Chapter 8
The next morning, a DNA test destroyed the last version of the story anyone still believed.
Thomas wasn’t Rebecca’s father.
Rebecca had arranged testing weeks earlier after inconsistencies appeared in Carol’s story.
She hadn’t received the results until the night before.
Probability of biological paternity: 0%.
Thomas sat in his hospital bed staring at the paper for almost a full minute.
Rebecca stood beside him.
I stayed near the door.
I had almost not gone.
But Rebecca asked me to come because Emma’s medical history had become tangled in the same lies.
Thomas finally looked up.
“So Carol knew.”
Rebecca nodded.
“She had to.”
He laughed once.
It sounded painful.
“All of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“No. You don’t apologize for somebody else lying.”
The sentence hit me hard.
I needed to hear it too.
Thomas looked at me.
“Michael knew?”
“We don’t know when he learned.”
Detective Ortiz, standing near the window, answered.
“We believe recently.”
She had joined us because Thomas was giving a formal statement.
“Mr. Carter searched commercial genealogy databases from one of the prepaid phones approximately five weeks ago.”
Rebecca looked stunned.
“He knew five weeks ago?”
“Likely.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“And still took my money.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Rebecca whispered, “Why?”
Ortiz answered cautiously.
“Financial motive appears significant.”
I thought of the fake story Michael built.
Secret sister.
Guilty biological father.
Medical connection.
Every piece designed to unlock another wallet.
Thomas’s.
Mine.
Carol’s.
Maybe even Rebecca’s.
“What about Emma’s condition?” I asked.
“If Thomas isn’t connected to Rebecca, then her diagnosis doesn’t explain Emma’s.”
Thomas nodded.
“Correct.”
Rebecca looked sick.
“So Michael hid information that wasn’t even useful.”
“Not necessarily,” Thomas said.
We looked at him.
“Rebecca’s condition could still matter if she and Michael share a biological father.”
I understood.
Raymond.
Michael’s father.
Rebecca’s biological father.
If both siblings inherited a trait from him, Emma could inherit it from Michael.
“Was Raymond diagnosed with anything?” I asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“He died young,” I said.
Michael’s father had died at forty-six.
Carol always said it was a sudden heart attack.
Thomas looked sharply at me.
“Forty-six?”
“Yes.”
“Autopsy?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Ortiz wrote something down.
Thomas turned to Rebecca.
“You need to bring your genetic report to Sarah’s daughter’s physicians.”
“I will.”
I thanked her.
For the first time since this started, something useful had emerged from the wreckage.
Maybe the truth could help Emma even if the lies had endangered her.
My phone buzzed.
David Mercer.
The attorney.
I stepped into the hallway to answer.
“Sarah, we have a problem.”
Of course we did.
“What happened?”
“The house sale progressed further than we thought.”
My knees weakened.
“How?”
“Michael had a buyer.”
“Who?”
“An LLC.”
“What LLC?”
“Pine Ridge Holdings.”
“Who owns it?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Did they know I was on the original deed?”
“The title history would show it.”
“Then how did they accept the quitclaim?”
“That’s what concerns me.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Can they take the house?”
“The transaction hasn’t closed.”
I exhaled.
“But?”
“But there’s a signed purchase agreement.”
“By Michael.”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
David paused.
“Two hundred and forty thousand.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“Our house is worth at least four hundred and fifty thousand.”
“I know.”
“So he was selling it for nearly half its value?”
“Yes.”
“Why would anyone do that unless—”
I stopped.
Unless the buyer was part of it.
David said, “Exactly.”
“Can we stop the sale?”
“We filed notice of the title dispute this morning.”
“Good.”
“There’s more.”
I closed my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“The earnest money.”
“What about it?”
“The buyer paid Michael thirty thousand dollars upfront.”
My heart sank.
“When?”
“Last month.”
More money.
Always more money.
“And where is it?”
“We don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
That phrase had become the soundtrack of my life.
After hanging up, I returned to Thomas’s room.
Detective Ortiz was asking him about his confrontation with Michael.
Thomas explained that Michael came demanding $25,000.
Thomas refused.
Michael accused Rebecca of ruining everything.
Then Michael said something strange.
“He told me Carol had promised this would work.”
Ortiz looked up.
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“What would work?”
“I asked. He wouldn’t answer.”
Carol.
Again.
Every road eventually returned to her.
I asked, “Where is she now?”
Ortiz looked at me.
“She was released pending investigation.”
I hated that.
“Does she know where I am?”
“Probably.”
“Does she know Michael has been arrested?”
“Yes.”
“Has she spoken to him?”
“I can’t discuss recorded jail communication.”
Her wording answered enough.
I looked at Rebecca.
“Your mother is still protecting him.”
Rebecca gave a sad smile.
“She’s been protecting him his whole life.”
“No.”
Thomas looked toward us.
“She hasn’t.”
