Chapter 4 - The Policy
Dad had one life insurance policy.
At least, that was what he believed.
We left the Veterans Hall through the kitchen.
Marjorie insisted on coming.
Dad refused.
She followed us anyway.
“I’m his wife.”
Dad stopped beside his truck.
“And right now, I need ten minutes without you.”
The look on her face was ugly.
“You’re choosing her?”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“It always is with Natalie.”
I stepped away.
“I’ll drive myself.”
Dad grabbed my arm.
“No.”
Not hard.
Just desperate.
“You’re not disappearing again.”
That sentence hit me harder than I expected.
I nodded.
Admiral Keene stayed behind to speak with the event organizers.
Dad and I drove to his house.
Marjorie followed in her car.
Of course she did.
The moment we arrived, Dad went into his office.
He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder.
“Policy number should be in here.”
I sat beside him.
The original policy was normal.
$250,000.
Primary beneficiary: Marjorie Reed.
Secondary beneficiary: Natalie Reed.
Dad looked embarrassed.
“I changed that after your mother died.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
He flipped through the documents.
Then stopped.
There was a second policy.
Issued eight months earlier.
One million dollars.
Dad stared at it.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Marjorie appeared in the doorway.
“This is insane.”
I looked at the beneficiary line.
Primary beneficiary:
Marjorie Reed.
Dad slowly stood.
“Did you take this out?”
“No.”
“Your name is on it.”
“So?”
“You’re my wife.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t authorize a million-dollar policy.”
She stepped into the room.
“You sign things all the time.”
“Not this.”
“You probably forgot.”
My father’s expression changed.
That was the wrong thing to say.
Dad was seventy-one.
He forgot names sometimes.
Lost his reading glasses twice a week.
Walked into rooms and forgot why.
Normal things.
Marjorie had spent months turning those moments into jokes.
Maybe worse.
Dad held up the paper.
“Are you saying I’m losing my mind?”
“I’m saying you forget things.”
He stared at her.
I saw something break between them.
My phone rang.
This time the caller ID showed a name.
LT. EVAN PRICE.
I answered immediately.
“Price.”
His voice was tight.
“Commander, are you alone?”
I looked at Dad.
“No.”
“Can you get alone?”
I stepped into the hallway.
“What did you find?”
“We traced the document you sent.”
“I didn’t send it.”
Silence.
“What?”
“It came to me anonymously.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Why?”
“Because I was about to call you.”
My stomach tightened.
“We found activity linked to your father’s foundation during a separate fraud review.”
“What kind of activity?”
“Shell companies. Fake vendor payments. Small transfers at first. Then bigger ones.”
“Mercer Consulting?”
“That’s one.”
I looked toward the office.
Marjorie was arguing with Dad.
“What else?”
Price hesitated.
“There’s a medical services company.”
“Medical?”
“Home care.”
I went still.
“What company?”
“Southern Grace Senior Support.”
I had heard that name before.
Marjorie hired them.
Three months ago.
She said Dad needed help remembering his blood pressure pills.
Price continued.
“Commander, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The company doesn’t have employees.”
My mouth went dry.
“It exists only on paper.”
I looked into the office.
Marjorie had one hand on Dad’s shoulder.
She was telling him to calm down.
Price lowered his voice.
“We also found recurring purchases from a pharmacy distributor.”
“What kind of purchases?”
He answered.
And suddenly the anonymous text about life insurance didn’t feel like fraud anymore.
May you like
It felt like a warning.
“Sedatives,” Price said.
