Chapter 8
Daniel stared at the phone in my hand.
His entire body had gone rigid.
Vanessa spoke first.
“Claire’s phone?”
Daniel whispered, “He’s lying.”
“Why would Patricia have Claire’s phone?”
“She didn’t.”
“We watched police carry out an old phone.”
“That could be anything.”
I stepped toward him.
“Then why are you scared?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Daniel looked at the farmhouse.
Then at the road.
Then back at me.
He seemed to realize there was nowhere left to run.
“I thought Claire’s phone was destroyed.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t recovered after the crash.”
Vanessa asked, “Was the vehicle submerged?”
“For a few hours.”
“So you assumed the phone was lost?”
“Yes.”
“Did Patricia tell you that?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Yes.”
Of course she did.
I was beginning to understand the pattern.
Patricia provided the explanation.
Daniel accepted it.
Nobody questioned the missing piece.
Until years later.
Detective Alvarez approached.
She had probably seen our faces.
“What happened?”
Vanessa told her about Marcus’s call.
The detective immediately asked for the number.
I gave it.
She walked away to contact someone.
Daniel rubbed his hands over his face.
“I need to leave.”
Vanessa said, “You probably shouldn’t.”
“I’m not arrested.”
“No.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“Hotel.”
“Which one?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
That hurt him.
I saw it.
A tiny piece of me almost felt guilty.
Then I remembered Emma cleaning juice off the kitchen floor while he was upstairs with Rachel.
The guilt disappeared.
Daniel walked to his car.
An officer stopped him briefly.
Then let him leave.
I watched the taillights disappear.
Rachel stood nearby holding Lily.
She looked exhausted.
“I hate him.”
I looked at her.
“So do I.”
She gave a broken laugh.
“That feels weird.”
“What?”
“Standing here talking to you.”
“Yes.”
“I slept with your husband.”
“Yes.”
“I believed he was divorced.”
“I know.”
She stared at the gravel.
“Do you really believe me?”
I thought about it.
“I believe he lied to you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
She nodded.
Fair enough.
Lily lifted her head.
She looked at me.
Up close, the resemblance to Emma was even stronger.
Same eyes.
Same eyebrows.
Same tiny dimple.
“Are you Emma’s mommy?” she asked.
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Daddy showed me her picture.”
Rachel’s head snapped down.
“What?”
Lily rubbed her eyes.
“Daddy said she was my friend.”
Rachel looked at me.
I felt sick.
“How long has he shown you Emma?”
Lily shrugged.
“Lots.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
Daniel had known exactly what he was doing.
He maintained two families in his mind.
Two little girls.
Two women.
Two futures.
Maybe more.
That thought frightened me.
I asked Vanessa quietly, “Can we find out if there are other children?”
She looked at me.
“We can try.”
Rachel let out a stunned laugh.
“I hate that this is now a reasonable question.”
Detective Alvarez returned.
“We’re going to request records associated with Marcus’s number.”
“Will you arrest him?” I asked.
“For the window, if we can prove he caused it or directed it. Threat statutes are complicated depending on the wording and evidence.”
“He used my daughter’s school.”
“I know.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It matters.”
I hated words like matters.
Complicated.
Evidence.
Review.
I wanted safe or dangerous.
Arrested or free.
Truth or lie.
But real life was apparently made of gray areas.
Vanessa drove me to Michael’s house after midnight.
Rachel went to her sister’s with Lily.
I walked into Michael’s guest room and found Emma asleep sideways across the bed.
One sock missing.
Her stuffed rabbit under her arm.
I sat beside her and cried silently.
Not dramatic tears.
Not screaming.
Just exhaustion.
I cried for the marriage I thought I had.
The money.
The lies.
The strange child who shared my daughter’s face.
The dead woman I had never known.
I cried because less than twelve hours earlier, I had been on a plane thinking about bringing Daniel home barbecue from the airport.
Now police were reopening questions about his dead first wife.
I barely slept.
At 6:15 a.m., Vanessa called.
“I filed emergency requests.”
I sat up.
“That fast?”
“I told you I would.”
“What happens now?”
“We’ll ask the court for temporary exclusive possession, restraints on transferring assets, and temporary custody terms.”
“Can Daniel see Emma?”
“That will be up to the judge unless you reach agreement.”
“I don’t want him alone with her.”
“Given the threat connected to the school and the financial conduct, we will request supervised visitation.”
My stomach twisted.
Despite everything, Daniel was Emma’s father.
She loved him.
He had taught her to ride a bike.
He made pancakes shaped like animals.
He carried her around the house when she had the flu.
People wanted monsters to be monsters all the time.
Daniel wasn’t.
That made it worse.
