Chapter 9
Daniel called Michael at midnight.
I wanted him to wait.
The police wanted him to wait.
Daniel could not.
Michael answered on the third ring.
“Daniel?”
“Who knows about Thomas?”
A pause.
“What?”
“Who knows how he died?”
Michael’s voice changed.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Daniel looked at the photograph sealed inside an evidence bag.
“Somebody came to my son’s window.”
Silence.
“Michael?”
“I’m here.”
“They left a picture.”
“What picture?”
“You. Mom. Dad.”
Michael breathed in sharply.
“What did it say?”
Daniel read the sentence.
Ask Michael how Thomas really died.
Michael went silent.
Too silent.
Daniel’s face hardened.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Not over the phone.”
Daniel nearly exploded.
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“No more of that.”
I touched his arm.
He pulled away.
“You tell me now.”
Michael’s voice was low.
“Thomas had cancer.”
“I know.”
“He also had a heart condition.”
Daniel frowned.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“My mother said the cancer spread.”
“It did.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Michael hesitated.
“Three weeks before he died, Thomas called me to the house.”
Daniel’s face changed.
“The day you made the tape?”
“Yes.”
“Mom was there?”
“No.”
“Where was she?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael continued.
“Thomas was in pain. He had medication.”
Daniel swallowed.
“What kind?”
“Prescription painkillers. Sedatives.”
I looked at Daniel.
Michael’s voice shook.
“He told me he was afraid Patricia was giving him too much.”
Daniel stood.
“What?”
“He said he would wake up confused.”
“That happens when someone is sick.”
“Yes.”
“He thought Mom was hurting him?”
“He didn’t know.”
Daniel’s face went white.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“He made me promise not to accuse her without proof.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“And you listened?”
“He was dying.”
“You keep listening to everybody except the person who deserved the truth.”
“I know.”
Daniel pressed his fingers into his forehead.
“Did you think she killed him?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Daniel heard it.
“Michael.”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
Michael took a breath.
“I believed Thomas died from his illness.”
“But?”
“The night before he died, he called me.”
Daniel froze.
“At what time?”
“A little after ten.”
“What did he say?”
“He sounded frightened.”
Daniel whispered, “Of Mom?”
“He said Patricia had found copies of the financial records.”
My stomach dropped.
Michael continued.
“He said they argued.”
“What else?”
“He said, ‘If anything happens before I get those papers to Daniel, make sure he gets them someday.’”
Daniel stared at the floor.
“And then?”
“The call ended.”
“How?”
“He said Patricia was coming upstairs.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“What happened the next day?”
“He died around six in the morning.”
No one spoke.
I could hear the refrigerator humming.
Finally, Daniel said, “Did you go to the police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because his death was expected.”
“Did you tell my mother about the call?”
“No.”
“Then who knows?”
“Rebecca knows part of it.”
“Who else?”
Michael hesitated.
“Gerald Carlisle.”
Daniel’s head snapped up.
“The accountant?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Thomas asked him to prepare the trust.”
Everything turned toward Carlisle.
The forged documents.
The fake statements.
Lauren’s notarized signature.
The records.
And now, a midnight visitor telling us to ask about Thomas.
Police identified the man from the security footage the next afternoon.
His name was Victor Hale.
He had worked for Carlisle’s accounting firm for nineteen years.
He claimed he left the envelope because he was scared.
Scared of what?
Carlisle.
Victor told investigators he had spent years processing transactions connected to Patricia.
He said some records were falsified.
Some signatures had been copied.
He had helped.
Not because Patricia threatened him.
Because Carlisle paid him.
Then the investigation widened again.
According to Victor, Thomas had confronted Carlisle shortly before his death.
Thomas discovered money had already been moved out of the family account.
Not twenty-two thousand.
More.
Patricia had been withdrawing money while Thomas was alive.
Carlisle had helped disguise it.
After Thomas died, the two continued.
Victor insisted he knew nothing about the circumstances of Thomas’s death.
The message on the photograph had been meant to force Daniel to ask questions.
It was reckless.
Terrifying.
And, according to police, not an immediate threat.
That did not make me feel better.
The detective warned us not to jump to conclusions about Thomas.
There was no evidence Patricia caused his death.
His medical records documented terminal cancer.
His death certificate listed complications related to the disease.
No suspicious toxicology had been performed because no one suspected anything at the time.
Nearly twenty-six years had passed.
There might never be an answer beyond that.
Daniel struggled with it.
For days, he barely slept.
Then something unexpected happened.
Patricia asked to speak with prosecutors.
Not through Daniel.
Not through family.
Through her attorney.
She wanted a deal.
The financial evidence was becoming overwhelming.
Carlisle had started blaming her.
Victor was cooperating.
Lauren’s minor signature created another problem.
The forged letter using Daniel’s name created another.
And the school incident had destroyed Patricia’s argument that the broom attack was a one-time lapse in judgment.
Her attorney proposed a meeting with Daniel and Lauren as part of a possible mediated resolution on the family-property issues.
Our attorney advised against it.
Daniel wanted to go.
I didn’t.
“What can she say that changes anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why go?”
