Chapter 2 - The Hidden Box
I slammed my hand against the truck horn, but the sound was drowned out by another loud crash.
I ignored my father's order to stay in the vehicle and threw the passenger door open.
My bare feet hit the cold gravel as I sprinted toward the open front door of the farmhouse.
"Dad!" I screamed, running into the dimly lit living room.
The coffee table was flipped over, and broken glass from a picture frame covered the rug.
Dad was standing near the hallway, holding his shoulder while he breathed heavily.
Grandma was nowhere to be seen, but the back door in the kitchen was swinging wide open.
"I'm fine, Lily, she just surprised me and pushed past me," he panted, waving his hand dismissively.
"Did she hurt you?" I asked, trembling as I stepped around the shattered glass.
"No, she just grabbed something from her bedroom and ran out the back," he explained.
We heard the screeching of tires as her sedan sped out from behind the barn and disappeared down the dark road.
Dad locked every single door and window in the house before he let me sit on the couch.
He walked into Grandma's bedroom to see what was so important that she had to break into our house to retrieve it.
I followed him quietly, peeking around the doorframe into the room that always smelled like mothballs.
Her closet was completely empty, and the mattress was slightly pushed off the box spring.
Dad reached under the heavy bed frame and pulled out a large, rusty metal lockbox.
"She must have dropped this when she shoved me," he muttered, examining the broken latch on the box.
He pried the lid open, and a stack of yellowed documents spilled onto the carpet.
I sat beside him on the floor as he sifted through the papers.
There were bank statements, property deeds, and several thick medical files.
"These are your mother's hospital records from before she died," Dad said, his brow furrowed in deep confusion.
He opened a folder labeled with my mother's name and began reading the doctor's notes.
His hands started to shake uncontrollably as he flipped to the second page.
"The hospital warned her," he whispered, a look of absolute horror washing over his face.
"They warned my mother that my wife was being overmedicated, and they filed a report."
He looked at me with tears welling in his eyes.
"Your grandmother was in charge of her daily medication, Lily."
The realization hit us both like a freight train.
My mother had not died from a random, tragic illness.
Suddenly, heavy fists started pounding aggressively on our front door.
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Red and blue police lights flashed through the living room windows, illuminating the walls.
"David Miller, open the door immediately with your hands in the air!" a gruff voice commanded from the porch.
