Chapter 6
For several minutes, nobody said anything.
I kept staring at the picture.
My mother.
My father.
My aunt.
All together less than an hour before Mom died.
Everything I had ever been told was wrong.
“Who took these?”
Helen looked through the investigator’s notes.
“Security cameras.”
“The lake house had cameras?”
“Apparently a neighboring property did.”
“Why did Grandpa have these?”
“He hired someone to find them years later.”
The police officer with us stepped closer.
“You need to stop handling those documents.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“If these may relate to a death investigation, they need to be preserved.”
“My mother died ten years ago.”
“That doesn’t mean evidence stops being evidence.”
I stepped back.
He called Detective Lewis.
Within an hour, local police were at the storage facility.
The black case was opened in front of us.
Inside were three digital recorders.
Two hard drives.
A stack of notarized statements.
And a letter marked:
IF EVAN FINDS THIS BEFORE I CAN TELL HIM.
I stared at it.
The detective said, “We should photograph everything first.”
“No.”
“Evan—”
“That letter is mine.”
Helen intervened.
“He can read personal correspondence addressed to him after it is documented.”
They photographed it.
Then handed it to me.
I opened the envelope.
Grandpa’s handwriting covered four pages.
Evan,
There is no good way to tell you that adults you love can fail you.
I failed your mother.
I failed your father.
And I may have failed you by waiting too long to tell the truth.
When Laura died, grief made me cruel.
I blamed Michael because blaming him was easier than admitting what I had done.
I threatened your mother that night.
I told her if she left with Michael, I would use every resource I had to fight for custody of you.
She left my home devastated.
That is a burden I have carried every day since.
But Michael was not at the treatment center that night.
He was at Lake Geneva.
He lied about it because he had relapsed.
He met Laura secretly.
They argued.
He has insisted for years that he did not harm her.
I do not know if I believe him.
What I know is that Denise was there too.
That was the part no one could explain.
I looked up.
My hands were shaking.
Helen said nothing.
I continued.
Your aunt told police she was at home in Chicago.
That was false.
Years later, I found evidence she had driven to Wisconsin after speaking to Laura.
I confronted her.
She claimed she went there because Laura called her crying and asked for help.
When I asked why she lied to police, she said she feared becoming involved.
I wanted to believe her.
Then I learned she received $480,000 from an insurance policy connected to Laura’s death.
My breath stopped.
“What?”
Helen grabbed the letter.
She read the line.
Her face changed.
“I never knew this.”
I took it back.
Denise was listed as a secondary beneficiary on an old policy Laura had forgotten to change.
The money was paid nine months after Laura’s death.
Denise used part of it to establish Hayes Family Development.
The same company now drowning in debt.
The same company that has repeatedly asked me for money.
If you are reading this, Denise may already know that I changed my estate plan.
Trust documents are not the only thing you must protect.
Protect yourself.
I stopped.
At the bottom was one final line.
Do not confuse my suspicions with proof.
Find the truth, even if the truth makes you hate me.
Grandpa Walter
I folded the letter.
The detective asked, “Do you understand what insurance policy he’s referring to?”
“No.”
Helen was already searching the files.
She found it in the fourth box.
My mother had a life insurance policy.
Grandpa had been primary beneficiary.
Denise was secondary.
But three weeks before Mom died, the beneficiary had been changed.
Grandpa removed.
Denise moved to primary.
The change form had Mom’s signature.
A handwriting expert hired by Grandpa later concluded the signature was probably forged.
I felt like I was falling through the floor.
“You think Denise killed my mother for insurance money?”
Helen answered immediately.
“We do not know that.”
“It says she lied about being there.”
“Yes.”
“She got almost half a million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“She forged my signature yesterday.”
Helen went quiet.
Because that connection was impossible to ignore.
The detective took the file.
“We need to reopen contact with the original investigating agency.”
My phone buzzed.
Michael.
My father.
At least, the contact said Michael Hayes.
Helen stared at it.
“How does he have my number?”
“I gave it to him yesterday.”
I looked at her.
“You what?”
“He’s your father.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“I told him you were safe. I did not tell him about the money.”
I almost threw the phone.
Instead, I answered.
“What?”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
Older than I remembered.
“Evan?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Is it really you?”
“What happened the night Mom died?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Silence.
That told me everything.
“You were there.”
“Evan—”
“You were at Lake Geneva.”
His breathing changed.
“Who told you?”
“Grandpa.”
“Walter’s dead.”
