Chapter 3 - Uncle Peter
Michael called Peter that night.
No warning.
“Come to St. Matthew’s.”
Peter laughed.
“At eleven?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Dad.”
Silence.
Then:
“What about him?”
Michael knew immediately.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“Come.”
Peter arrived twenty-seven minutes later.
Sixty-four.
Gray suit.
Same expensive watch Michael remembered from childhood.
Sarah stood beside aisle.
Father Thomas sat near altar.
Peter looked from one to another.
Then saw ledger.
His face changed.
“Where did you find that?”
Michael almost smiled.
“Interesting first question.”
Peter recovered.
“What is this?”
“Dad’s records.”
“Robert kept records on everything.”
“Three million dollars.”
Peter stopped.
Sarah stepped forward.
“Tell me he’s wrong.”
Peter looked at her.
“You don’t understand.”
“Tell me.”
“Sarah—”
“Tell me Dad was wrong.”
Peter exhaled.
“He misunderstood parts.”
Michael laughed.
“Which parts?”
“The property deal.”
“Did you receive money?”
Peter looked at Thomas.
The priest said nothing.
“Peter.”
Thomas’s voice was quiet.
“Tell them.”
Peter snapped:
“You don’t get to become righteous now.”
Michael stared between them.
Good.
A fracture.
“Meaning?”
Peter pointed at priest.
“He was there.”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
Peter laughed bitterly.
“He protected parish.”
Thomas said:
“No.”
“You did.”
“I protected reputation.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
That distinction mattered to Thomas.
Michael did not care yet.
Peter moved toward ledger.
Michael blocked him.
“Don’t.”
Peter stopped.
Sarah asked:
“Did you steal church money?”
Peter looked at her.
“I received payments.”
“How much?”
“About four hundred thousand.”
Sarah went pale.
“Four hundred—”
“Not at once.”
“That matters?”
Peter became defensive.
“I arranged investors. I handled title problems. I connected Vale with lenders.”
“Were those services approved?”
“No.”
“Disclosed?”
Peter said nothing.
Michael nodded.
“So hidden.”
“Yes.”
“What did Dad find?”
“Transfers.”
“And threatened to expose you.”
“Yes.”
“What happened night he disappeared?”
Peter looked at Thomas again.
Thomas lowered his gaze.
Sarah saw.
“You both know.”
Peter whispered:
“I know part.”
Michael’s voice hardened.
“Talk.”
Peter sat in front pew.
“Robert called me that night. Said meet him at old quarry road.”
“Why?”
“He had documents.”
“Did you go?”
“Yes.”
“Was Vale there?”
“Yes.”
“Thomas?”
Peter hesitated.
“Yes.”
Sarah looked at priest.
Thomas nodded.
Michael’s fists tightened.
“What happened?”
Peter stared at floor.
“Robert said he was taking everything to state police next morning.”
“And?”
“Vale panicked.”
“What did he do?”
“He offered money.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Dad refused?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Argument.”
Michael stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Peter looked up.
“Robert hit Vale.”
Sarah blinked.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Vale threatened Elaine.”
Michael felt cold.
“What threat?”
“Said if Robert destroyed deal, banks would investigate every Grant account. Including mortgage fraud.”
Michael frowned.
“What mortgage fraud?”
Peter looked sick.
“Your father had altered income documents years earlier to refinance house.”
Sarah stared.
“No.”
“He did.”
Thomas said quietly:
“I saw copies later.”
Robert was not clean.
Another complication.
Peter continued:
“Vale said he’d expose him. Robert hit him.”
“And then?”
“Vale hit back.”
“How?”
“With flashlight.”
Sarah gasped.
“Where?”
“Shoulder.”
“Head?”
“No.”
Michael watched Peter carefully.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“What happened after?”
“Robert left.”
“In what?”
“His truck.”
“But police found truck abandoned.”
“Yes.”
“Where did he go?”
Peter shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Michael looked at Thomas.
Priest’s face betrayed something.
“You do.”
Thomas whispered:
“I saw him later.”
Peter snapped toward him.
“What?”
Michael’s voice dropped.
“You told police last time you saw Dad was quarry.”
Thomas closed eyes.
“That was lie.”
“Where did you see him?”
“At church.”
Sarah froze.
“When?”
“After midnight.”
“Why?”
“He came back for ledger.”
Michael stared at floor compartment.
Thomas continued:
“He was bleeding.”
“From where?”
“Forehead.”
Peter stood.
“You said Vale didn’t hit head.”
“He didn’t when I was there.”
Michael looked between them.
“So something happened after Uncle Peter left.”
Thomas nodded.
Robert arrived at St. Matthew’s around 12:40 a.m.
Wet.
Bleeding.
Terrified.
“He said someone followed him.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t know.”
“He hid ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
Thomas’s voice shook.
“He asked for car keys.”
“You gave him car?”
“My old Buick.”
“Where did he go?”
“He said he needed to get Elaine and children somewhere safe.”
Michael’s heart pounded.
“We were asleep at home.”
“I know.”
“He never came.”
“No.”
“Your car?”
“Found two days later.”
“Where?”
Thomas swallowed.
“Bus station.”
Sarah stared.
“That sounds like he left voluntarily.”
Thomas looked at her.
“That is why police believed it.”
Michael sensed missing piece.
“But?”
Thomas whispered:
“My car was not at bus station when Robert left church.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw who drove it away.”
Michael went still.
“Who?”
Thomas looked at Peter.
Not because Peter did it.
Because Peter knew name.
Peter whispered:
“Charles.”
Thomas nodded.
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Charles Vale had returned after Robert left.
And he had been driving the priest’s car.
