Chapter 11: The Money My Brother Took
I couldn't stop staring at Michael's name.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Not the ten thousand he'd admitted receiving after Emily's death, but twice that amount, transferred two days before her prescription was changed.
Detective Brooks placed the page on the kitchen table.
"Mr. Carter, do you know anything about this transfer?""
"No.""
"Did your brother have access to your financial accounts?""
"He had access to some family paperwork after Emily died, but not my bank accounts.""
"Could the money have come from an account belonging to your wife?""
I shook my head.
"Emily didn't have an account that Michael could access.""
The detective photographed the page.
"We'll need to verify the source of the transfer and the authenticity of this document before drawing conclusions.""
I understood what she was saying.
A name on a page wasn't proof of a crime. Neither was a photograph, a suspicious payment, or a missing envelope.
But the pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.
My brother had received money after Emily died. He'd concealed his presence at the hospital. He'd handed over a photograph to a stranger and failed to tell me about the missing medical records.
Now his name appeared beside another payment.
"Where was this paper found?"" I asked.
"The officer located it beneath the placemat. It may have been left recently, but we can't determine that yet.""
I looked around the kitchen.
Someone had entered my home and left a message designed to direct my suspicion toward Michael.
It could have been an attempt to expose him.
Or it could have been a trap.
"Could someone be trying to make my brother look guilty?"" I asked.
"That's one possibility.""
"Could Michael have left this himself?""
"That's another.""
I looked at the photograph of Emily beside the pharmacy.
For three years, I'd believed that my wife had died because her illness had progressed beyond treatment.
Now I had evidence that her medication records might have been altered.
I wasn't going to let another unverified document destroy my family.
"Can I speak to Michael?"" I asked.
Detective Brooks considered the request.
"Yes, but I'd prefer that we arrange the conversation properly.""
She called the officer supervising Michael's interview and requested that he meet us at the station.
Before leaving, I walked through Sophie's bedroom.
The bedspread was rumpled, and her favorite picture of Emily hung crookedly above the dresser.
I straightened it.
Then I noticed a small envelope tucked behind the frame.
My name was written on it.
I called Detective Brooks before touching it.
She photographed the envelope, then carefully removed it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Daniel, if Michael tells you he took money to protect you, ask him who paid him. If he says he doesn't know, he's lying.
There was no signature.
No date.
Nothing that established who had written it.
Detective Brooks sealed the note.
"Someone wants you to distrust your brother," she said.
"Maybe they have a reason.""
"Maybe. But our job is to establish facts, not follow someone's instructions.""
I nodded.
Still, as we left the house, I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that Michael had been involved in something far worse than a desperate mistake.
At the station, he sat in a small interview room with his hands clasped together.
He looked up when I entered.
"Daniel, did they find something?""
I placed the photograph of the payment list on the table.
Michael stared at it.
The color drained from his face.
"Where did you get that?""
"In my kitchen.""
He shook his head.
"No.""
"Is that your name?""
"Yes.""
"Did you receive twenty thousand dollars?""
Michael closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he didn't answer.
Then he nodded.
My stomach twisted.
"Why?""
"Because someone offered it to me.""
"Who?""
"I don't know his real name.""
"Michael.""
"I swear to you, Daniel. He called himself Robert. He said he worked for a company that handled medical claims. He told me there had been an error in Emily's records and that the money was compensation for the trouble our family had experienced.""
I stared at him.
"And you accepted it?""
"I was drowning in debt. I'd made some bad investments, and I was afraid of losing my apartment. When he offered the money, I convinced myself it was legitimate.""
"You accepted twenty thousand dollars from a stranger connected to your wife's death, and you never told me?""
Michael's eyes filled with tears.
"I thought it was unrelated to Emily's death.""
"How could you possibly think that?""
"Because he told me the payment had been approved by the hospital. He showed me documents. I didn't know the prescription records had been altered.""
"Did you know Andrew Price?""
"I'd seen him at the hospital, but I didn't know his name at the time.""
I pushed the photograph toward him.
"Then why is your name beside his?""
Michael studied the list.
"I don't know.""
"Did you pay him?""
"No.""
"Did you hire him to enter my house?""
"No!""
His voice cracked so violently that the officer outside the room looked through the window.
Michael leaned forward.
"Daniel, I made a terrible mistake. I took money I shouldn't have taken. I hid what happened at the hospital because I was afraid people would accuse me of something I didn't do.""
"People might accuse you because you kept giving them reasons to.""
He lowered his head.
I wanted to believe him.
But belief wasn't evidence, and love wasn't an excuse.
Detective Brooks entered the room and placed a printed banking record in front of him.
"We've requested preliminary information about the transfer," she said.
"The money appears to have originated from a business account associated with a medical services contractor.""
Michael looked up sharply.
"What business?""
She showed him the name.
His lips parted.
"I know that company.""
I leaned forward.
"How?""
"Because I saw it on the hospital paperwork after Emily died.""
Detective Brooks asked him to explain.
Michael rubbed his hands together.
"The company handled temporary pharmacy staffing at the hospital. They supplied contractors when the regular staff was short.""
"Was Andrew Price employed by them?""
"I believe so.""
The detective made another note.
"Do you remember who contacted you about the payment?""
Michael nodded slowly.
"Yes. The man called me again a week later. He said if anyone asked about the money, I should tell them it was a private settlement. He also told me to destroy the photograph of the medication tray.""
"Did you?""
"No. I kept the copy.""
"Why?""
Michael looked at me.
"Because Emily asked me to keep it safe.""
For the first time that day, I saw something in my brother's expression that felt familiar.
Not fear of being caught.
Fear of having failed someone who had trusted him.
Detective Brooks stood.
"We'll need the original photograph, your bank records, and any communications you still have with this person.""
Michael nodded.
Then he turned toward me.
"Daniel, there's something I haven't told you about Vanessa.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What?""
"She didn't find me by accident.""
He took a shaky breath.
"Six weeks before your engagement, she called me. She already knew about the money, the hospital investigation, and Emily's missing records.""
I stared at him.
"How?""
Michael looked toward Detective Brooks.
"She said someone had hired her to find out whether I still had the photograph.""
"Who hired her?"" I asked.
"I don't know. But she told me the person wanted to know whether Emily had left anything behind.""
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded receipt.
"I found this in the envelope that contained the original payment. I kept it because I thought it might matter someday.""
Detective Brooks took the receipt.
It showed a payment made to a private investigator.
The client's name had been redacted, but a reference number was visible.
Below it was a date.
Three days before Vanessa first contacted Michael.
And beside the reference number, someone had written a name.
Not Vanessa.
Not Andrew.
A name that made Michael recoil as though he'd seen a ghost.
"That's impossible," he whispered.
I leaned closer.
May you like
The name belonged to Emily's former doctor.
The man who had signed the original prescription.
