Chapter 6
Patricia lived thirty miles outside Chicago in a house Daniel's father had bought before he died.
I had spent eleven Christmas mornings there.
Eleven Thanksgivings.
Birthdays.
Anniversaries.
Family arguments.
Family photographs.
I had stood in that kitchen washing dishes while Patricia told me I worked too much.
I had slept in the guest room after my mother's funeral because Patricia insisted I shouldn't be alone.
Now she was threatening to burn the last secrets my mother had left behind.
Lauren wanted to come with me.
Maya said absolutely not.
The police wanted the address and the photograph Patricia had sent.
Within forty minutes, Detective Aaron Brooks arrived at my house.
He was the same detective who had started reviewing the forgery complaint that morning.
He looked at Patricia's message.
“She knows Daniel was detained?”
“Probably.”
“Have you responded?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Can you stop her from destroying the documents?”
“If we have legal grounds and probable cause, we can seek action. But I need you not to go racing over there.”
“So I just wait?”
“You cooperate.”
I hated that word.
Wait.
Cooperate.
Trust the process.
All reasonable things.
All impossible when someone was holding your mother's last letter over a fireplace.
Daniel had not been formally charged with financial crimes yet.
He had been detained after grabbing me and interfering when officers entered.
His attorney was already involved.
Maya expected him to be released.
The thought made my chest tighten.
“Can Patricia be arrested for the fraudulent notarization?”
“If we establish it was knowingly false.”
“I was on an airplane in another state.”
“That helps.”
Lauren snorted.
“Helps?”
Detective Brooks remained calm.
“It helps a lot.”
My phone buzzed.
Patricia again.
YOU HAVE ONE HOUR.
I showed him.
He photographed the message.
Then typed something.
“Do not answer yet.”
“What are we doing?”
“Getting people in position.”
Maya looked at me.
“Sarah, let them handle this.”
I stared at the necklace lying on my kitchen counter.
The clasp still broken.
The pendant scratched from hitting the ballroom floor.
My mother had worn it almost every day.
When I was little, I used to hold it between my fingers while sitting on her lap.
I remembered asking what it was worth.
She had smiled.
“Only what someone is willing to lose for it.”
At the time, I thought she meant love.
Now I wasn't sure.
Forty minutes later, Detective Brooks told me to text Patricia.
I typed:
I WANT THE LETTER. DON'T DESTROY ANYTHING.
Her response came immediately.
COME ALONE.
Brooks nodded.
“Ask her where.”
I already knew.
YOUR HOUSE?
YES.
Then:
NO POLICE.
Brooks almost smiled.
“They always write that.”
“This isn't funny.”
“No. It isn't.”
He became serious again.
“But people who think they're smarter than everyone else make useful mistakes.”
We drove separately.
I rode with Lauren despite the detective objecting.
Police vehicles stayed far behind us.
When Patricia's subdivision came into view, my hands were ice cold.
“Don't get out until Brooks tells you,” Lauren said.
“I know.”
“You say that, but you're terrible at following instructions.”
“Thank you.”
“I'm trying to keep you normal.”
“Nothing is normal.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“I know.”
Brooks called.
“She's inside. One vehicle in the driveway. Registered to Patricia. We don't see anyone else.”
“Daniel?”
“His phone location is currently near his attorney's office downtown.”
That helped.
Barely.
“What now?”
“You approach. We remain close.”
“That's your plan?”
“We need confirmation of the documents and her intent.”
Lauren grabbed my arm.
“No.”
Brooks heard her.
“Your sister stays in the car.”
“I hate this,” Lauren said.
“So do I,” he replied.
I walked toward Patricia's front door.
Snow crunched beneath my shoes.
The porch light turned on before I knocked.
Patricia opened the door.
She wore cream slacks and a red sweater.
Perfect hair.
Pearl earrings.
Christmas music played behind her.
For one surreal second, it was as if I had arrived for another family dinner.
“You brought someone.”
“My sister is in the car.”
