Chapter 9
The search for Denise lasted three days.
News vans appeared outside Helen’s house.
The bank story was gone.
Now reporters knew there was a fraud investigation.
An arson.
A reopened death review.
They didn’t know everything.
But they knew enough to turn my family into entertainment.
Helen kept the television off.
I kept checking my phone anyway.
People online called Denise a murderer.
Others called me a spoiled rich kid inventing abuse to keep an inheritance.
Somebody found an old school picture of me.
Someone else posted Grandpa’s address.
A stranger created a fake fundraiser using my name.
Money revealed people.
Grandpa’s sentence followed me everywhere.
On the fourth morning, Michael came to Helen’s house with his daughter.
Emma.
My sister.
Half-sister.
Whatever word was supposed to make eleven years of not knowing someone feel normal.
She stood behind him clutching a backpack.
Brown hair.
My mother’s eyes.
No.
Not Mom’s.
Dad’s.
My eyes too.
She looked terrified.
Michael spoke first.
“I wouldn’t bring her here unless it was important.”
“What happened?”
“Someone followed us yesterday.”
Helen immediately called Lewis.
Michael continued.
“A gray pickup. I thought it was nothing. Then this morning I found this on my windshield.”
He handed me a note.
Tell Evan to stop.
That was all.
I looked at Emma.
She was staring at my torn old hoodie hanging on a chair.
The one I wore to the bank.
Michael had probably told her what happened.
“Is she in danger because of me?”
“No,” he said.
“Yes,” Helen said at the same time.
Michael looked at her.
Helen didn’t apologize.
“We don’t know what Denise might do.”
Emma finally spoke.
“Is Aunt Denise really bad?”
I stared at her.
“You know her?”
She nodded.
“She sends birthday gifts.”
Of course she did.
Denise sent birthday gifts to the child Michael raised while telling me my father didn’t care whether I was alive.
I almost laughed at how perfectly cruel that was.
Emma looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
Sorry.
But coming from an eleven-year-old, it didn’t make me angry.
“You didn’t do anything.”
She looked up.
“Dad said you might hate me.”
Michael winced.
I stared at him.
“You told her that?”
“I told her this would be complicated.”
Emma said, “He said you had every reason to hate us.”
I looked at her.
“You’re eleven.”
“So?”
“So I’m not blaming an eleven-year-old for what adults did.”
She thought about that.
“Okay.”
Then she pulled something from her backpack.
A stack of envelopes held together with a rubber band.
“What are those?”
“Letters.”
My chest tightened.
“From who?”
“You.”
I stared.
“I never wrote you.”
“I know.”
She placed them on the table.
The handwriting wasn’t mine.
But my name was signed at the bottom.
Dear Emma,
Dad told me about your soccer game…
Dear Emma,
I hope you like middle school…
Dear Emma,
Sorry we haven’t met yet…
I looked at Michael.
His face had gone white.
“I didn’t write those either.”
Emma looked between us.
“What?”
“Who gave them to you?” I asked.
“Aunt Denise.”
The room froze.
“When?”
“She mailed them.”
Michael grabbed one envelope.
The postmark was Chicago.
“What did she tell you?”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
“She said you were too upset to talk to Dad, but you wanted me to know you didn’t hate me.”
I felt sick.
Denise had created an entire fake relationship between us.
Why?
Helen was already reading.
“These letters contain information.”
“What information?”
She pointed.
This one said:
Grandpa keeps everything important in the lake file.
Another:
Dad says Grandpa promised I’ll never worry about college.
Another:
Aunt Denise told me family money should stay with family.
I looked up.
“She was using Emma?”
Michael’s face turned red.
“She was fishing for information.”
Helen nodded.
“And creating documents that could later support a claim that Evan wanted family members involved in his finances.”
I felt cold.
Denise hadn’t started planning after Grandpa died.
She had been building a paper trail for years.
“How long?”
Emma whispered, “I got the first one when I was eight.”
Three years.
Michael sat down hard.
“I let her near my daughter.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
I understood then.
That sentence was our family curse.
I should have known.
Grandpa should have known.
Dad should have known.
Helen should have known.
Maybe Mom should have known.
