Chapter 4
Monday was four days away.
I lay awake almost the entire night thinking about those words.
Another way.
Before Monday.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Diane standing over me.
Calm.
Watching me suffer.
Then I imagined Warren somewhere else in Nashville, reading her message.
Waiting.
Planning.
The next morning, Detective Morales returned.
Ethan was not with her.
I was relieved.
And ashamed that I was relieved.
“How’s the baby?” she asked.
“Stable.”
“And you?”
“Ask me after Monday.”
Morales pulled the chair closer.
“We know why Monday matters.”
I sat up.
“What is it?”
She opened a folder.
“Your husband turns thirty-five on Monday.”
“I know.”
“There’s a provision in his father’s trust.”
I frowned.
“What trust?”
Morales watched my face.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
That was becoming a pattern.
She sighed.
“Ethan’s father, Richard Carter, founded Carter Development. When he died twelve years ago, part of his estate went directly to Diane. The rest was placed in a family trust.”
“I know about the company. Ethan doesn’t work there.”
“No. But his father left him controlling voting rights under specific conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“When Ethan turns thirty-five and has a living biological child.”
I stared at her.
“Our baby.”
“Yes.”
“What happens if he has a child?”
“Control of several major assets transfers from Diane’s authority to Ethan’s.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was so ugly.
“This is about money?”
“Possibly.”
“How much?”
“Based on preliminary records, tens of millions.”
My stomach tightened.
Not from pain this time.
From disgust.
“I don’t care about that money.”
“I believe you.”
“Ethan never told me.”
“Apparently he told investigators he wanted nothing to do with the family company.”
“Then why would Diane care?”
“Because Warren does.”
I leaned forward.
Morales slid a document onto the tray table.
It showed business names.
Accounts.
Signatures.
Large amounts of money.
“Warren has managed the trust’s legal structure for years. Diane has controlled several associated accounts. Once your child is born and Ethan reaches thirty-five, an independent audit is automatically triggered before the transfer.”
I stared at the paper.
“They stole from it.”
“We suspect substantial financial misconduct.”
“And Rachel?”
“Rachel was pregnant when Ethan was twenty-eight, so the age requirement hadn’t been met. But Richard Carter amended the trust shortly before his death. There are other provisions involving grandchildren.”
“What provisions?”
Morales hesitated.
“Rachel worked as an accountant.”
I remembered Ethan once mentioning that.
“She discovered something.”
“That’s our theory.”
I felt a chill.
“Before she died?”
“Two weeks before her miscarriage, she emailed a financial investigator asking how to report suspected trust fraud.”
My mouth fell open.
“Did Ethan know?”
“We’re asking him.”
Of course they were.
I pressed both hands against my forehead.
Every answer created three more questions.
A nurse entered to check the monitor.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
The baby’s heartbeat remained steady.
That sound kept me grounded.
When the nurse left, I asked, “Where’s Diane?”
“In custody.”
“And Warren?”
“We contacted him last night.”
“You contacted him?”
“He claimed he was out of town.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
Morales continued.
“His phone is off. His house was empty.”
My fear returned.
“So he’s gone.”
“We’re looking for him.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“Assume he does.”
I looked toward the hospital door.
Morales noticed.
“There’s an officer outside.”
“One officer?”
“And hospital security has been alerted.”
I wanted to believe that was enough.
But I had believed locked doors were enough at home.
I had believed marriage was enough.
I had believed family was safe.
I wasn’t making that mistake again.
“I want to leave Nashville.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Your doctor doesn’t want you traveling.”
“Then I want a different room under a different name.”
Morales nodded.
“I think that’s reasonable.”
Within an hour, they moved me to another floor.
No flowers.
No visitors except approved names.
No room number given by phone.
Ethan came with a small overnight bag but stayed in the hallway until I agreed to see him.
When he entered, he placed the bag on a chair.
“I brought your charger. Clothes. The blue sweater you like.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at me uncertainly.
“Morales told me about the trust.”
“I figured.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I never wanted that money.”
“This isn’t about whether you wanted it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He sat down.
“I met with the detectives this morning. I gave them access to everything.”
“Did Rachel know about the trust?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Another secret.
“She found irregularities.”
“What kind?”
“I didn’t understand them at the time.”
“Did she tell you Diane and Warren were stealing?”
“She said money was disappearing.”
“And what did you do?”
He looked away.
“I asked Warren.”
I almost couldn’t believe it.
