Our Unlucky Stars

32

Chapter Thirty-Two | Keeping Up With The Claremonts

My grandfather, Peter Claremont was a man of class and grace. There was this charm to him, an unexplainable charisma that gravitated everyone towards him like a moth to a flame, and as I scanned through these pictures I found in the jewelry box I found in my father's office, I can finally see what everyone meant.

Photos and a single key were the only things I found in the jewelry box. Corbin seemed to be more disappointed than I was, quickly stating, "Some photos and a damn house key? Liam, you have the most boring family ever!" I guess he was expecting something crazy like a map to treasure or a letter with some cryptic message, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't expecting something a little more mysterious as well.

I was home now. Locked up in my room supposedly finishing a few courses of my online classes, but I wasn't because I'm nosy as fuck and decided to sneak the photos and key from my father's office. I left the jewelry box, but the photos were now laid sprawled over my bed, all twenty-eight of them. I studied them like I should've been studying those online classes, but these photos were a lot more interesting.

For the most part, each of them was relativity the same. Each a picture of my grandfather in his prime, in a different location. He looked like my father. Same prominent jawline, intense blue eyes, and an even intenser smile that showcased all thirty-two teeth. He looked like a nice man, probably funny too. Crazy to think someone would murder him.

I picked up one of the photos. It looked like my grandfather was in the middle of Times Square. He flashed the wide smile as he seemed to be laughing at something — or rather someone behind the camera. I thought it was my grandmother, my father's mother at first, but then I remembered my father telling me that grandpa and grandma got a divorce shortly after he was born.

He never told me the reason he was too young to remember. All he ever says is that my grandpa was foolish with his heart, he loved too much. My father doesn't like talking about his childhood much. I always wondered about the Claremont family's history, how it all started, but my father would always brush it off with a laugh and say "Parris, we're Claremont's. Just Google it."

It's got me so mad when he says that, but then I remember he doesn't even really know the history himself. By the time he was one my grandfather had already been murdered and the company was given to my grandmother who truthfully wanted no point and had the biggest decrease in the company's profit. It wasn't until my father turned seventeen that he got involved with the company and turned everything around for the better.

I flipped the photo of my grandfather over and inspected the back to see someone's handwriting on the back. I assume it's my grandfather's at first but after reading it I realized it was someone else's.