Chapter 7
I waited until we reached the parking garage.
Then I turned on my brother.
“What money?”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
“Not here.”
“Answer me.”
“Rachel.”
“Daniel just claimed three hundred thousand dollars Dad left me disappeared.”
“I heard him.”
“And you told me to keep walking.”
“Because he wanted exactly this.”
“Exactly what?”
“To make you distrust me.”
I stared at him.
“Then tell me he lied.”
Michael didn’t.
That silence hurt more than an answer.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No. Forging deeds is complicated. Drugging someone is complicated. This question is simple.”
I stepped closer.
“Did Dad leave me three hundred thousand dollars?”
Michael looked at Denise.
She quietly said, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
When she walked away, Michael leaned against a concrete pillar.
“Yes.”
The word echoed in my head.
“Yes?”
“There was an investment account.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
I felt like the floor moved.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Then where is it?”
“Dad liquidated it.”
“Why?”
“To cover business losses.”
“What business?”
“Mine.”
I couldn’t speak.
Michael’s construction company had nearly failed six years earlier.
I remembered.
He worked constantly.
Sold his truck.
Moved into a small apartment.
Then suddenly things improved.
I had believed he secured new contracts.
“Dad gave you my inheritance?”
“No.”
“That’s exactly what you just said.”
“It wasn’t legally yours yet.”
“It was intended for me.”
“Yes.”
“And he gave it to you.”
“He loaned it to me.”
“Did you repay him?”
Michael looked away.
My chest tightened.
“Did you?”
“Not before he died.”
“So Daniel told the truth.”
“No.”
“He said there was missing money.”
“He used a truth to create a lie.”
“What lie?”
“That I stole it.”
“You kept it secret.”
“Because Dad asked me to.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everybody in this family had secret instructions from Dad except me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?”
I could barely control my voice.
“My husband tried to steal my house. His mother forged my name. Now I discover my brother has been hiding three hundred thousand dollars connected to my inheritance.”
“I paid it back.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Two years after Dad died.”
“To whom?”
Michael reached into his briefcase.
“Samuel.”
He handed me a bank statement.
A wire transfer.
$327,418.
“Principal plus interest.”
“Why Samuel?”
“Dad made him trustee of a separate account.”
My anger faltered.
“So the money exists?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I sent it to Samuel. Dad’s written instructions said not to tell you unless certain conditions happened.”
I stared at him.
“What conditions?”
“If Daniel tried to access your inherited assets.”
My anger transformed into confusion.
“So Dad knew enough to hide money from my husband.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad didn’t trust him.”
I leaned against the car.
“Why didn’t Samuel tell me yesterday?”
“I don’t know.”
I called him immediately.
Samuel answered.
“Rachel.”
“There’s another account.”
Silence.
“Michael told you.”
“Daniel told me.”
That changed his tone.
“How does Daniel know?”
“I was hoping you could explain that.”
“I cannot.”
“Is there over three hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because technically the funds are held under a contingency provision your father created.”
“I don’t care about technicalities.”
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
My voice cracked.
“Everyone has spent years deciding what I should and shouldn’t know.”
Samuel was quiet.
Then he said, “You’re right.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“I should have told you once the attempted property transfer surfaced.”
“Where is the money?”
“In a trust account.”
“How much?”
“Just over four hundred and six thousand dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“Four hundred?”
“Investment growth.”
“Does Daniel have access?”
“No.”
“Linda?”
“No.”
“Michael?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“You.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then how does Daniel know?”
“That concerns me.”
Samuel’s voice became serious.
“Very much.”
“Could he have found Dad’s papers?”
“Possibly.”
“Linda stole estate documents from my office.”
“Then assume she photographed everything.”
I remembered pages missing from the brown folder.
“Can we freeze the trust?”
“It is already heavily protected, but I’ll contact the institution.”
We ended the call.
I looked at Michael.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“You had every reason to question me.”
“No. I accused you.”
“You’re discovering that the person you trusted most has been lying for years. Your brain is going to question everyone.”
I hugged him.
For a moment, I felt like his little sister again.
Then my phone rang.
Detective Harris.
“We arrested Mark Ellison.”
My breath caught.
“The notary?”
“Yes.”
“For the forgery?”
“Among other potential charges.”
“Did he confess?”
“I can’t discuss everything.”
“But?”
“He’s cooperating.”
That one word changed the entire case.
“What did he say?”
“I want you to come to the station.”
Michael drove.
Detective Harris met us in a small interview room.
He closed the door.
“Mark says Daniel paid him.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“For forging the notarization?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know I was drugged?”
Harris paused.
“He says Linda told him you had taken a sleeping pill and had already agreed to the transfer.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He believed that?”
“He says he did.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I think he’s minimizing.”
“What about the prescription bottle?”
“He claims he found it on your bedroom dresser.”
“Whose prescription?”
“Linda’s.”
My stomach turned.
“For what?”
“A sedative.”
“Did they drug me?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Mark must know.”
“He says he didn’t see anyone administer medication.”
I leaned forward.
“Then what is he cooperating about?”
Harris opened a file.
“The forged deed was only phase one.”
My body tightened.
“What was phase two?”
“The home equity loan.”
“I know about that.”
“Phase three was different.”
He slid a printed email across the table.
It was between Daniel and Mark.
Daniel had written:
Once the HELOC funds clear, Mom gets 120. I clear the cards. Remaining money stays liquid until R signs settlement.
I looked up.
“What settlement?”
Harris placed another document down.
A draft separation agreement.
I started reading.
My stomach turned.
According to the document, I would voluntarily leave the marital home.
Give Daniel primary physical custody of Ava.
Waive claims to several financial accounts.
And acknowledge Linda as the lawful owner of the property.
“This is insane.”
“It was found on Mark’s laptop.”
“I never saw this.”
“I know.”
Michael’s face was white.
“Were they going to forge this too?”
Harris said, “That appears possible.”
I read another section.
It claimed I had a history of emotional instability.
That I had voluntarily entered treatment.
That I was unable to provide consistent care for Ava.
“They were going to make me look mentally ill.”
Harris didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Then I noticed a date.
The agreement was scheduled to be executed next Monday.
Four days away.
I looked up.
“What was supposed to happen Monday?”
Harris leaned back.
“That’s something we’re trying to determine.”
My phone vibrated.
A school notification.
I glanced at it.
Then my heart stopped.
Ava’s school had sent an emergency message.
SECURITY INCIDENT. CAMPUS TEMPORARILY LOCKED DOWN.
I stood so fast the chair fell backward.
“Ava.”
Michael grabbed his keys.
Detective Harris was already moving.
“What school?”
I told him.
We reached the parking lot when my phone rang again.
The school.
I answered.
“This is Rachel.”
“Mrs. Mercer, this is Principal Adams.”
“Is Ava okay?”
There was a pause too long to be comforting.
“She’s safe now.”
“Now?”
“A woman attempted to sign her out.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who?”
“She identified herself as Ava’s grandmother.”
Linda.
“But she is prohibited from contacting Ava.”
“We know.”
“What happened?”
“She presented paperwork claiming she had temporary guardianship.”
My knees weakened.
“Is Ava still there?”
“Yes.”
“Do not let anyone take her.”
“We won’t.”
Then Principal Adams added:
“Mrs. Mercer, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The guardianship paperwork has a judge’s signature.”
I stared at Detective Harris.
May you like
Principal Adams continued.
“And according to the document, you were hospitalized this morning.”
