I called Patrice before Robert could stop me.
She answered on the second ring.
“What?”
Her voice sounded tired.
“Did Susan prepare a plan giving you control of my money?”
Silence.
Robert kept driving.
I waited.
Finally Patrice said, “Who told you?”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
Robert swore under his breath.
“When?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“After the version naming Robert?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said Robert was becoming unreliable.”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“Unreliable means I started saying no.”
Patrice heard him.
“You are with him?”
“He is driving.”
She was quiet.
I asked, “What exactly did Susan offer you?”
“It wasn’t an offer.”
“What was it?”
“A contingency.”
I almost laughed.
“Everyone around me has learned impressive words for theft.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Then make it fair. Explain.”
She exhaled.
“Susan said if Robert backed out, the documents could name me instead.”
“As what?”
“Financial agent.”
“Over what?”
“Your accounts.”
“My property?”
“Yes.”
“My house?”
“Yes.”
Robert gripped the wheel.
I asked, “Did you agree?”
Patrice hesitated.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt less than it should have.
Perhaps I had reached saturation.
“Why?”
“I thought Robert was going to ruin everything.”
“What is everything?”
“Our chance to get out of debt.”
“Your business.”
“That too.”
“Anything else?”
She was silent.
“Patrice.”
“She said if I managed things, I could make sure the children were protected.”
I closed my eyes.
Susan used the same words with everyone.
Protection.
Family.
Planning.
Help.
Soft language around hard intentions.
“Did she ask you to keep the second plan from Robert?”
“Yes.”
He looked unsurprised.
“Did she say he was trying to cut you out?”
Patrice sounded startled.
“Yes.”
Robert gave a humorless laugh.
“Of course.”
I leaned back.
Susan had not simply played them against me.
She had played them against each other.
To Robert, Patrice was becoming too ambitious.
To Patrice, Robert would seize everything.
Each received a version of the future in which the other became the threat.
And both responded by moving closer to Susan.
I asked, “Did you see the second worksheet?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Email.”
“Still have it?”
“No.”
“Disappearing messages?”
“No. Email.”
“Then why don’t you have it?”
“She told me to delete it.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Trash?”
“Emptied.”
Robert glanced toward me.
“She knew what she was doing.”
I ignored him.
“Did you print it?”
Patrice hesitated.
“No.”
I heard the lie.
“So you did.”
Silence.
“Where is the copy?”
“At home.”
“Your home?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In my closet.”
Robert spoke loudly enough for her to hear.
“Do not touch it.”
Patrice snapped, “I’m already driving home.”
“Then don’t touch it.”
“I heard you.”
I asked, “Is Susan capable of entering your house?”
Another silence.
My stomach tightened.
“Patrice.”
“She has a key.”
Robert nearly swerved.
“What?”
I gripped the door handle.
He corrected the car.
“Slow down.”
He breathed hard through his nose.
Patrice continued.
“She fed the dog once.”
“When did you give her the key?” Robert demanded.
“Months ago.”
“Did you get it back?”
“I thought so.”
“What does that mean?”
“She returned one.”
I looked at Robert.
A copied key.
Again.
Susan had learned from repetition.
Or perfected it.
I spoke carefully.
“Do not go into your house alone.”
Patrice’s voice sharpened.
“My children live there.”
“Exactly.”
She went quiet.
“Go somewhere public,” I said. “Take Karen and the children with you. Call police before entering.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Your cousin entered my home.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“She had my original will.”
Silence.
“We know she copied keys.”
More silence.
“You told me she installed remote software on your devices.”
Patrice’s resistance began to weaken.
“Call police.”
“All right.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll call.”
“Now.”
She hung up.
Robert drove in silence.
Then said, “The second plan explains the package.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“It explains the message. Not the package.”
He frowned.
I continued.
“Someone placed that box on Marlene’s porch.”
“Susan.”
“Probably.”
“Who else?”
