My Grandfather Left Me a Diary in an Abandoned Basement — The Last Page Had My Name on It
CHAPTER 3
Daniel spent the following morning searching county records.
Maya sat across from him in the archives while rain battered the windows.
“Project Haven officially never existed,” Daniel said.
“Then why is it in my grandfather’s diary?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
He placed several documents on the table.
Property transfers.
Construction permits.
Police reports.
Maya recognized the addresses.
“They’re all connected.”
Daniel nodded.
“Every property was purchased between 1998 and 2001.”
“By Hale Development.”
“Exactly.”
Maya turned another page of the diary.
Several names were circled in red.
Thomas Hale.
Richard Voss.
Caleb Morris.
And one name that made her blood run cold.
David Bennett.
Her father.
“No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“My father.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He died in 2003.”
“I know.”
“He worked for Hale Construction.”
Daniel stared at the name.
“What did he do there?”
“I don’t know.”
Maya had always been told her father was an accountant.
A quiet man who died in a car accident.
Her mother had never discussed him much.
Maya suddenly realized something.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“Who investigated my father’s accident?”
He searched the records.
A minute later, he looked up.
“Sheriff’s office.”
“Who was sheriff?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Caleb Morris.”
Maya looked at the diary again.
His name was circled in red.
She suddenly felt cold.
That afternoon, Maya returned to the farmhouse.
She searched every room.
Behind pictures.
Inside drawers.
Under floorboards.
Nothing.
Then she remembered something.
Her grandfather had always carried a silver pocket watch.
She found it in an old bedroom drawer.
The watch no longer worked.
But when she opened the back, a tiny piece of paper fell out.
Three numbers were written on it.
17 — 04 — 99
Maya stared.
April 17, 1999.
She checked the diary.
There was no entry for that date.
Instead, the pages had been removed.
Someone had deliberately erased that day.
That night, Maya heard footsteps outside the farmhouse.
She switched off the lights.
A vehicle stopped near the driveway.
She watched from behind the curtain.
A man stepped out.
Older.
Tall.
Wearing a dark coat.
He looked directly at the house.
Then he walked toward the basement entrance.
Maya held her breath.
The man tried the door.
Locked.
He stood there for several seconds.
Then he whispered something.
Maya couldn’t hear the words.
But she recognized the voice.
It belonged to Sheriff Caleb Morris.