“Because I need to hear her admit it.”
“She may not.”
“Then I need to know that too.”
The mediation happened at an attorney’s office downtown.
I went with Daniel.
Lauren went too.
Patricia entered through another door.
It was the first time I had seen her since the school.
She looked smaller.
Older.
But not weak.
Her eyes went directly to Daniel.
Then to me.
Then Lauren.
Nobody hugged.
Nobody smiled.
The attorneys established rules.
No threats.
No shouting.
No direct discussion of pending criminal charges without counsel.
Patricia sat with her hands folded.
Daniel spoke first.
“Why did you do it?”
Her attorney started to interrupt.
Patricia stopped him.
“Which part?”
Daniel laughed once.
“That answer says enough.”
Patricia looked down.
“The money?”
“All of it.”
She took a breath.
“I was afraid.”
“Of Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Of Dad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Of Claire?”
Patricia looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Of Ethan?”
Her face tightened.
“I never feared Ethan.”
“You beat him because he found a key.”
“I panicked.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because that key opened the box that proved everything.”
“What everything?”
“That I spent the money.”
Daniel waited.
Patricia’s eyes filled.
“That I lied.”
He waited again.
“That Thomas knew.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“And the fake video?”
Patricia looked at me.
“I thought Claire was going to cut me out.”
“You told my son to say his mother hurts him.”
“I wanted proof she was unstable.”
“You manufactured proof.”
“Yes.”
Lauren spoke.
“And me?”
Patricia looked at her.
Lauren’s voice shook.
“Was I unstable too?”
“Lauren—”
“You locked me in rooms.”
Patricia’s face changed.
“You were difficult.”
Daniel stood.
His attorney touched his arm.
He sat back down.
Lauren stared at her mother.
“I was a child.”
Patricia looked away.
“You used to tell me Daniel would leave if I told him.”
“I was overwhelmed.”
“You grabbed me by my hair.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do.”
Patricia’s face hardened.
“Children remember things incorrectly.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Like Ethan?”
Patricia went silent.
“Does he remember incorrectly too?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I lost control.”
“For five swings?”
“I said I lost control.”
Daniel looked at her.
“No. You lost control years ago.”
Patricia shook her head.
“You think Michael is better?”
“This is not about Michael.”
“He abandoned you.”
“This is about you.”
“Thomas hated him.”
“This is about you.”
“I kept this family together!”
Daniel slammed his palm onto the table.
“No!”
Everyone froze.
His voice cracked.
“You kept us dependent on your version of the family.”
Patricia stared at him.
“You lied to Michael.”
Daniel pointed toward Lauren.
“You silenced her.”
Then toward me.
“You tried to frame my wife.”
His voice shook.
“And you hurt my son.”
Patricia began crying.
“I love you.”
Daniel stared at her.
“I know.”
The answer surprised everyone.
He continued.
“That is what makes this so hard.”
Patricia’s face collapsed.
Daniel’s eyes filled too.
“But your love does not make you safe.”
She covered her mouth.
He continued.
“I spent my whole life thinking love meant I had to forgive whatever you did.”
“No.”
“You taught me that.”
“I did everything for you.”
“That sentence.”
Daniel nodded.
“That is exactly what I mean.”
Patricia cried harder.
Daniel leaned back.
“I am not asking you to stop loving me.”
She looked up.
“I am telling you love is not enough.”
The room went quiet.
Then Daniel asked the question that had been haunting him.
“Did you hurt Dad?”
Patricia stopped crying.
Lauren stared at her.
I watched every muscle in Patricia’s face.
“What?”
“Thomas.”
Daniel’s voice was barely audible.
“Did you do anything that caused his death?”
Patricia looked shocked.
Then offended.
Then angry.
“No.”
“Did you overmedicate him?”
“No.”
“He told Michael he was afraid you were giving him too much.”
Patricia’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
She looked down.
“I gave him what hospice told me to give him.”
“Nothing more?”
“No.”
“Did you argue the night before he died?”
“Yes.”
“About the records?”
“Yes.”
“Did you wish he would stop fighting you?”
Patricia started crying again.
“Yes.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“But I did not kill him.”
Her voice cracked.
“I lied to him. I stole money. I said horrible things.”
She pressed both hands against her chest.
“But I loved Thomas.”
Daniel stared at her.
“Why should I believe you?”
Patricia looked at him for a long time.
Then she whispered, “You shouldn’t.”
That was the first completely honest thing she had said.
Not believe me.
Not forgive me.
Not trust me.
You shouldn’t.
Daniel’s shoulders dropped.
Patricia wiped her eyes.
“There is something else.”
Every person at the table stiffened.
Her attorney whispered her name.
She ignored him.
“Thomas kept a second recording.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What?”
“He made it the night before he died.”
“Where is it?”
“I have it.”
Daniel’s face went white.
“You had it this whole time?”
“Yes.”
“What’s on it?”
Patricia looked destroyed.
“Our argument.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
“Why didn’t you destroy it?”
May you like
She gave a sad, broken smile.
“Because despite everything you believe about me, there were some things I could never make myself erase.”
