect with the hallway, but I bypass all the rooms except for my dad’s office.
His office is located at the end the hallway, in what was originally the master bedroom. For some reason, the darkness of the hallway’s end makes the walk that much more nerve wrecking. The door to his office is closed, but upon further inspection, it is oddly unlocked. So, I slightly turn the doorknob, which opens the door a couple inches. I clench the flashlight tightly in my right hand as I push the door open with my left arm.
The door slowly creeps along, picking up some speed until it crashes against the doorstop, forcing the door to ricochet back towards me. The beam of light from my flashlight reveals a clutter filled office. I decide against turning on the lights and stick with the flashlight. His polished wooden desk sits opposite of the door awaiting me. There are two leather chairs sitting between the door and the desk that I have to maneuver around to reach his side of the desktop.
Once at the desk, I begin my search for anything that can possibly help me figure out what is going on. There are several stacks of paper lying scattered over the desk. Which, knowing my dad isn’t at all surprising because he was always juggling multiple court cases. A couple empty spots speckle the desk where pictures used to sit. Alice must have taken them off at some point during her recent visits.
I plunder through the stacks of paper, but I don’t see anything that would be useful. The only notable things on the desk are appointment notes and some research papers that my dad must have been using for a trial. The papers are cold and hard in my hands, which causes me to become increasingly irritated with each new stack. Each page is difficult to touch with my hand similar to the way the sound of someone’s fingers scratching against a chalkboard is hard on the ears. Every few minutes, I pause to check how many more stacks are left, because they seem to keep appearing out of nowhere, blossoming like weeds in a flowerbed.
As I’m finally flipping through the last stack of paper that had been lost beneath the pile, something helpful surfaces. Buried in-between three or four packets of bills, I find a notepad covered with dad’s encrypted shorthand, exactly like the note I found. Papers flutter to the floor, while I clear out a clean spot on the desk.
In respect for my dad, I set the notepad lightly down. My hands clench the flashlight as a new wave of anxiety comes over me. At first, my hand trembles so much that the light bounces in a way that makes it hard to read the notepad, but after a couple seconds, my hand steadies, and the notepad becomes easily readable.
My anxieties briefly subside due to an emerging awe of my dad’s encryption techniques. He came up with the idea as a kid and started using it for the most vital of information he wanted to keep hidden. The encryption isn’t that hard to break if you understand how it fits together. Thinking back, it's actually one of the first things that spurred my interest in math.
The first line on the notepad reads ‘71t5--3 F-7rt--5n5’. I quickly decipher it using the technique and reach the same conclusion as Alice. The notepad has to do with Gate’s Fortune. I read the rest of the notepad, but it’s mainly just gibberish to me. Not because of the encryption but because of the content.
My dad does write a few details about the death of a Mr. Gate and his lost fortune. From what I can see, the notepad mainly outlines different theories of where the unaccounted for fortune could have disappeared. But none of the places or theories even make sense to me. Without more information, there really isn’t anything that can help me
“How does any of this tie into my family and more importantly, my parents’ death?” I need to either find or remember the file he showed me in his study. If he has a notepad here, he could have an extra copy of the file here as well. I’m about to start searching the room for the file when a smudged line at the bottom of the notepad causes me concern. The ending is too smudged to read, so I can’t be sure about what it says.
This doesn’t make sense. Why would he write any of this? I have to find that file. Where would he put it? Think. He would probably mix it in with his other work files where it would be safe and hidden.
There is an increasing fear growing within me as I scramble over to the locked filing cabinet. Dad would die if he knew I know the combination. I press in the four number combination and the lock opens with the sound of a click. The filing cabinet has six compartments that he meticulously cleans out every year. So, it only ever contains current documents from the current year with the exception of a few important documents from more precious clientele. I know this because I helped empty the stupid thing out nearly every year. The question is where would you hide such a secret as this?
The files are arranged in alphabetical order, so I try the obvious first and look up Gate. It isn’t a shock that there is no clientele file under that name. “Ok, that would have been too easy.”
Next, I search through the files looking at names, dates, or anything that might sound familiar or be a good place to hide something. I methodically work my way from the top compartment to the bottom one as best I can—given the time crunch. Feeling the need to deeper investigate the files, I randomly take out a few files at a time and search them, but outside of legal documents, I find nothing.
Now searching the last compartment, one file does bring a particular interest. The file isn’t interesting because of the Gate family connection; instead, it strikes a little closer to home. I take the file and walk back over to the desk, shaking with every step. Once seated at the desk, I open the file labeled with my name.
The file opens and an unnerving chill runs up from somewhere deep within me. I flip through the pages of police reports and session notes. My eyes scan over the words without really reading them while the battle of keeping the memories from surfacing wages within me, each turn of the page acts as a painful stimulus causing my former delinquencies to impede my search. “What am I doing? This isn’t helping anything. Now isn’t the time for reopening events that nearly ruined my life. Dealing with all this is enough.”
I slam my file shut and return it to the filing cabinet. As I go to place it back where I found it, I notice a thin file is jutting out from within my own. I place my file into the filing cabinet, but I take the thin file out beforehand. While holding the file in my left hand and the flashlight in my right, the rugged file with a smudged label feels even colder against my hand than the stacks of paper on my dad’s desk, but the smudged name on the label warms my spirit. The label unbelievably reads ‘Gate’s Fortune’. My anxiety nearly causes me to fall down when I realize what I’m holding.
