Chapter 8: Hawthorne
By morning, I hadn't slept.
Emily had.
That mattered more.
When she woke, she padded into the kitchen wearing one of Dana's oversized T-shirts and stopped when she saw breakfast.
Pancakes.
Eggs.
Strawberries.
Milk.
She looked at me.
“Is this for everybody?””
“Yes.””
“Can I have strawberries?””
“As many as you want.””
She took three.
Then hesitated.
“Can I save one?””
My chest tightened.
“You don't have to save food here.””
“I know.””
She slipped one strawberry onto a napkin anyway.
“For Caleb.””
I had to look away.
Later, while Emily played with Dana, I spoke with the appropriate professionals and began arranging legal representation.
I also called my attorney, Samuel Price.
After I explained the forged documents and attempted transfer, his voice became very serious.
“Do not sign anything Vanessa gives you.””
“I won't.””
“Preserve every document exactly as you found it.””
“I photographed them.””
“Good. And Daniel?””
“Yes?””
“Change passwords on accounts she could access, but don't destroy or alter evidence.””
“I understand.””
“What about the apartment?””
“I'm trying to confirm it exists.””
“Don't enter it without authority.””
That warning mattered.
I wanted answers.
But I wasn't going to ruin the evidence because I was angry.
Caleb remembered the building's color and a coffee shop across the street.
That was enough for Patricia to recognize the area.
“Hawthorne Studio,” she said suddenly.
“What?””
“I saw it on Vanessa's social media months ago.””
She searched.
The business page was still active.
Hawthorne Home Collective.
The photographs showed staged living rooms, designer lamps, throw pillows, furniture.
And Vanessa.
Smiling.
Standing in an apartment I'd never seen.
I stared at one photo.
Behind her was a framed certificate.
Hawthorne Family Consulting LLC.
Same company.
Marcus leaned over my shoulder.
“So she wasn't just consulting.””
“No.””
Patricia whispered, “She was trying to open a showroom.””
Another photograph showed boxes stacked near a wall.
Caleb pointed.
“That's the place.””
I contacted Samuel again and sent everything.
Then something caught my attention.
A post from two months earlier.
COMING SOON — OUR PERMANENT LOCATION.
Permanent location?
I searched the company name publicly.
An address appeared.
A commercial unit.
And beneath the listing was another name.
Co-founder: Vanessa Carter.
The second name meant nothing to me.
Lauren Pierce.
“Who's Lauren?””
Patricia frowned.
“I've heard that name.””
“Where?””
Then she remembered.
“Vanessa's college roommate.””
A phone number appeared on the business page.
Samuel advised me not to contact anyone impulsively, so I forwarded the information instead.
By afternoon, the story grew stranger.
The LLC had existed for eleven months.
Vanessa had told me she'd started experimenting with consulting six months ago.
She had lied about the timeline.
Then Nicole called.
“I found something.””
“What?””
“An old email.””
My stomach tightened.
“From Vanessa?””
“Yes.””
Nicole forwarded it.
The message was dated almost eight months earlier.
Vanessa had written:
Emily is struggling here. Daniel doesn't see how serious it is. If she eventually stays with you, there may be financial arrangements to cover her expenses.
I reread the sentence.
Financial arrangements.
Emily's trust.
Suddenly the plan looked different.
“What if she wasn't only trying to send Emily away?”” I said.
Marcus looked at me.
“What do you mean?””
“What if she wanted control of the money while making it look like the money was following Emily?””
Samuel called less than an hour later.
“Daniel, I found something important.””
“What?””
“The destination account on the transfer request appears connected to Hawthorne.””
“I know.””
“There's more. The paperwork describes the transfer as reimbursement for child-related residential expenses.””
I stood.
“Residential expenses?””
“Purportedly preparing alternative housing for Emily.””
My skin went cold.
“She tried to use my daughter's trust to fund her business.””
“That is one possibility the documents raise. We need the investigation to establish exactly what happened.””
“And she planned to send Emily to Nicole.””
“That could explain the guardianship documents, but don't jump beyond the evidence.””
He was right.
I forced myself to slow down.
Then my phone beeped.
A voicemail.
Vanessa.
I played it on speaker.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Daniel, you're making decisions without knowing everything. Hawthorne wasn't stealing from Emily. I was trying to protect this family from something Rachel did before she died.””
I stopped breathing.
Marcus looked at me.
“What the hell does that mean?””
The voicemail continued.
“You've spent four years worshipping a woman who kept secrets from you. Check Emily's trust documents. The original ones. Then call me.””
The message ended.
I stood frozen.
I hated that she had said Rachel's name.
I hated more that part of me needed to know what she meant.
I called Samuel.
“Do you have the original trust documents?””
“No. The bank should have copies, but you may have received originals when it was created.””
I knew exactly where they were supposed to be.
A fireproof box in my home office.
The same office Vanessa had accessed.
I returned with supervision later that afternoon.
The box was there.
The trust documents were not.
Instead, beneath Rachel's death certificate, I found an envelope I'd never seen before.
It had my name on it.
Not Vanessa's handwriting.
Rachel's.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single handwritten letter.
May you like
The first line read:
Daniel, if you're reading this, someone has finally asked about the second account.
