Chapter 9
Steven Morrison looked nothing like the monster I had imagined.
He looked terrified.
Pale.
Sweating.
A bandage covered his shoulder.
Two police officers stood outside his hospital room.
Detective Chen spoke to him first.
Michael and I watched through a video feed from another room because neither of us was permitted inside.
Steven kept glancing toward the door.
“She'll kill me,” he said.
Detective Chen sat across from him.
“Diane?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I’m done.”
“With what?”
“Cleaning up after her.”
Michael muttered beside me.
“Now he has a conscience.”
I said nothing.
Steven continued.
“Richard was right about everything.”
Detective Chen didn't react.
“Tell me about Richard.”
Steven looked toward the camera.
Maybe he knew Michael was watching.
Maybe not.
“I didn't kill him.”
“Who did?”
Steven's mouth trembled.
“Diane.”
Michael stiffened.
Detective Chen leaned forward.
“How?”
“She crushed pills into his coffee.”
“Digoxin?”
Steven nodded.
“How do you know?”
“Paul bought it.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Paul called me after Richard collapsed.”
Steven rubbed his face.
“He was panicking.”
“What did he say?”
“That Diane had done it.”
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Detective Chen stared.
“Nothing?”
“I helped them move records.”
“That's not nothing.”
“No.”
Steven started crying.
“I was scared.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
I looked at him.
He shook his head.
“Everybody was scared except the people she hurt.”
Detective Chen continued.
“Tell me about Emily's brakes.”
Steven closed his eyes.
“I called Thomas.”
My stomach turned.
“You hired him?”
“Yes.”
“On Diane’s instructions?”
“Yes.”
“What were the instructions?”
Steven hesitated.
“To loosen the line.”
“To kill Emily?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“To scare her.”
My hands curled into fists.
The same excuse.
Always the same excuse.
She pushed too hard.
She only wanted to frighten.
She didn't mean for the fall.
She didn't mean for the crash.
People like Diane never seemed responsible for consequences.
Only intentions they invented afterward.
Detective Chen asked about the staircase.
Steven shook his head.
“I wasn't there.”
“Did you know she planned to hurt Emily?”
“No.”
“Did she contact you afterward?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Steven swallowed.
“She said everything had gone wrong.”
“And?”
“She needed the records moved.”
“The records Emily discovered?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“From three storage accounts into cash.”
“Why?”
“To leave.”
“Where was she planning to go?”
Steven hesitated.
“Canada first.”
“And then?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Chen stared at him.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“You helped her for years.”
“She stopped telling me everything after the police reopened Richard's death.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought I would turn.”
“You did.”
Steven looked down.
Detective Chen changed direction.
“Where is Paul Whitaker?”
Steven started shaking.
“I don't know.”
“His blood was found in his car.”
“I know.”
“Did Diane hurt him?”
Steven's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
“Is Paul alive?”
“I think so.”
Michael leaned toward the screen.
Detective Chen asked, “Where?”
Steven closed his eyes.
“Old storm shelter.”
“Where?”
“Bennett Farm.”
Michael stood.
“My grandparents’ farm.”
Detective Chen looked directly toward the camera.
She knew he was watching.
Officers moved immediately.
Bennett Farm had been abandoned for eight years.
Police reached it ninety minutes later.
Paul Whitaker was found underground.
Alive.
Barely.
He had been beaten and left without food.
His injuries were serious but survivable.
Diane had tried to make him reveal where Richard stored the original recordings.
Paul claimed he didn't know.
That was why she had gone to the cabin herself.
Paul confirmed the rest.
The theft.
The forged signatures.
The digoxin.
The cover-up after Richard's death.
He also revealed something nobody expected.
Diane had not started stealing because she needed money.
She started because Richard planned to divorce her.
Seven years earlier, Richard discovered Diane had been having an affair.
With Paul.
Michael stared at the statement.
“My mother and Paul?”
Detective Chen nodded.
Paul said Diane feared losing access to Richard’s fortune.
She began moving money before divorce papers could be filed.
Paul helped.
Then Richard changed his mind about divorce.
Not because he forgave her.
Because Michael was struggling at the company and Richard didn't want a public scandal to damage his son's future.
So Diane stayed.
The theft grew.
Paul became trapped.
Steven became useful.
By the time Richard discovered everything, millions had moved through false accounts.
“Why didn't Paul come forward after Richard died?” I asked.
Detective Chen gave a tired smile.
“Because then he would admit his own crimes.”
Of course.
People didn't protect Diane because she was powerful.
They protected themselves.
She just made their fear useful.
But one question remained.
Where was Diane?
Steven claimed he didn't know.
Paul didn't know.
Rachel didn't know.
Police checked airports.
Border crossings.
Train stations.
Rental-car agencies.
Nothing.
It was as if she had vanished.
