Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST
I turned the phone toward Mr. Harris.
“Explain this.”
He leaned forward.
Color drained from his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
He studied the picture.
“That photograph was taken at St. Catherine’s Hospital.”
“When?”
“About two years ago.”
“Before Mom signed the deed?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Your mother asked me to come.”
“For the trust?”
“For several documents.”
I stood.
“You said you had never seen this amendment.”
“I haven’t.”
“You are holding the trust in the photograph.”
“The original trust.”
“What is the difference?”
“The trust your parents created left the money equally to both daughters.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Then Mom changed it.”
“I don’t know that she did.”
“Vanessa has a document with Mom’s signature and your name in a photograph connected to the same trust.”
“My name is not on the amendment.”
“But you were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the money?”
“Because your mother ordered me not to.”
“Why?”
“She believed the account would make Vanessa more dangerous.”
The answer sounded too convenient.
I picked up Mom’s letter.
“You delivered this after the funeral.”
“Yes.”
“You helped transfer the house.”
“Yes.”
“You testified at trial.”
“Yes.”
“And all that time, you knew there was two million dollars?”
“I knew there was a trust.”
“Did Vanessa know?”
“I believed she did not.”
The photograph proved otherwise.
Mom was smiling faintly in the picture.
Vanessa’s hand rested on her shoulder.
Anyone looking at it would have thought they were close.
Anyone who had not spent years watching Vanessa perform love for an audience.
“Who took this picture?” I asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“Was Dr. Pierce there?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else?”
“A nurse.”
“What nurse?”
“Her name was Carol Bennett.”
“Can we contact her?”
Mr. Harris hesitated.
“She died last winter.”
Of course she did.
Every person who might explain the amendment seemed to be dead, missing, or suddenly unreliable.
My phone buzzed again.
ASK HIM WHY HE WAS FIRED.
I read the message twice.
Then I looked up.
“Were you fired?”
Mr. Harris slowly sat down.
“By whom?”
“My mother.”
He did not answer.
“Were you?”
“For a brief period.”
My hands went cold.
“You never mentioned that.”
“It was during a difficult stage of her illness.”
“You said she ordered you to keep the trust secret.”
“She did.”
“Before or after she fired you?”
“Before.”
“Why did she fire you?”
“She became suspicious of everyone.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He pressed his fingertips together.
“Your mother believed someone had accessed her financial records.”
“Someone like Vanessa?”
“She didn’t know.”
“What did she think you had done?”
“She thought I had given Vanessa copies of the trust.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then how did Vanessa know about it?”
“I don’t know.”
I moved toward the door.
“Emily.”
I stopped.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bank.”
“The account is frozen.”
“For how long?”
“Until the amendment is verified.”
“Then I’ll start verifying it.”
“You should let me handle this.”
“That’s what Mom did.”
His expression tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She trusted people to protect her.”
“Now she’s dead, Vanessa has a suspicious document, and I’m discovering secrets from anonymous text messages.”
Mr. Harris stood.
“Whoever is contacting you may be trying to manipulate you.”
“At least they’re telling me things you didn’t.”
I left before he could answer.
The rain had stopped, but the sky remained dark.
I sat in my car and studied the hospital photograph.
I zoomed in on Mom’s face.
At first, I saw only the tired smile I remembered from those years.
Then I noticed her left hand.
It rested on the arm of the chair.
Her index finger pointed downward.
Mom used to do that when Vanessa and I were children.
Whenever she wanted us to notice something without speaking, she tapped or pointed.
Below her finger was a brown leather bag.
Vanessa’s bag.
The top was open.
Inside was a blue folder.
I enlarged the image until the pixels blurred.
A white label was attached to the folder.
LAKEVIEW.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
This time, I answered.
“Who is this?”
A woman whispered.
“You need to stop calling attention to yourself.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who worked at St. Catherine’s.”
“Carol Bennett?”
Silence.
“Carol is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then who are you?”
“I worked nights on the memory care floor.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa has already threatened me once.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did you see?”
“Your sister came after visiting hours.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“What did she do?”
“She brought papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did my mother sign them?”
“Sometimes.”
The word struck me harder than I expected.
“Sometimes?”
“Your sister would place a pen in her hand.”
“Was Mom alert?”
“Not always.”
“Did you report it?”
“I tried.”
“To whom?”
“Dr. Pierce.”
“And?”
“He told me family members were allowed to help with paperwork.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
The woman’s breathing became uneven.
“I needed my job.”
“My mother may have been exploited.”
“I know.”
“You knew and did nothing?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this.”
“I saved something.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“A security recording.”
“From the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I need protection first.”
“Meet me at the police station.”
“No.”
“Then give it to my lawyer.”
“No lawyers.”
“Why not?”
“Because Mr. Harris was there the night it happened.”
The call ended.
I stared at the dark screen.
A second later, a location arrived.
An abandoned roadside diner twenty miles outside town.
Beneath the address were six words.
COME ALONE.
DO NOT TELL HARRIS.
I should have called the police.
I should have driven home and locked the doors.
Instead, I turned the key.
Because Mom had spent the last years of her life protecting me in secret.
Now it was my turn to uncover what had been done to her.
When I reached the diner, only one car was parked outside.
A woman sat alone in a back booth.
She wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and kept her face turned toward the window.
I entered.
The bell above the door rang.
She looked up.
I recognized her immediately.
May you like
She had sat behind Vanessa every day during the trial.
She was Vanessa’s former legal assistant.
