Chapter 9: The Photograph in the Box
I couldn't speak.
Cars moved along the street below me.
Somewhere near the harbor, a horn sounded.
Normal life continued while mine cracked open.
“How did Patricia know Rachel?””
Lauren was crying quietly now.
“They worked together.””
“Where?””
“At St. Matthew's.””
Rachel had worked at St. Matthew's Medical Center for six years.
Patricia had always told me she'd worked in healthcare administration.
I had never connected the two.
“Were they friends?””
“No.””
Lauren answered too quickly.
“What were they?””
“I don't know.””
“You just told me they knew each other.””
“My mother barely talks about it.””
“Yet she knows about Rachel's trust.””
“She knew Rachel came from money.””
“That isn't the same thing.””
“Daniel, please.””
“No. You don't get to ‘please’ me now.””
I heard a door close on Lauren's end.
Then her voice dropped.
“My mother told me Rachel didn't trust people.””
“Which people?””
“I don't know.””
“Did she mention me?””
“No.””
“Ethan?””
Silence.
My stomach tightened.
“What did Patricia say about Ethan?””
“Nothing specific.””
“Lauren.””
“She said Rachel was obsessed with controlling what happened to him if she died.””
Rachel had been protective.
But not paranoid.
At least, I'd never thought so.
“Why didn't you tell me your mother knew my wife?””
“Because Mom asked me not to.””
“Why?””
“She said it would make things awkward.””
I almost laughed.
“Awkward?””
“I didn't think it mattered.””
“It mattered enough to hide.””
“I know.””
For the first time, Lauren didn't argue.
That scared me more.
“Did Patricia tell you to exclude Ethan from Orlando?””
Another silence.
“Yes.””
My jaw tightened.
“Why?””
“She said you needed to see that our marriage could work.””
“And the trust?””
“She told me about it after I booked the trip.””
“When?””
“June.””
The tickets had been booked in February.
So the original exclusion hadn't been about money.
But everything afterward might have been.
“What changed after June?””
Lauren began breathing unevenly.
“Mom said there might be a way to fix everything.””
“What does that mean?””
“She said if you stayed Ethan's legal guardian, the trust could help us.””
“Us?””
“I didn't understand how restricted it was.””
“You planned to use my son's inheritance.””
“For the household!””
“He is the household!””
“I know!””
Her voice cracked.
“I know that now.””
“No. You knew it then. You just didn't care.””
She started crying harder.
I felt nothing.
Not because I enjoyed her pain.
Because Ethan had cried first.
And she'd kept going.
“Why October?”” I asked.
“What?””
“The email said you needed Ethan out before October.””
“I don't know anything about that email.””
“Someone is sending me documents.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“Daniel, this could be dangerous.””
“For whom?””
She didn't answer.
Then I heard Patricia in the background.
“What did he find?””
Lauren immediately said, “I have to go.””
“Put her on.””
“No.””
“Lauren.””
The call ended.
I stood on the balcony for another minute.
Then I called my mother.
“Mom, did you know Patricia knew Rachel?””
“What?””
“Lauren says they worked together at St. Matthew's.””
“I had no idea.””
“Did Rachel ever mention Patricia Mitchell?””
My mother became quiet.
“I don't remember.””
“Think.””
“Daniel, Rachel worked with hundreds of people.””
“Patricia knew about Ethan's trust.””
That changed everything.
“What?””
“She knew.””
My mother inhaled sharply.
Then she said, “Wait.””
“What?””
“I have Rachel's boxes.””
“What boxes?””
“The ones from your old house.””
After Rachel died, I couldn't bear to sort everything.
My mother had packed some of her personal belongings and stored them.
“Do you still have them?””
“Yes.””
“Can you look?””
“Tonight?””
“Please.””
I heard movement.
“All right. Stay on the phone.””
For fifteen minutes, I listened as my mother walked into her garage, dragged boxes around, and complained about my father's terrible labeling system.
Then she stopped.
“Daniel.””
“What?””
“I found something.””
Paper rustled.
“A photograph.””
“Of what?””
“Rachel and some hospital staff.””
My heart started pounding.
“Is Patricia there?””
“I don't know what she looked like then.””
“Send it.””
A picture arrived seconds later.
Rachel stood among eight hospital employees at some charity event.
She was smiling.
Young.
Alive.
Seeing her face hit me like a physical blow.
Then I noticed the woman two people away.
Patricia.
Younger, thinner, darker hair.
But unmistakably Patricia.
“That's her.””
Mom whispered, “Oh my God.””
“Anything written on the back?””
More rustling.
“Yes.””
“What?””
“Names.””
She read them.
Then stopped.
“Mom?””
“There’s a date.””
“What date?””
“October 14.””
Ethan's birthday.
But the photograph had been taken nine years before he was born.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“There’s something else written underneath.””
Her voice changed.
“What?””
“Rachel wrote it.””
“You're sure?””
“I know her handwriting.””
I gripped the railing.
“Read it.””
Mom hesitated.
Then she did.
*October 14. The day Patricia Mitchell learned what I found in the accounts. If anything ever happens to me, Daniel needs to know where the missing money went.*
I couldn't breathe.
“Missing money?””
“I don't know.””
“Check the box.””
Mom started moving papers quickly.
Then I heard her gasp.
“What?””
“There's a folder.””
“What does it say?””
She didn't answer.
“Mom.””
When she finally spoke, her voice was shaking.
“It says Ethan.””
I closed my eyes.
“Open it.””
The cardboard flap lifted.
Paper shifted.
Then silence.
Long silence.
“Mom?””
“Oh, Daniel.””
“What is it?””
“Bank records.””
“What bank records?””
“Transfers. Dozens of them.””
“From where?””
She swallowed.
“From Rachel's parents' estate.””
My pulse thundered.
“To whom?””
Mom read the name.
And suddenly I understood why Patricia had spent months trying to get Ethan out of my house before his eighth birthday.
The transfers weren't made to Patricia.
They were made to an account belonging to someone else.
Someone whose name I recognized immediately.
May you like
My mother whispered it again.
“Lauren Mitchell.””
