I didn't call Elora that evening.
I wanted to.
I wanted to ask why she had chosen me, why she had watched my schedule, and why she hadn't trusted me enough to tell me the truth.
But I knew I would get emotional.
And I didn't want another conversation where I ended up comforting someone who had kept important information from me.
So I waited until morning.
I placed the shoebox on the dining table and made myself a cup of coffee.
Then I read Elora's letter again.
Every sentence seemed more uncomfortable than the last.
She admitted that her decision to stay with me had been planned.
She admitted that she had been watching my schedule.
And she admitted that the old room was the reason she had wanted to enter my house.
But she hadn't explained what Arthur had left behind.
That was the question I needed answered.
I called Helen again.
She answered quickly.
"Claire, is everything all right?"
"I read Elora's letter."
There was a pause.
"Then you know about the room."
"Yes. I also know your father had something to do with it."
Helen sighed.
"What are you planning to do?"
"I want to find out what's behind that wall."
She became quiet.
Then she asked me not to damage anything.
I agreed.
I wasn't planning to start breaking pieces of my house apart.
I only wanted to understand what I was looking at.
Helen suggested that I contact a locksmith or a professional who handled old properties.
She also offered to come over if I needed someone familiar with the house's history.
I thanked her.
Then I ended the call.
I spent the next hour examining the photograph.
The small metal plate appeared to be part of an old locking mechanism.
The number 214 was stamped into it.
I compared it with the luggage tag.
They matched.
That couldn't be accidental.
I returned to the spare bedroom.
The wardrobe was still slightly away from the wall.
I moved it farther.
Then I examined the wallpaper.
There were two faint lines running vertically.
They formed a narrow rectangle.
I touched the surface.
It felt different from the surrounding wall.
I took several photographs.
Then I called a local carpenter who had previously repaired a door in my house.
I explained that I had discovered what appeared to be an old concealed compartment.
He agreed to come that afternoon.
When he arrived, I showed him the photograph and the metal edge.
He examined everything carefully.
"This looks like an old access panel."
"Can you open it?"
"Possibly. But I don't want to force anything."
I nodded.
"Please don't damage the wall."
He worked slowly.
First, he removed a narrow strip of damaged wallpaper.
Then he examined the metal fitting.
After several minutes, he looked at me.
"There's a lock here."
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
"Can you open it?"
"Not without knowing how it works."
I remembered the luggage tag.
I brought it downstairs.
The carpenter examined the number.
"That might be a reference number rather than a key code."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It could identify a particular storage compartment or an old locking system."
I showed him the photograph of the room.
He studied it.
Then he looked back at the wall.
"I think we should remove this small panel first."
He worked carefully.
Eventually, a narrow section came loose.
Behind it was a dark opening.
I stepped backward.
The carpenter shone his flashlight inside.
There was a small space behind the wall.
Not large enough to stand in.
But large enough to hold a narrow cabinet.
And there it was.
An old metal cabinet.
I covered my mouth.
The carpenter looked at me.
"Do you know what's inside?"
"No."
He examined the cabinet door.
There was a small lock.
And beneath it, a number.
214\.
I felt my knees weaken.
The luggage tag.
The photograph.
The hidden cabinet.
Everything matched.
The carpenter asked whether I wanted him to continue.
I nodded.
After a few more minutes, he managed to release the locking mechanism without damaging the cabinet.
The door opened slowly.
Inside were three brown folders, a small envelope, and a bundle of papers tied with faded string.
Nothing looked recently disturbed.
There was dust everywhere.
The carpenter stepped back.
"I think that's your lot."
I thanked him and paid him for his time.
When he left, I closed the bedroom door.
I didn't want anyone walking in while I examined what had been hidden.
I brought a chair over.
Then I removed the first folder.
The label was written in black ink.
ARTHUR — PROPERTY RECORDS.
I sat down.
My former father-in-law's name was written across the front.
I opened it.
There were deeds, property descriptions, financial records, and copies of legal correspondence.
Some documents were dated more than twenty years earlier.
Others were dated shortly before Arthur died.
I didn't understand everything.
But I noticed something important.
My house was mentioned repeatedly.
I checked the address.
It was exactly the property I had purchased six years earlier.
I read the first document carefully.
It referred to an agreement involving Arthur and another person.
The details were difficult to follow.
But one paragraph mentioned a financial contribution made toward the purchase and renovation of the property.
I read it again.
Then I turned to the next page.
There was a handwritten note.
Arthur's signature appeared at the bottom.
I recognized it from the few birthday cards he had written during my marriage.
The note referred to a private arrangement.
It also mentioned that certain original records should remain in the hidden cabinet until the family matter was settled.
I felt a chill.
The second folder contained more documents.
Some referred to a company.
Others referred to a family property arrangement.
I recognized Shane's name.
Melissa's name.
Daniel's name.
But there was another name too.
Claire.
Mine.
I stared at it.
Why would Arthur have included me?
I had never been part of his financial affairs.
I wasn't his daughter.
I wasn't even married to Shane anymore.
Yet my name appeared in several places.
I opened the third folder.
Inside was a list of dates and payments.
At the bottom was a note.
The original agreement must remain with the property until all parties have acknowledged its terms.
I didn't understand the legal meaning.
But I knew these papers were important.
I returned to the small envelope.
It had been sealed.
Across the front, Arthur had written:
For Elora, when the time is right.
I sat completely still.
The envelope had been waiting inside that cabinet for years.
I carefully opened it.
There was a single handwritten page.
Arthur's writing was shaky but readable.
The letter began with Elora's name.
Then I noticed another sentence.
"If Claire is still part of our family, she should be allowed to know the truth."
I stopped reading.
I felt my throat tighten.
For the first time, I understood that Arthur had thought about me long before I knew anything about the hidden room.
But I still didn't know why.
I continued reading.
The letter referred to an agreement involving the property.
It explained that Arthur had wanted certain financial matters recorded separately so that nobody could later claim they had never existed.
He had also written that he wanted Elora to have access to the original documents.
The last paragraph was unfinished.
The ink faded near the bottom.
I couldn't make out every word.
But one sentence was clear.
"Do not allow my children to pressure you into signing anything until you have seen the original agreement."
I put the letter down.
The names in the shoebox suddenly seemed more significant.
Shane.
Melissa.
Daniel.
And Elora.
I gathered the documents carefully.
Then I called Patricia.
She answered almost immediately.
"Claire?"
"I found it."
There was a long silence.
"Found what?"
"The hidden cabinet."
She exhaled.
"Oh, my goodness."
"There's paperwork inside. A lot of it."
"What does it say?"
"I'm still trying to understand."
I looked at Arthur's letter.
"But I think Elora knew exactly what she was looking for."
Patricia became quiet.
Then she asked:
"Are you going to call her?"
I looked at the envelope.
"Yes."
But before I could reach for my phone, I noticed something else inside the cabinet.
A second envelope.
This one was addressed to all three of Arthur's children.
And it had never been opened.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Letter Addressed to Shane, Melissa, and Daniel Revealed Why Elora Had Been So Afraid of Her Own Children’s Decisions
I Thought My Marriage Was the Only Thing My Ex-Husband’s Family Had Taken From Me, Until His Mother Needed My Help
Part 9 of 20
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