Chapter 9 - BLOOD BY THE RIVER
The blood belonged to Sabrina.
But there wasn’t enough to prove she was dead.
Connor didn’t speak for almost an hour after I told him.
Then he said:
“Grandma did it.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Connor.”
“She said she’d kill Mom once.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“They were fighting about money.”
“Did you hear everything?”
He shook his head.
“Grandma said, ‘You know what happened when your father crossed me.’”
My stomach dropped.
Linda heard it too.
She sat slowly.
“Connor, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I called Martinez.
Within an hour, detectives returned to interview him.
Meanwhile, forensic testing on my father’s stored documents produced another surprise.
The handwritten amendment was real.
But the version my mother had been using in her guardianship planning was not.
The actual amendment placed all financial control with an independent trustee until Grace turned twenty-five.
Even if I died.
Even if I lost custody.
My mother would never control the money.
Unless the amendment disappeared.
That explained the storage unit.
She needed the original destroyed.
Detective Cole laid it out plainly.
“Your mother may have believed the earlier trust language was still enforceable.”
“So she planned this entire custody case without knowing Dad changed it.”
“Possibly.”
“And Peter knew?”
“We think so.”
“What did my father mean by ‘what Diane bought’?”
Cole slid a lab report across the table.
“Peter Lang worked at Morgan Equine Clinic when your father died.”
“I know.”
“He had access to veterinary medications.”
My stomach tightened.
“Which ones?”
“One drug used at that clinic at the time was succinylcholine.”
I stared at her.
“What is that?”
“A paralytic.”
My mouth went dry.
“It can stop breathing?”
“Yes.”
“And would it look like a heart attack?”
“In some circumstances, without proper testing, a sudden death could be misinterpreted.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“You think my mother killed my father.”
“We’re investigating.”
“But Peter was paid two hundred forty thousand dollars three days after Dad died.”
“Yes.”
“And now Peter is dead.”
“Yes.”
The walls felt too close.
For thirty years, my mother had controlled the story of my father’s death.
Now that story was collapsing.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Sabrina.
Alive.
Her lip was split.
One eye swollen.
She was sitting on a concrete floor.
Below the photo was a message.
BRING THE ORIGINAL AMENDMENT.
NO POLICE.
MIDNIGHT.
May you like
A second message arrived.
OR CONNOR LOSES HIS MOTHER.
