Chapter 4
The police wanted Michael on the phone.
Not text.
I didn’t care.
All I could see was Sophie sitting on that bed.
“No, Mommy.”
The words kept repeating in my head.
I called Michael.
He answered immediately.
“Put Sophie on.”
“She’s not with me anymore.”
I almost stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Lauren moved her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were with them.”
“I was.”
“Then start talking.”
Michael exhaled.
“Lauren told me Sophie had been having seizures.”
“What?”
“She said you refused to believe her.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“Why were you helping her?”
“Because she told me she needed to take Sophie somewhere safe before you had her committed.”
I stared at the phone.
“Committed?”
“She said you’d been telling people she was unstable.”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you believe her?”
Michael went quiet.
When he spoke again, he sounded ashamed.
“Because she’s my sister.”
That answer enraged me.
“Your sister is drugging a four-year-old child.”
“I didn’t know!”
“You watched her carry Sophie out of my house unconscious!”
“She told me it was prescribed.”
“Did you ever see the prescription?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
Silence.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
The officer beside me wrote something.
“Where did you take them?”
“To an apartment near Buckhead.”
“Address.”
Michael gave it to me.
An officer immediately called the location in.
“What happened there?”
“Lauren got a phone call. She started panicking.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“She said your mother had involved the police.”
“My mother didn’t call anyone.”
“Then Lauren was lying to me again.”
“Where did she go?”
“She left through the garage about fifteen minutes ago.”
“With Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“You let her?”
“She pulled a gun on me.”
Everything stopped.
“Lauren has a gun?”
“She took mine.”
The officer beside me motioned sharply.
“What kind?”
Michael answered.
A handgun.
Registered to him.
My wife was now driving around Atlanta with my sick four-year-old daughter and a gun.
“Why didn’t you call police immediately?”
“I am talking to you, aren’t I?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Because she threatened to say I helped plan everything.”
“You did help.”
“I thought I was helping my sister leave an abusive husband!”
I nearly laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was insane.
“What else did she tell you?”
Michael hesitated.
“That you were having an affair.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That you hit her.”
“I never touched her.”
“That you controlled the money.”
“She had full access to our accounts.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because she showed me how much she moved.”
I froze.
“How much?”
“Almost eight hundred thousand.”
My heart slammed.
“From where?”
“Different accounts.”
I opened our banking app.
The main account looked normal.
Then the investment account.
A large transfer was missing.
Another account showed a withdrawal.
Then another.
Small enough individually to avoid my attention.
Large enough together to devastate us.
“How long?”
“About a year.”
I felt sick.
“Where did it go?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
The officer asked Michael to remain where he was.
Police were already on their way.
Before ending the call, Michael said, “Daniel.”
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
“Say it.”
“Lauren asked me a strange question two months ago.”
“What question?”
“She asked how long certain medications stay detectable after someone dies.”
The room went silent.
Even the officer stopped writing.
I gripped the phone.
“And you’re telling me this now?”
“I thought she was asking because Dad died.”
“Your father died from a heart attack.”
“That’s what we were told.”
I couldn’t speak.
Michael continued.
“She became obsessed after Dad died. She said his death wasn’t natural.”
“Did she think my family killed him?”
“Yes.”
The pieces started moving.
Not fitting.
But moving.
The blue file.
My father.
Richard’s accusations.
Lauren’s anger.
The hidden money.
The altered will.
Sophie.
“Did Lauren blame me?”
“She blamed your father.”
“My father died six years ago.”
“She said taking money from you was taking it back from him.”
“And Sophie?”
Michael’s voice cracked.
“I swear I don’t know.”
I ended the call.
My mother arrived at the house twenty minutes later despite everything I told her.
She carried a blue accordion folder against her chest.
“Mom!”
“I couldn’t sit somewhere else while Sophie is missing.”
“You brought the file?”
She nodded.
“I think you need to see it.”
A detective took us into my office.
My mother opened the folder.
Inside were financial statements.
Old emails.
Photocopies of checks.
