Chapter 9: The Best Friend Who Knew Everything
I sat down so abruptly that the chair scraped across the kitchen floor.
Susan Miller had been more than my best friend.
She was the person who held my wedding bouquet when I married Robert. She was the godmother who brought Olivia a stuffed rabbit every Christmas. When Robert died, Susan slept on my sofa for two weeks because she was afraid I'd stop eating if left alone.
Six years ago, she'd died from complications after surgery.
I'd stood beside her hospital bed, holding her hand while she struggled to breathe.
I'd watched her coffin lowered into the ground.
And now her photograph was connected to a missing fortune and my husband's suspicious death.
“No,” I whispered.
“Susan couldn't have been involved.””
Daniel's voice came through the phone.
“Margaret, I know how this sounds.””
“You don't know anything about her.””
“I knew Susan before you met her.””
I stopped breathing.
“What?””
“She worked with Robert and me during the early days of the construction business. She handled our accounts before the company collapsed.””
I stared at the photograph.
Susan had told me she'd met Robert at a charity event. She'd never mentioned working with my husband.
“You're lying.””
“I wish I were.””
Thomas held out his hand for the photograph. I passed it to him, unable to look at it any longer.
He studied the image.
“The woman in this photograph appears to be the same person shown in the bank's archived account records. We need to verify the dates and establish whether she had any involvement in the transfer.””
“She was my best friend,” I said.
Thomas lowered the photograph.
“I understand.””
“No, you don't. She sat beside me when my husband died. She helped me choose his headstone. She brought groceries to my house when I couldn't bear to leave.””
My voice cracked.
“She knew everything about my life.””
Daniel spoke quietly.
“That may be why Michael trusted her.””
I turned toward the phone.
“Trusted her to do what?””
“To manage the paperwork. Susan was good with numbers. She knew how to move money without attracting attention.””
I shook my head.
“That's enough.””
“Margaret—”
“I said enough!””
The officers glanced at me, but I didn't care.
I had spent years grieving the people I loved. Now every memory felt contaminated. Every kindness carried a question mark.
Was Susan comforting me because she loved me?
Or because she wanted to make sure I never discovered what happened to Robert?
Ethan sat beside Olivia, his expression distant.
“Daniel,” he said, “if Susan was involved, why did she die six years ago?””
“I don't know whether she actually died.””
I stared at the phone.
“What do you mean?””
“I never saw her body. Michael told me she died after surgery. But when I contacted the hospital, they couldn't locate the records under the name I gave them.””
Thomas leaned forward.
“Did you investigate further?””
“I tried. Someone threatened me, and I had to disappear again.””
I pressed my fingers against my temples.
Susan had lived three streets away from me. We'd shared birthdays, holidays, and countless cups of coffee. She'd helped me pick out the blue dress I wore to Olivia's graduation.
If she had faked her death, she'd done it so completely that even I had never questioned it.
“Why would she pretend to die?””
Daniel hesitated.
“Because she knew where the money went.””
Thomas stood.
“We need the original account documents and the recording. Without them, we have suspicions but no definitive proof.””
Daniel agreed to send the documents through a secure channel arranged by the authorities. Before ending the call, he gave Thomas the location of the storage unit and a description of the key.
Then he said something that made me grab the phone.
“Margaret, there's one more thing you need to know.””
“What?””
“Robert didn't die because he refused to give Michael the money.””
I swallowed.
“Then why?””
“Because he discovered what Susan had done with the original beneficiary documents.””
The call disconnected.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Olivia began speaking.
“Mom, I need to tell you something about Susan.””
I turned toward her.
“What now?””
“Two months before she supposedly died, she came to see me.””
Ethan looked at her sharply.
“You knew she was connected to this?””
“No. Not then.””
Olivia took a breath.
“She said Dad had left something for me. She gave me a small envelope and told me to keep it somewhere safe.””
“Where is it?””
“I still have it.””
I stared at her.
“Where?””
“At home.””
“Why didn't you tell Thomas?””
“Because I was afraid it would expose everything.””
I stood.
“Get your coat.””
Olivia blinked.
“What?””
“We're going to your house.””
Thomas intervened.
“Mrs. Hayes, given the threat and the car outside, I recommend that we let the officers handle any retrieval.””
“I've spent twelve years waiting for answers. I'm not waiting another night.””
After a brief discussion, two officers accompanied us to Olivia's apartment. Ethan insisted on coming, though he and Olivia barely spoke during the drive.
Her apartment was in a modern building overlooking the river. Inside, everything was immaculate: pale furniture, framed wedding photographs, and shelves of decorative books arranged by color.
I wondered how much of her life was real.
Olivia led us to a bedroom closet and pulled a small box from the top shelf. Beneath a stack of scarves lay a yellow envelope sealed with old tape.
My name was written across the front.
Not Olivia's.
Mine.
I stared at the handwriting.
It was Susan's.
Olivia handed it to me.
“She told me to give it to you if anything happened to her.””
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph and a folded sheet of paper.
The photograph showed Susan standing outside a hospital entrance. She was older than I remembered, her hair shorter, her face thinner.
Beside her stood a man wearing a baseball cap.
I turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
Three days after the date of Susan's supposed death.
My hands began shaking.
I unfolded the letter.
Margaret, if Olivia has finally given you this, then I have run out of time.
I know you will hate me for what I did. But I need you to understand that Robert was trying to protect you, and I was trying to protect him.
The money was never the real reason he died.
I read the next line.
Then I stopped.
Because Susan had written a name.
A name I hadn't heard in years.
A name belonging to the person who had officiated at my wedding, attended Robert's funeral, and delivered the eulogy at Susan's memorial.
*Pastor James Whitaker.*
I looked up at Thomas.
“Do you know this man?””
Thomas's face had gone pale.
“Yes,” he said.
“Who is he?””
Thomas took the letter from my hands and read the final paragraph.
Then he looked at David Whitmore.
“James Whitaker wasn't just their pastor.””
David slowly shook his head.
“That's impossible.””
Thomas's voice dropped.
“He was Michael Whitmore's business partner.””
Before anyone could speak, Olivia's phone vibrated on the dresser.
A new message appeared.
No number. No name.
Just a photograph of our family standing outside the church on the day Robert was buried.
Every face had been circled in red.
Except mine.
May you like
Beneath the photograph were six words.
*YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.*