“I said alone.”
“She isn't coming inside.”
Patricia looked past me.
“Police?”
“No.”
It wasn't technically a lie.
They weren't visible.
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The smell of cinnamon filled the house.
A fire burned in the living room.
My stomach tightened.
On the coffee table sat my mother's papers.
At least twenty pages.
The letter.
Corporate records.
An envelope.
The brass key.
I moved toward them.
Patricia stepped in front of me.
“Not yet.”
“You said I could get them.”
“I said come get them.”
“What do you want?”
She smiled sadly.
“Why does everyone assume I want something?”
“Because you forged my signature.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I notarized a document.”
“That I didn't sign.”
“Daniel brought it to me.”
“And told you what?”
“That you had signed earlier.”
“That isn't how notarization works.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You've been speaking to lawyers.”
“Yes.”
“You used to be easier.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The real you.”
She folded her arms.
“You want the truth? Fine. I never thought you were good for Daniel.”
I laughed once.
“That's what this is about?”
“You always thought you were better than him.”
“I never thought that.”
“Your mother did.”
The mention of Mom made my chest tighten.
“Leave her out of this.”
“She never respected Daniel.”
“Maybe she was right.”
Patricia's face sharpened.
“My son spent eleven years supporting you.”
“I had a job.”
“You inherited money.”
“I worked.”
“You inherited opportunity.”
I stared at her.
This resentment wasn't new.
It had simply been hidden under Christmas cards and birthday gifts.
“You helped him take my property because you thought I didn't deserve it.”
“I helped my son protect himself.”
“From his wife?”
“From being discarded when you decided you no longer needed him.”
“I hadn't decided anything until he cheated.”
Patricia laughed bitterly.
“You think Emily was the beginning?”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
She realized too late that she had said too much.
“Patricia.”
“Nothing.”
“How many women?”
She looked away.
My stomach twisted.
“How many?”
“This isn't why you're here.”
“No. Apparently I don't even know why I'm here.”
She picked up my mother's letter.
“Margaret understood that marriages are complicated.”
“My mother hated cheating.”
“Your mother understood secrets.”
“Give me the letter.”
“She paid people to keep hers.”
My pulse jumped.
“What people?”
Patricia smiled.
“Your father, for one.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew about Thomas Halston.”
“Everyone our age knew.”
“Not me.”
“Children usually don't.”
“What about Jacob?”
“He doesn't know everything.”
“What doesn't he know?”
She held the letter over the fire.
My breath stopped.
“Don't.”
“Then listen.”
I froze.
“Daniel made mistakes.”
“You mean felonies.”
“He panicked.”
“He planned this for months.”
“He was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Losing you.”
I almost laughed.
Patricia's eyes hardened.
“Don't be cruel.”
“He was sleeping with another woman.”
“And yet he still didn't want to leave you.”
That was somehow worse.
“He told Emily we were divorced.”
“He told Emily what she needed to hear.”
I stared at her.
“You knew about her?”
Patricia said nothing.
That answer was enough.
“You met her.”
Silence.
“You met my husband's girlfriend.”
“She came to dinner once.”
My eyes burned.
“At this house?”
“Yes.”
“While Daniel and I were still married.”
“You were always married, Sarah. You were simply unavailable.”
My hands curled into fists.
“You are unbelievable.”
“No. I'm practical.”
“You helped your son build another life while he was still sleeping beside me.”
“I was protecting him.”
“From consequences?”
“From you.”
I reached for the letter.
She pulled it away.
“Sign a statement saying the deed issue was a misunderstanding.”
“No.”
“Then I burn this.”
“Burn it.”
She blinked.
So did I.
But once I said it, I knew I meant it.
“My mother's words belong to me. But I will not trade my legal rights for them.”
“You'll never know what she confessed.”
“Then I'll live without knowing.”
Her hand trembled.
Just slightly.
She had expected me to beg.
Old Sarah might have.
The version of me who apologized to keep dinner peaceful.