“You asked the man she suspected?”
“I didn’t know she suspected him then. I thought there was an accounting mistake.”
“What did Warren say?”
“He said Rachel misunderstood the documents.”
“And you believed him.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
“What happened next?”
“Mom told me Rachel was obsessed with money.”
I laughed once.
“Of course she did.”
“She said Rachel married me because of the trust.”
“And you believed that too.”
“I was stupid.”
“No.”
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“You were convenient.”
He went still.
“Diane didn’t need you to be stupid. She just needed you to keep choosing the explanation that made your life easier.”
Tears filled his eyes.
I didn’t stop.
“Rachel tells you your mother is dangerous? Rachel is emotional.”
He lowered his head.
“Rachel finds missing money? Rachel is greedy.”
He covered his face.
“Rachel says she’s being followed? Rachel is grieving.”
“Emily, please.”
“No. You need to hear it.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t believe women when believing us meant confronting your mother.”
He started crying.
Quietly.
For the first time, I didn’t comfort him.
After a long silence, he said, “There’s something else.”
I stared at him.
“Of course there is.”
“Rachel left me a box.”
“What box?”
“After she died, her friend Vanessa gave it to me.”
“What was inside?”
“Letters. Bank statements. Notes.”
My heartbeat sped up.
“Where is it?”
“I never opened everything.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Where is the box, Ethan?”
“In a storage unit.”
I almost ripped the hospital monitor off and got out of bed.
“You’ve had evidence for seven years?”
“I didn’t know what was in it.”
“You just said bank statements.”
“I looked at the top few papers. Then I closed it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was terrified I’d find proof that Rachel had been right.”
I looked away in disgust.
“Tell Morales.”
“I already did.”
“Good.”
“She’s sending officers with me.”
“You’re going?”
“I know where the unit is.”
I wanted to tell him not to.
I also wanted the truth.
“Go.”
He stood.
At the door, I said, “Ethan.”
He turned.
“If there is anything else you haven’t told me, now is the time.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he said, “The night Rachel died, she called me.”
I felt something inside me drop.
“You said she left a voicemail.”
“She did.”
“You answered too?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I saw her calling.”
His voice cracked.
“And I let it ring.”
The silence that followed felt enormous.
“Why?”
“Because we’d argued earlier. I was tired. Angry. I thought she was going to accuse my mother again.”
I stared at him.
“Her last call was to you.”
“Yes.”
“And you ignored it.”
“Yes.”
He wiped his face.
“I’ve heard that phone ring in my head every day for seven years.”
Then he left.
Three hours later, Detective Morales returned carrying a sealed evidence envelope.
Her expression told me they had found something.
“What was in the box?”
“A lot.”
“Tell me.”
She sat down.
“Rachel documented everything.”
My hands trembled.
“Everything?”
“Financial records. Dates Diane entered the house. Copies of texts. Photographs. A journal.”
“And?”
Morales slowly removed a photocopy.
“She also wrote letters.”
“To Ethan?”
“One to Ethan.”
She paused.
“And one addressed to the woman he marries after me.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Morales slid the photocopy toward me.
My hands shook as I unfolded it.
At the top, in neat handwriting, Rachel had written:
If you are reading this, he didn’t believe me until it was too late.
I covered my mouth.
The letter continued.
I don’t know who you are. I hope Ethan loves you. I hope he learned to listen.
But if Diane is still in his life, please do not eat or drink anything she gives you when you are alone.
My vision blurred.
Rachel had written those words seven years before I entered that kitchen.
Before she knew my name.
Before I knew Ethan.
Before my son existed.
I kept reading.
Diane is not protecting her son.
She is protecting control.
Warren knows.
If anything happens to me, look at the trust.
And then, beneath that, one final sentence.
There is a copy of everything somewhere Diane will never think to search.
I looked up.
“Where?”
Morales shook her head.
“We don’t know.”
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed instantly.
“What do you mean the unit was entered?”
My heart started pounding.
She stood.
“When?”
She listened.
Then she looked at me.
“Where’s Ethan?”
A pause.
Morales’s face went white.
She ended the call and rushed toward the door.
“What happened?” I shouted.
She turned back.
“The storage facility’s security camera caught someone entering through the rear gate twenty minutes before Ethan arrived.”
“Warren?”
“We think so.”
“And Ethan?”
Morales hesitated.
“His car is still there.”
May you like
My blood ran cold.
“But Ethan isn’t.”