Then the NICU called.
Sophie was ready to come home.
The timing terrified me.
But I refused to let Diane steal that too.
We brought our daughter home to the protected apartment under police escort.
I dressed her in a tiny white outfit.
Michael carried her car seat.
The nurse hugged me before we left.
“You've got a fighter.”
I smiled through tears.
“Yes, I do.”
For twenty-four hours, nothing existed except Sophie.
Feedings.
Diapers.
Sleep.
Tiny noises.
Michael learned how to swaddle her.
Badly.
I laughed watching him.
He looked offended.
“She escaped.”
“She weighs five pounds.”
“She is surprisingly strong.”
For the first time since the staircase, I laughed until my incision hurt.
Michael laughed too.
Then Sophie sneezed.
We both went silent.
And started laughing again.
It felt like our life returning.
One piece at a time.
That night, Michael sat beside me while Sophie slept.
“I’m selling my share of Bennett Development.”
I looked at him.
“You don't have to decide now.”
“I already did.”
“Because of Diane?”
“Because I don't want my daughter inheriting this war.”
I understood.
The company had been Richard's dream.
Then Diane turned it into a weapon.
Michael continued.
“After the audit, after the criminal investigation, after every victim gets paid back, I want out.”
“What will you do?”
“I don't know.”
That scared him.
I could see it.
His whole identity had been built around being Richard Bennett's son.
Maybe starting over was exactly what he needed.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Michael looked at Sophie.
“This.”
I smiled faintly.
“Diapers?”
“A family that isn't afraid of each other.”
My throat tightened.
“I want that too.”
His phone rang.
Detective Chen.
Michael answered.
“We found Diane.”
I sat upright.
“Where?”
“Police received a tip from a motel clerk near Albany.”
“Is she in custody?”
A pause.
“No.”
My heart sank.
“She left before officers arrived.”
Michael swore.
“But we recovered security footage,” Chen continued.
“She wasn't alone.”
“Steven?”
“No.”
“Who?”
The detective hesitated.
Then said a name I didn't recognize.
“Caroline Bennett.”
Michael stopped moving.
I looked at him.
“Who is Caroline?”
His face had gone completely white.
Detective Chen said nothing.
She clearly expected Michael to answer.
He sat slowly.
“My sister.”
I stared.
“You don't have a sister.”
“Yes.”
His voice was barely audible.
“I did.”
“What does that mean?”
Michael looked at me.
“My sister died when I was seventeen.”
The room felt suddenly too small.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Detective Chen spoke through the phone.
“Michael, the woman in the motel footage matches Caroline Bennett's driver's-license photo from twenty-two years ago.”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“We ran facial comparison.”
“No.”
“The probability is extremely high.”
Michael stood.
“My sister is dead.”
Detective Chen's voice was calm.
“We pulled the original death records.”
“And?”
“There was never a body.”
Michael stared into nothing.
I felt cold all over.
“What happened twenty-two years ago?”
Michael answered slowly.
“Her car went off a bridge.”
“Did they find it?”
“Yes.”
“Did they find Caroline?”
“No.”
“But your family said she died?”
“My mother said she had to be dead.”
His eyes filled with confusion.
“She made us hold a funeral.”
Detective Chen asked, “How old was Caroline?”
“Twenty.”
“And why would your mother pretend she was dead if she wasn't?”
Michael looked at me.
Then at Sophie.
“I don't know.”
But I could see another memory surfacing.
Something buried.
Something he had never allowed himself to question.
“Michael?”
He swallowed.
“The night before Caroline disappeared…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“She had a huge fight with my mother.”
“About what?”
Michael looked terrified.
“She told me Mom had done something terrible.”
My skin prickled.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“She didn't tell you?”
“I was seventeen. I told her she was being dramatic.”
He covered his face.
“The next morning, she was gone.”
Detective Chen's voice came through the phone.
“Michael, we need you to think very carefully.”
He lowered his hands.
“Did Caroline ever say where she would go if she had to disappear?”
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then his eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Our grandmother had a cottage in Vermont.”
Detective Chen immediately responded.
“Address?”
Michael gave it.
Within ten minutes, state police were moving.
We waited.
One hour.
Then two.
At 2:16 a.m., Detective Chen called again.
“They found the cottage.”
Michael grabbed the phone.
“Were they there?”
“No.”
His shoulders fell.
“But someone had been staying there recently.”
“Diane?”
“Two women.”
I held my breath.
Detective Chen continued.
“They found medication bottles with Diane’s name.”
“And Caroline?”
“They found something else.”
“What?”
“A handwritten journal.”
Michael looked at me.
“Whose?”
“Caroline's.”
The detective paused.
“The most recent entry was written yesterday.”
Michael sat down.
May you like
His dead sister had been alive for twenty-two years.
And yesterday, she had written his name.