“He left files.”
Another silence.
This one scared me.
“What kind of files?”
“Why do you care?”
“Listen to me. Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because if Walter kept what I think he kept, you may be in danger.”
I looked at Helen.
“From who?”
Michael said one name.
“Denise.”
My stomach turned.
“She already tried to steal from me.”
“What?”
“Six million dollars.”
He cursed.
Helen motioned for the phone.
I ignored her.
“Tell me what happened to Mom.”
“I can’t do this over the phone.”
“You’ve had ten years.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You let me think you abandoned me.”
His voice cracked.
“I did abandon you.”
That answer hurt more than an excuse.
“I was weak. I was ashamed. Your grandfather hated me, and I convinced myself you were better without me.”
“Were you drinking that night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you fight with Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“No.”
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
“Did Denise?”
Michael didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
It was the first time I had called him that in years.
He inhaled sharply.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
“Your mother called me from Walter’s house. She was crying. She said she was done letting him control her. She wanted to leave Chicago.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“So you met her at the lake house.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“I had been drinking. She noticed.”
His voice dropped.
“She told me she wouldn’t take you anywhere with me if I was drunk.”
“So you argued.”
“Yes.”
“Did she leave?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
Every person in the storage unit went still.
“What?”
“Denise got into the passenger seat.”
I looked at the photo again.
The camera image showed Mom entering the driver’s side.
But the passenger side was outside the frame.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Denise said she was going to calm her down.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I passed out.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
His voice was broken.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say.”
“When did you wake up?”
“Maybe forty minutes later.”
“And?”
“Denise was back.”
My skin went cold.
“Without Mom?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Laura told her to get out after they argued. Said your mom drove off alone.”
“And you believed her?”
“I was drunk, Evan.”
“You keep saying that like it explains everything.”
“It explains why I hate myself.”
I closed my eyes.
“What happened next?”
“Denise drove me back toward town.”
“What about Mom?”
“We didn’t know yet.”
“How did you find out?”
“Police called Walter.”
His voice dropped to almost nothing.
“Your mother’s car went off the road near Fontana.”
I remembered Grandpa telling me a truck hit her.
“Was there a truck?”
“No.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“No truck.”
I stared at Helen.
She looked confused.
“Grandpa said—”
“I know what Walter told you.”
“So what happened?”
“Her car crossed the center line, went through a guardrail, and rolled down an embankment.”
“Why?”
“The report said wet road conditions.”
“And you think Denise did something.”
“I think Denise lied.”
“About what?”
“I saw blood on her sleeve when she came back.”
The storage unit went silent.
Even the detective stopped writing.
“What kind of blood?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“She said Laura scratched her during the argument.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Did you tell police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His voice shattered.
“Because I was a coward.”
I ended the call.
Helen reached for me.
I stepped away.
Everyone wanted to touch me when their words destroyed my life.
I didn’t want comfort.
I wanted the truth.
The detective took Michael’s number.
The storage unit became a crime scene.
We returned to Chicago that evening.
Michael agreed to come in the next morning.
I told Helen I didn’t want to see him.
Then I changed my mind.
At ten the next day, I sat behind one-way glass while detectives interviewed my father.
He looked older.
Thin.
Gray at his temples.
He admitted everything.
The relapse.
The argument.
The lie.
The blood on Denise.
Then Detective Lewis placed a photograph on the table.
It came from Grandpa’s files.
Michael stared at it.
His face drained.
“What?”
Lewis leaned forward.
“You recognize that?”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“What is it?”
The photograph showed the rear bumper of Mom’s car.
There was a second vehicle behind it.
Dark sedan.
The investigator had enlarged the plate.
Registered owner at the time:
DENISE HAYES.
Michael covered his mouth.
“She followed her.”
Lewis said nothing.
Michael started crying.
“She told me Laura drove away alone.”
Then the interview-room door opened.
Another detective entered and whispered to Lewis.
Lewis looked through the one-way glass at me.
Then at Helen.
He stepped outside.
“We found Tyler’s SUV.”
“Where?”
“Near O’Hare.”
My pulse jumped.
“Did you find him?”
“No.”
“But we found something in the vehicle.”
“What?”
Lewis held up a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a burned piece of paper.
Only one sentence remained readable.
TRANSFER UPON DEATH OF EVAN MICHAEL HAYES.
I stared at it.
Helen went white.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
She closed her eyes.
“It means someone was preparing for what would happen to your money if you died.”
