Chapter 5
I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
Michael breathed into the phone.
“That’s what it says.”
“Read it.”
“Emily—”
“Read the note.”
Paper rustled.
His voice shook.
“You were supposed to fix what your father ruined. Instead, you let that woman turn you against your own blood. I sacrificed everything for you. If you choose her daughter over your real family, then you deserve whatever happens next.”
I stared at Dana.
“Her daughter?”
“That’s what she wrote.”
Sophie was Michael’s daughter.
Biologically.
Legally.
In every way.
Why would Linda phrase it like that?
“What does she mean by what your father ruined?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Michael.”
“I swear.”
Dana motioned for the phone.
I handed it over.
“Michael, this is Dana Whitmore.”
His tone immediately hardened.
“You’re her lawyer.”
“Yes. And I’m advising Emily not to discuss marital finances with you directly going forward.”
“This is my family.”
“It is also now a legal matter.”
“I need to speak to my wife.”
“She can choose whether to speak with you.”
“Emily.”
I took the phone back.
“What?”
“Please come home.”
“No.”
“Mom is gone. Rachel is gone. I’m alone.”
The words made me furious.
“You think loneliness is the emergency?”
“No.”
“Sophie spent nights on a floor while you were ten feet away.”
“I know.”
“She was locked in a room.”
“I know.”
“She was denied food.”
“I know!”
“Then sit in your empty house and think about what she felt.”
I hung up.
For an hour, I tried to focus on paperwork.
I couldn’t.
The note bothered me.
Not because Linda had insulted me.
That was expected.
Because of one phrase.
What your father ruined.
Michael’s father, Frank, had always been kind to me.
Quiet.
Patient.
He adored Sophie.
He died suddenly from a heart attack when she was one.
Afterward, Linda had become more controlling.
At the time, I assumed it was grief.
Now I wondered what Frank had known.
I called Claire.
“Do you remember Frank ever talking about money?”
“Michael’s dad?”
“Yes.”
“Not really.”
“Anything about inheritance?”
“No. Why?”
I told her about Rachel’s comments.
Claire was quiet.
Then she said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Your wedding.”
“What about it?”
“The night before.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“Frank was drunk.”
That I remembered.
“He pulled me aside,” Claire continued.
“And?”
“He said something strange.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Emily is the first good thing that family has had in years. I hope Linda doesn’t ruin this one too.’”
A chill ran through me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he meant Michael’s old girlfriends.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Claire hesitated.
“He asked if Dad had ever taught us to keep our own bank accounts.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
“I thought it was old-man marriage advice.”
“Exact words.”
“I don’t remember exact.”
“Try.”
She sighed.
“He said something like, ‘A woman should always know where her money is, especially when another woman thinks it belongs to her.’”
I stood so quickly my chair scraped the floor.
Dana looked up.
I repeated what Claire had said.
Dana didn’t look surprised.
“Families hide patterns,” she said.
“What kind of patterns?”
“Financial control. Abuse. Dependency. Secrets.”
I thought about Frank.
His tired smile.
The way he sometimes looked at Linda when she interrupted him.
Like a man who had stopped arguing years earlier.
“Can we get his estate records?”
“If probate was filed, much may be public.”
Dana started searching.
Ten minutes later, she found it.
Frank Carter’s estate.
Small.
At least on paper.
Household assets.
An old truck.
A retirement account naming Linda.
Nothing resembling a fortune.
Then Dana clicked another filing.
Her brows drew together.
“What?”
“There was a dispute.”
“Between who?”
“Linda and someone named Rebecca Carter.”
I had never heard the name.
“Who’s Rebecca?”
Dana scrolled.
“Frank’s daughter.”
I laughed.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“According to this, yes.”
“Michael is an only child.”
“Apparently not.”
The documents were limited.
Rebecca had challenged part of the estate.
The matter was settled confidentially.
Her address was redacted.
But her name remained.
Rebecca Anne Carter.
Frank’s daughter.
Michael’s sister.
Another secret sibling.
I almost felt numb enough to find it funny.
“Does Michael know?”
“Probably.”
I called him again.
He answered.
“What now?”
“Who is Rebecca?”
Silence.
A very long silence.
“Michael.”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Answer me.”
“She’s nobody.”
“Wrong answer.”
“She’s my half sister.”
“And you never told me.”
“We don’t talk.”
