Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO KNEW EVERYTHING
Richard Sloan had handled my taxes for six years.
He knew my income.
My mortgage.
My retirement accounts.
Every property I owned.
He also knew my mother.
Because I had introduced them.
I called him.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
I sent one text.
CALL ME. NOW.
Five minutes later, my phone rang.
“Connor.”
Richard sounded breathless.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
A pause.
“I heard there was some kind of situation.”
“Who told you?”
Another pause.
“Your mother called me earlier.”
“She’s in custody.”
Silence.
I heard traffic behind him.
“You knew about the power of attorney.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“Connor, listen—”
“You knew.”
“Your mother told me you were planning some estate restructuring.”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“She said you wanted to protect assets.”
“From my wife?”
“No. From liability.”
“Then why was my house being transferred?”
He stopped talking.
That was answer enough.
“Richard, did you help forge my signature?”
“No.”
“Did you know the signature wasn’t mine?”
“I thought—”
“YES OR NO?”
“Yes.”
Amy closed her eyes.
I felt something inside me go numb.
“How much did she pay you?”
“Connor, this is more complicated than—”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes anger has nowhere else to go.
“You sold me for ten grand?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.”
“I thought Teresa was trying to protect family assets.”
“She stole my wife’s car keys.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She starved my wife.”
“Connor—”
“She tried to steal my house.”
Richard went quiet.
Then he said something strange.
“You need to stop looking at the house.”
“What?”
“The house is the smallest part.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What did she do?”
“You need an attorney.”
“I need the truth.”
“She opened something in your name.”
“What?”
“I can’t talk about this over the phone.”
“Then come here.”
“No.”
“Richard.”
“I’m sorry.”
The call ended.
Daniels looked at me.
“Did you record that?”
I had.
Thirty minutes later, Frederick’s fever dropped after medication.
Amy wanted to take him to the hospital anyway.
I drove.
In the emergency room waiting area, she finally looked at me.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me about the money?”
“I thought Mom was helping.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
That hurt.
Because she was right.
“I don’t know.”
“You trusted her more than me.”
“I did.”
Her eyes filled.
“I kept thinking I was failing.”
“You weren’t.”
“She told me you complained about me.”
“I never did.”
“She said you were disappointed because I stopped working.”
“I begged you to take maternity leave.”
“I know that now.”
I reached for her hand.
She pulled it away.
I deserved that.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
STOP DIGGING OR AMY LOSES EVERYTHING TOO.
Attached was a photo.
Amy leaving a grocery store.
Holding Frederick.
Taken three weeks earlier.
Someone had been watching her.
May you like
Then a second message came.
YOU HAVE UNTIL MONDAY.