The version who doubted her own memory.
That woman was disappearing quickly.
I turned toward the door.
Patricia called after me.
“You should know why Daniel took out the insurance policy.”
I stopped.
“What?”
She smiled.
“He didn't forge that signature.”
My skin went cold.
“Yes, he did.”
“No.”
“I never signed it.”
“Not knowingly.”
I turned around slowly.
“What did he do?”
Her smile vanished.
For the first time, Patricia looked frightened.
And that frightened me.
“What did he do?”
“He included the application in a stack of refinance documents.”
My mouth went dry.
“When?”
“Last spring.”
I remembered.
Daniel had brought papers to the kitchen table.
He had placed colored tabs beside signature lines.
Mortgage adjustment.
Tax documents.
I had trusted him.
I had signed without reading every page.
My knees weakened.
“Why would he hide a two-million-dollar policy inside mortgage paperwork?”
Patricia looked toward the window.
“Ask him.”
“You know.”
“Ask him.”
“Why?”
She gripped the letter.
Then headlights flashed outside.
Patricia's face changed.
She hurried to the window.
“Who is that?”
I looked.
A black SUV pulled into the driveway behind Lauren's car.
My heart stopped.
Daniel got out.
“How is he here?”
Patricia whispered, “You said you didn't bring him.”
“I didn't.”
Daniel slammed his door.
Lauren jumped from her car.
He shouted something at her.
She backed away.
I grabbed my phone.
“Call the police.”
Patricia caught my arm.
“No!”
I pulled free.
“Why?”
“Because if Daniel sees them, he'll panic.”
“He should.”
“No, Sarah. You don't understand.”
The front door opened.
Daniel walked in.
His eyes went immediately to the papers in Patricia's hand.
Then to me.
“What did you tell her?”
Patricia stepped backward.
“Nothing.”
“You were supposed to wait.”
“Daniel—”
“What did you tell her?”
I had never seen him speak to his mother that way.
Patricia looked smaller.
Suddenly older.
Daniel moved toward the coffee table.
I stood between him and the documents.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“Why did you take out the insurance policy?”
His expression changed.
Behind him, through the window, I saw movement.
Police.
Daniel didn't.
“Move.”
“Answer me.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
His eyes flicked toward Patricia.
She looked terrified.
And then she said something I never expected.
“Tell her about March.”
Daniel went still.
“What happened in March?” I asked.
“Mom.”
“Tell her.”
“Shut up.”
Patricia's voice shook.
“You said nobody would ever know.”
My blood ran cold.
“What happened in March?”
Daniel grabbed the stack of papers.
I grabbed them too.
He pulled.
Pages scattered across the floor.
One slid beneath the coffee table.
Another landed near the fireplace.
Then I saw a printed email.
Subject line:
RE: BRAKE INSPECTION.
My pulse stopped.
March.
I remembered March.
My car had lost control on Lake Shore Drive.
The brakes failed.
I had hit a concrete barrier.
The mechanic later said a damaged brake line had caused the failure.
Daniel had called it a miracle that I survived.
He had stayed beside my hospital bed all night.
My voice barely came out.
“What is that?”
Daniel saw the page.
His face emptied.
I bent for it.
He kicked it away.
“Sarah, don't.”
That was all I needed.
I screamed.
Police rushed through the door.
Daniel tried to reach the page first.
Detective Brooks tackled him against the sofa.
Patricia screamed.
Lauren ran inside.
Officers shouted commands.
I crawled across the carpet and grabbed the email.
My hands shook so badly I could barely read.
It was from Daniel to a mechanic I didn't recognize.
Three weeks before my crash.
The message contained only one line.
I need the failure to look natural.
I stared at my husband.
He was pinned against the floor.
And finally I understood the two-million-dollar insurance policy.
The forged documents.
The hidden money.
The affair.
The preparations for a life without me.
May you like
Daniel had not simply planned to divorce me.
At some point, he had planned for me not to survive.