We both turned.
He stared at the ceiling.
“She has been protecting herself.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Thomas looked at Rebecca.
“When Carol contacted me after all these years, she didn’t say she had found you.”
Rebecca froze.
“What?”
“She said Michael had.”
My pulse quickened.
Thomas continued.
“She told me Michael discovered an old letter and tracked you down.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No. I contacted her.”
“I know that now.”
“So why lie?”
Thomas said, “Because she wanted me to believe Michael was doing something noble.”
I thought about that.
Carol constantly cast Michael as a rescuer.
Michael helping Rebecca.
Michael protecting the family.
Michael handling finances.
Michael fixing problems.
Even when he was the person creating them.
Thomas continued.
“Carol also told me Raymond had spent years searching for Rebecca before he died.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“That’s not true.”
“You know?”
“I have the adoption records. There was no attempt to contact me.”
Thomas nodded.
“Then Carol was constructing a story for both of us.”
I whispered, “Why?”
Detective Ortiz’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
Two minutes later she returned.
Her expression had changed.
“We may have an answer.”
She looked at Rebecca.
“Did Carol know you inherited money from your adoptive parents?”
Rebecca stared.
“How do you know about that?”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“A little over three hundred thousand.”
I blinked.
“You have three hundred thousand dollars?”
“Had.”
The word landed heavily.
“What happened?”
Rebecca stared at the floor.
“I invested most of it.”
“With who?” Ortiz asked.
Rebecca didn’t answer.
Ortiz stepped closer.
“Rebecca.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“With Michael.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I felt the room tilt.
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
I stared at her.
“You gave Michael two hundred thousand dollars?”
“He said he had a business opportunity.”
“Carter Consulting?”
She nodded.
Thomas closed his eyes.
Rebecca started crying.
“He showed me contracts. Financial projections. He said he was investing too.”
I thought of the fake medical transport company.
The imaginary business.
The gambling debts.
“Did you ever see the business operate?”
“No.”
“Did you verify anything?”
“I trusted my brother.”
The word brother cracked in her throat.
Detective Ortiz asked, “Where was the money wired?”
Rebecca gave her the details.
Ortiz immediately stepped out to make a call.
I looked at Rebecca.
Suddenly I understood why she had defended Michael at first.
Why she didn’t want to believe the worst.
She hadn’t just discovered family.
She had bought into it.
Literally.
“He targeted you,” I said.
Rebecca covered her face.
“I’m so stupid.”
“No.”
I thought of what Thomas had told her.
“You don’t apologize for somebody else lying.”
She looked at me.
I continued.
“He studied what each of us wanted.”
I wanted my marriage to survive.
Rebecca wanted a biological family.
Thomas wanted forgiveness.
Carol wanted to protect Michael—or herself.
Michael used all of it.
A few minutes later, Ortiz returned.
“We found where Rebecca’s money went.”
Rebecca stood.
“Where?”
“Several places.”
Ortiz looked grim.
“Approximately ninety thousand went to gambling-related accounts.”
Rebecca’s face collapsed.
“Another forty-five thousand repaid private debts.”
She gripped the hospital bed.
“And the rest?”
Ortiz looked at me.
“A substantial portion was transferred to Pine Ridge Holdings.”
The company buying my house.
My skin went cold.
“So Michael paid the company that is supposedly buying our house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Thomas said, “Money laundering?”
Ortiz remained cautious.
“Possibly.”
Then she looked at Rebecca.
“There’s one other transfer.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“To who?”
“Seventy thousand dollars.”
Ortiz paused.
“To Carol Williams.”
Nobody spoke.
Rebecca stared at her.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“No. She told me she was struggling financially.”
Ortiz nodded.
“That may have been untrue.”
I remembered Carol mocking me about hospitals offering payment plans.
Carol calling my house Michael’s.
Carol entering my bedroom.
Carol knowing exactly where to look.
This had never been just Michael.
I felt certain now.
Carol wasn’t cleaning up her son’s mess.
She was part of it.
My phone rang.
Carol.
I stared at her name.
Ortiz looked at the screen.
“Answer it.”
I put it on speaker.
“Hello?”
Carol’s voice was shaking.
“Sarah.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“It’s about Emma.”
My blood chilled.
“What about her?”
Carol started crying.
“There’s something in Raymond’s medical records you need to know.”
Rebecca grabbed the edge of the bed.
“What?”
Carol heard her voice.
“Rebecca is there?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God.”
“Tell us.”
Carol was silent.
Then:
“Not over the phone.”
I almost hung up.
She rushed on.
“Sarah, please. I have Raymond’s autopsy report.”
Thomas sat upright despite the pain.
I asked, “What does it say?”
Carol began sobbing.
“He didn’t die from a normal heart attack.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What did he die from?”
May you like
Her answer came as a whisper.
“The same thing the doctors are afraid Emma might have.”