“Why?”
“Because she hates Mom.”
That sounded like a reason to trust Rebecca immediately.
“What happened?”
“Dad had an affair before I was born.”
“With Rebecca’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“How old is Rebecca?”
“Forty-two.”
Michael was thirty-seven.
“Did you grow up together?”
“No. Dad saw her sometimes.”
“And Linda?”
“Hated her.”
“Why did Rebecca challenge Frank’s estate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You have been lying to me for years.”
“That doesn’t mean every sentence is a lie.”
It was the first fair thing he had said.
I hated that.
“Do you have Rebecca’s number?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“No.”
“Did your father leave her money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Michael.”
“I was told no.”
“By Linda?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
“Did Frank ever tell you that your mother had money problems?”
“He said she spent too much.”
“That’s all?”
“Emily, Dad avoided conflict.”
“So did you.”
He didn’t answer.
I continued.
“What does the note mean? What did Frank ruin?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ever tell you to protect me from her?”
Silence.
My skin prickled.
“He did.”
Michael exhaled.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Before we got married.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing specific.”
“Try me.”
“He told me not to let Mom become part of our marriage.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you did exactly that.”
“I know.”
“No, you didn’t just let her into our marriage. You gave her access to our money. Our house. Our daughter.”
“I know.”
“And you hid another child because she told you to.”
Silence.
I opened my eyes.
That silence was different.
“Linda told you not to tell me about Noah.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
“Why?”
“She said you’d leave.”
“And you listened?”
“I was twenty-nine. We were planning the wedding. Rachel told me she was pregnant, then disappeared for months. Mom said maybe the baby wasn’t mine.”
“But then you found out.”
“Yes.”
“When Noah was born?”
“Yes.”
“And you still married me.”
“I loved you.”
“You loved yourself more.”
“Emily.”
“You wanted the wife. The wedding. The daughter. The house. And then when Noah came back into your life, you wanted him too.”
“He is my son.”
“I know.”
“You say that like I was wrong for wanting him.”
“No. You were wrong for deciding Sophie had to lose something so Noah could gain it.”
“I never wanted that.”
“But you allowed it.”
He was crying again.
I no longer cared.
“Send me a picture of Linda’s note.”
“Okay.”
“And the bank statements.”
“My lawyer—”
“You have a lawyer?”
A pause.
“As of this afternoon.”
“Good.”
I ended the call.
Twenty minutes later, the note arrived.
I zoomed in on the handwriting.
Something looked strange.
Not the words.
The paper.
At the bottom was a faint printed line.
A logo.
SUNSET PINES.
I searched it.
Sunset Pines Senior Living.
Fort Worth.
I frowned.
Linda didn’t live in senior housing.
Dana saw the screen.
“Maybe stationery?”
“Maybe.”
I called Sunset Pines.
A receptionist answered.
“I’m trying to locate someone who may have stayed there. Linda Carter.”
The receptionist paused.
“I’m sorry, we cannot confirm resident information.”
“What about Frank Carter?”
Another pause.
“I can’t disclose—”
Then she stopped.
“Did you say Frank Carter?”
“Yes.”
Her voice changed.
“He passed away several years ago.”
“You knew him?”
“I’ve worked here twelve years.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Was he a resident?”
“No.”
“Then why do you know his name?”
Silence.
I could hear typing.
“I really shouldn’t discuss—”
“Please. His widow has disappeared with a large amount of money and left a note on your stationery.”
That changed everything.
The receptionist lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Carter used to visit someone here.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Family?”
“I can’t say.”
“Was it Rebecca Carter?”
The woman inhaled sharply.
I had my answer.
Before I could ask another question, she said, “You need to speak to Rebecca yourself.”
“Do you know how to reach her?”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Will you give me her number?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
“But I can give her yours.”
Dana nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
I gave her my number.
Then we waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
An hour.
Nothing.
I was beginning to think Rebecca would never call.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
Her voice was calm.
Older than mine.
Careful.
“Is this Emily Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Rebecca.”
I looked at Dana.
“Thank you for calling.”
“Before you say anything, I need to know one thing.”
“What?”
“Is Sophie safe?”
I stopped breathing.
“How do you know Sophie’s name?”
May you like
Rebecca was silent for a moment.
Then she said, “Because my father was terrified Linda would eventually do to your daughter what she did to me.”