Why would he hide it in my file? I guess it was a good hiding place, but still it can’t be coincidence. Ok, it's time to see what Gate’s Fortune is all about.
Unfortunately, the file contains only a few pages and a few photographs, but it is still more than enough to get my pulse racing with excitement. The first page has five photos printed out onto the paper with handwritten notes underneath them. Each photo is black and white and contains people dressed in old-fashioned clothes.
The notes underneath the photos appear to give the names of the people pictured above. Based on the notes, it is evident that the people in the photos are family members of the Gate family. Every photo has the same man pictured and in most of them, he is the central figure. The last photo on the page has the man standing in a cotton field alongside another man. There is a grandiose house slightly in view off in the distance, but the men and cotton are the focal point of the photo.
Both men are probably in their thirties. For a second, the man that hadn’t been previously pictured looks exactly like a younger version of my dad. Remembering the guy from the hotel stairs in Bu
rkeville, I shut my eyes in an attempt to push away the fantasy. My eyes slowly reopen as I refocus on the picture; to my dismay, the man still appears to closely resemble my dad. Who is this guy?
The description beneath the photo holds the answer. The man that resembles my dad has my dad’s last name, my last name. There is another note beside his name in my dad’s handwriting, which claims the man is his grandfather. I don’t know much about the man because our family has never really talked about our history, so it is a little bit of a shock to be staring at his picture. From what I can remember, my Great-Great-Grandfather’s name was Jonathan, but it isn’t written, and I’m not completely positive I’m correct.
This photo doesn’t label the other man, but he is labeled in the other photos as a member of the Gate family. So, my family does have a connection to the Gate family. But why keep it a secret?
I lean back in my dad’s office chair and look down at all the photos from a distance. In each photo, the Gate family members are dressed very well. There are three different men all dressed in slick jackets and two women dressed in elegant dresses. They appear very sophisticated in each photo, which presents a certain arrogance as well as the touch of charm. One photo even shows the family standing in a beautiful foyer. When I look at the page as a whole, I can’t help but get the impression that the family is extremely wealthy.
The photo with my Great-Great grandfather and presumably the Gate family patriarch shows a great contrast between the Gate family and mine. My great relative is dressed in a modest coat that appears rugged and worn. While the other man is wearing a pristine coat with a tie and top hat. One man is upper class while the other is only imitating an upper class wardrobe.
I finish looking at the page and flip it over. The next page is covered with handwritten notes. The paper is old and the writing is faded. The handwriting looks familiar, but I don’t recognize it. It’s not my dad’s handwriting that is for sure.
‘After much discussion, we have decided to break our contract with the Gate’s and challenge for an independent right to the cotton plantation. Our share in the plantation has been misused and our treatment has taken on the form of a common slave from the past. This we cannot allow any longer. We are prepared to take legal action in the courts to reclaim our share of the fortune that the Gate family has stolen from us!’
Upon finishing the letter, my body induces itself into a trance. My head pounds as something forces its way to the front of my mind. My hands grab hold of the chair’s armrest, bracing myself for whatever happens next.
The room morphs into my dad’s study and for a brief second we stare into each other eyes. He says, “The letter ignited a fuse between the two families.” As his lips move, the study transforms itself into a beautiful foyer. There are four people standing in the foyer, two men and two women.
The flickering of candles and small amounts of sunlight from another room light the foyer. The light shines perfectly on a man and woman holding hands near a marble fountain. The man holding the woman’s hand is clearly my Great-Great-Grandfather and he is pointing a finger defiantly at the Gate family patriarch who is standing on the other side of the foyer with the letter.
Suddenly, a subtle noise from within the office breaks my concentration. I slowly come out from behind the desk and shine my flashlight on the closed office door. The sound of footsteps speeding down the hallway sends my heart into a flutter. My body seizes up, stopping me from hiding or running away. The flashlight begins to shake in my hand, causing shadows in the room to come and go along with the shaking.
The footsteps stop causing everything to become quiet in the office. There is a slight rustling at the door as light shines in under the door from the hallway. I take a couple steps toward the door, but I am quickly brought to a halt. The door swings open with ease and crashes against the doorstop. A bright light shines back at me momentarily blinding me as I attempt to steady my flashlight.
My vision returns as the bright light moves away from my eyes. Ryleigh is standing at the door, holding a flashlight in one hand. “What are you doing? You scared me to death! I thought you were the cops.”
“Sorry, you have been gone a while, and I was getting worried.”
My voice steadies, “Yeah, it took longer than I thought it would. But, how did you get in here?”
“You didn’t close the back door all the way. So did you find anything useful?”
“I found the file. I haven’t been able to look through it all yet, but it looks like it could hold some answers for us. I’ll show it to you later. I think we have been here too long, so we need to leave before someone finds us.”
She nods and motions for me to follow her out. Before I leave my dad’s office, I take one more look at the cluttered room. As the door slowly shuts, my eyes focus on the empty spaces on the desk. The spaces used to be filled with my dad’s keepsakes and our family pictures. Valuables that have been moved from one of dad’s favorite solitudes. Treasures that would shortly make their way to his funeral.
Buried Truth Page 18