Contracts.
And a handwritten letter from Lauren’s father.
Richard.
The letter was dated nine years earlier.
Before Lauren and I married.
Daniel,
If you ever read this, then things have gone further than they should have.
Your father did not steal the money.
I did.
I stopped reading.
“What?”
My mother wiped her eyes.
“Keep going.”
My hands shook.
I forced myself to continue.
Richard confessed that he had redirected company funds into shell subcontractors.
My father discovered it.
But instead of calling police, Dad offered Richard a chance to repay some of the money quietly.
Why?
Because Richard had three children.
Michael.
Lauren.
And their younger sister, Rebecca.
Dad didn’t want them growing up with their father in prison.
The settlement had not been Dad paying Richard.
Richard paid the company.
The public story said he had been laid off.
The truth was that my father protected him.
I looked at Mom.
“Lauren thinks Dad stole from Richard.”
“She only knows part of the story.”
“How?”
“Richard became bitter. He blamed your father for ruining his career even though your father could have destroyed him.”
“Why didn’t he tell Lauren the truth?”
“He intended to.”
My mother pointed toward the final page.
“He wrote this after Lauren started dating you.”
The last paragraph destroyed everything I thought I understood.
Lauren has become obsessed with Daniel’s family. She believes Robert Carter took our life from us. I have tried to tell her the truth, but she refuses to hear it. If I die before I can make her understand, please make sure Daniel knows he is not responsible for my failures.
The detective took photographs.
I sat there staring at Richard’s signature.
Lauren had built years of hatred on a lie.
But that still did not explain why Sophie was being drugged.
Then my phone rang.
Charles Benson.
My attorney.
I answered instantly.
“Charles.”
“Daniel, I just saw your calls.”
“Did my will change?”
Silence.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Is Lauren there?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His voice became serious.
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“Did you change my will?”
“No.”
“But someone filed estate documents with your firm six months ago.”
My blood went cold.
“How do you know?”
“Because I found a document in our system last week that I did not prepare.”
“What document?”
“A revised trust agreement.”
“Signed by me?”
“Yes.”
“I never signed it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the signature is wrong.”
I stood.
“Who uploaded it?”
“We traced the access to one of our former paralegals.”
“Who?”
Charles hesitated.
“Rebecca Hale.”
I looked at my mother.
Lauren’s younger sister.
“She worked for you?”
“Temporarily. Four years ago.”
“Then how did she access your system six months ago?”
“That’s what I was investigating.”
I couldn’t believe it.
This wasn’t just Lauren.
Her sister was involved too.
“Where is Rebecca now?”
“That’s why I called.”
Charles took a breath.
“Our security team checked the old login credentials. Rebecca accessed the account several times from one location.”
“Where?”
“A private medical clinic.”
“What clinic?”
He gave me the name.
I wrote it down.
My mother gasped when she saw it.
“What?” I asked.
She pointed at the paper.
“That’s where Richard died.”
The detective stood immediately.
I felt the room begin to spin again.
Lauren’s father.
My daughter.
The mystery medication.
The altered trust.
All roads suddenly pointed toward the same place.
Then Maria called.
“Sir.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“What is it?”
“I found something.”
“Where?”
“In the trash outside.”
“What?”
“A pharmacy bag.”
My heart raced.
“There is a receipt inside.”
“For the medicine?”
“I think so.”
“Read the name.”
Maria struggled with the pronunciation.
The detective took the phone and asked her to spell it.
She did.
He wrote the letters down.
Then his expression changed.
“What?” I demanded.
He looked at me.
“That medication should not be given to a child unless it is specifically prescribed and closely monitored.”
My knees almost gave out.
“What does it do?”
“It can cause heavy sedation.”
I grabbed the desk.
Maria suddenly spoke again.
“There’s another thing on the receipt.”
“What?”
“A name.”
“Whose?”
She went quiet.
Then she said, “The prescription was not written for Sophie.”
May you like
My heart stopped.
“It was written for Rebecca.”