Everyone looking backward and finding the moment they could have prevented disaster.
Detective Lewis arrived.
He took the letters.
Then he gave us news.
They found Denise’s car near the Wisconsin border.
Abandoned.
A motel camera recorded her getting into another vehicle.
Driver unknown.
But police had an idea where she was going.
Lake Geneva.
Of course.
Grandpa’s storage unit had already been emptied into evidence.
The old lake house belonged to another family.
What else was there?
Michael answered.
“A cabin.”
Helen looked at him.
“What cabin?”
“Laura rented one.”
My mother.
“Where?”
“Outside Williams Bay.”
“When?”
“The month before she died.”
“Why?”
“She was planning to leave Walter’s house.”
I stared at him.
“You never told police?”
“I didn’t know the address then.”
“But you know it now?”
“I found a postcard years later.”
He gave Lewis the location.
Police were already moving before we finished talking.
Lewis told us to stay in Chicago.
I lasted forty minutes.
Then my phone rang.
Denise.
Her real number.
I answered before anyone could stop me.
“Evan.”
Her voice sounded calm.
Too calm.
“Where are you?”
“You know where.”
“The cabin?”
Silence.
Then she laughed softly.
“Michael finally remembered something useful.”
Police began tracing the call.
I kept her talking.
“Why did you fake letters to Emma?”
“Because your father was easy to manipulate.”
“What do you want?”
“What was always mine.”
“Grandpa’s money?”
“My father’s life.”
I didn’t understand.
“He gave everything to Laura.”
“Mom?”
“Always Laura.”
Her voice sharpened.
“She was prettier. Kinder. Smarter. Every room became hers the second she walked in.”
I looked at Michael.
He closed his eyes.
“And then she had you.”
“So?”
“So my father suddenly had the son he always wanted.”
“I was his grandson.”
“You were his second chance.”
Her breathing changed.
“I spent my entire life begging that man to see me.”
“So you stole from him?”
“I built Hayes Development because I wanted him to respect me.”
“He invested in it.”
“And then pulled out.”
“Why?”
“Because Tyler made one mistake.”
Helen whispered, “What mistake?”
I repeated it.
Denise heard.
“Oh, Helen is there.”
“Answer me.”
“Tyler moved money between project accounts. Temporary. We were going to replace it.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Michael cursed softly.
“Grandpa found out.”
“Yes.”
“He stopped funding you.”
“He humiliated us.”
“So you went after Mom’s insurance?”
Silence.
Then Denise said, “Be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking questions you don’t understand.”
“I understand you were with her.”
Denise’s breathing stopped.
“At Lake Geneva.”
No answer.
“Dad saw blood on you.”
“He was drunk.”
“You followed Mom’s car.”
“No.”
“Grandpa had photographs.”
Silence.
“Did you kill her?”
Helen grabbed my arm.
I shook her off.
Denise whispered, “I loved my sister.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She was going to destroy everything.”
My heart slammed.
“How?”
“She found the missing business money.”
Nobody moved.
Denise kept talking.
“She told me she was going to tell Dad.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“So you followed her.”
“She was hysterical.”
“You got into her car.”
“She needed to calm down.”
“You fought.”
Silence.
“Did you touch the steering wheel?”
Her voice cracked.
“She wouldn’t stop screaming.”
I stopped breathing.
“What did you do?”
“It was raining.”
“What did you do?”
“She slapped me.”
“Denise.”
“I grabbed her.”
Helen covered her mouth.
Michael started crying.
“And?”
“The car moved.”
My knees weakened.
“She looked away from the road.”
“Because you grabbed her?”
“I didn’t mean—”
The call suddenly went silent.
“Denise?”
Nothing.
Then she returned.
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“You wanted the truth.”
“I want you to turn yourself in.”
She laughed.
“You sound like Walter.”
Police signaled.
Trace complete.
Lewis wrote the location.
The cabin.
Denise whispered one final sentence.
“I never meant for Laura to die.”
The call ended.
Police found her forty-seven minutes later.
She was sitting on the cabin floor.
Grandpa’s stolen folder was spread around her.
Beside it was an empty bottle of pills.
May you like
She was unconscious.
But alive.