“What if Emma asks for him?”
“She will.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do I say?”
“The truth at her level. Daddy made choices that caused problems. Adults are working on them. She is safe. She is loved.”
I wrote the words down.
I needed a script because my brain no longer trusted itself.
Then Vanessa said, “There’s another issue.”
Of course.
“What?”
“Someone attempted to move $34,000 from your checking account at 2:13 this morning.”
I stood.
“What?”
“The bank fraud department flagged it because of the changes yesterday.”
“To where?”
“Bluebird Family Services.”
Patricia’s company.
“She’s in custody.”
“She was released around 1:00 a.m. pending further investigation.”
I felt cold.
“Can she still access my account?”
“Apparently someone can.”
“Daniel?”
“Maybe.”
“Can we freeze everything?”
“Your bank placed a temporary hold.”
I immediately called.
For the next forty minutes, I spoke with fraud representatives.
Passwords changed.
Cards canceled.
Transfers blocked.
Then the representative asked me about a credit card ending in 4492.
“I don’t have one ending in 4492.”
Silence.
“Mrs. Carter, you are listed as joint account holder.”
My stomach sank.
“How much is owed?”
“Current balance is $27,806.”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
The representative went quiet.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Not at you.”
I closed my eyes.
“What was purchased?”
She couldn’t provide everything immediately, but she listed recent charges.
Jewelry store.
Hotel.
Furniture.
Luxury clothing.
A private school deposit.
I stopped.
“Private school?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand two hundred dollars.”
I thought of Emma.
She attended public kindergarten.
Rachel’s daughter?
I called Rachel.
She answered sleepily.
“Sarah?”
“Does Lily attend private school?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What school?”
“St. Catherine’s.”
“Did Daniel pay her deposit?”
Silence.
“Oh my God.”
I closed my eyes.
“He used a card in both our names.”
Rachel started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
She said it quickly.
“I know you didn’t.”
Because I did.
By now I knew exactly how Daniel operated.
He took from one life to fund another.
He made each woman feel protected while quietly stealing from someone else.
Rachel whispered, “He told me he opened an education account for Lily.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“Why?”
“Because if it exists, I need to know where the money came from.”
She hung up to check.
Ten minutes later, she called back.
Her voice was shaking.
“Forty-two thousand.”
I stared out Michael’s window.
“Where?”
“An account in Lily’s name. Daniel is custodian.”
“Do you recognize the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Same bank we use.”
Silence.
We both knew.
Some of Emma’s missing money might be sitting in Lily’s account.
Two little girls.
Neither responsible.
Their father had robbed one future to build the other.
Rachel whispered, “I’ll give it back.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t touch it.”
“But if it came from Emma—”
“Don’t move anything until lawyers figure it out.”
She exhaled.
“You’re calmer than I am.”
“No. I’m just out of energy.”
After we hung up, I walked into the kitchen.
Michael was making coffee.
He handed me a cup.
“You sleep?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
He nodded.
Then he pushed his phone across the counter.
“What?”
“I searched Claire.”
I looked at him.
“Michael.”
“I know.”
He had found an old social media memorial page.
Photos.
Comments.
Friends writing about her.
One comment stood out.
Posted by a woman named Jenna Morris one year after Claire’s death.
I still don’t believe it was an accident. You were scared. You told me what they were doing. I should have made you leave sooner.
My heart started pounding.
“Who is Jenna?”
“Her best friend, maybe.”
We found her profile.
She still lived in Tennessee.
Vanessa had told us not to investigate recklessly.
So I called her first.
Vanessa answered.
I explained.
She was quiet.
“Send me the link.”
“Can we contact Jenna?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“If police are reviewing Claire’s death, let them know first.”
I sent it to Detective Alvarez.
Twenty minutes later, she called.
“Mrs. Carter, do not contact Jenna Morris.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because we already did.”
I stood.
“What did she say?”
“I can’t discuss details.”
“Detective.”
Pause.
Then Alvarez softened slightly.
“She provided information we are verifying.”
“What kind of information?”
“I can’t say.”
“Is Daniel in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Am I?”
Another pause.
“Continue staying somewhere he doesn’t control access to.”
That answer was enough.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Daniel.
PLEASE LET ME SEE EMMA.
I stared at it.
Another.
I KNOW YOU HATE ME.
Another.
BUT I’M STILL HER FATHER.
Then:
THERE ARE THINGS ABOUT CLAIRE I NEVER TOLD POLICE.
My heart stopped.
I called Detective Alvarez immediately.
While it rang, another message arrived from Daniel.
May you like
I DIDN’T KILL HER.
BUT I KNOW WHO WAS ON THAT BRIDGE.