“I do not know.”
The answer bothered both of us.
Because Susan had become convenient.
Too convenient.
Every unexplained act now fit into her shape.
That did not guarantee she was responsible for all of them.
I called Marlene again.
Police had arrived.
They told her not to touch the box.
An officer would contact me.
I thanked her.
Then Robert said, “What do you think is inside?”
“I’m done guessing.”
We drove another twenty minutes.
My phone rang.
Patrice.
Her voice sounded different.
Breathless.
“Police are at our house.”
“Are the children safe?”
“Yes. We’re parked at a grocery store nearby.”
“What happened?”
“The back door was unlocked.”
Robert looked toward me.
I put her on speaker.
“Was anything taken?”
“They don’t know yet.”
“Do not enter until they tell you.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“The alarm history shows it was disarmed yesterday.”
Robert frowned.
“By whose code?”
“Mine.”
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel once.
“She stole your code too.”
Patrice’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t know.”
Robert laughed bitterly.
“I believe you.”
It was not kindness.
She heard that.
I asked, “Does Susan know the children’s schedules?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“School?”
“Yes.”
“Activities?”
“Yes.”
Robert looked alarmed.
I said, “Tell police that.”
“I already did.”
Good.
Finally, someone was learning.
Patrice took a breath.
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“What?”
“The second worksheet isn’t in the closet.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Anything else missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jewelry?”
“I can’t check yet.”
“Documents?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she added, “Susan sent me a text.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“What does it say?”
Patrice read it.
You should have stayed loyal.
Robert whispered, “Jesus.”
I asked, “Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She wrote, Robert was always going to blame you.”
The manipulation continued even while Susan was being hunted.
Every message aimed at fracture.
I said, “Do not respond.”
“I won’t.”
“Send screenshots to police.”
“I will.”
Then Patrice said something I did not expect.
“Eleanor.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“Not now.”
“I know.”
“No. You keep thinking apology is the next step.”
She went quiet.
“It isn’t.”
“What is?”
“Truth.”
I hung up.
We were less than thirty minutes from my neighborhood when the officer handling the package called.
“Ms. Morrison, we opened the box.”
“What was inside?”
“Copies of documents.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What documents?”
“Several appear financial.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Originals?”
“Copies.”
“What else?”
“A flash drive.”
Robert looked toward me.
“Have you opened it?”
“No. It will be handled as evidence.”
“Anything else?”
“A handwritten note.”
My throat tightened.
“What does it say?”
He paused.
“Your family gave me everything.”
I looked at Robert.
His face went pale.
The officer continued.
“There’s also a list of names.”
“What names?”
“Yours. Robert Morrison. Patrice Morrison. Karen Bell. David Morrison. Sophie Morrison.”
My stomach dropped.
“The children?”
“Yes.”
“What is beside their names?”
“Numbers.”
“What kind of numbers?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Robert’s voice sharpened.
“Social Security numbers?”
The officer paused.
“Some appear to match that format.”
I felt physically ill.
Patrice had exposed not only me.
Possibly the children.
“Are mine and Robert’s listed?”
“Yes.”
“Karen’s?”
“Yes.”
“Patrice’s?”
“Yes.”
Everyone.
Susan had collected identities as assets.
The officer said investigators would work to determine whether any had been used.
I looked at Robert.
“Call Patrice.”
He did.
I listened while he told her.
The moment he mentioned the children, her voice changed.
All defensiveness vanished.
“She has Sophie’s number?”
“Apparently.”
“No.”
“Patrice—”
“No, no, no.”
“She may not have used it.”
“How did she get it?”
Robert closed his eyes.
Patrice answered her own question.
“My tax return.”
He looked at me.
Dependents.
Of course.
Susan had accessed their records.
She had everything.
Patrice began crying.
Not because of a business.
Not because of debt.
Because the danger had finally touched the children directly.
“Call the credit bureaus,” I said.
She was breathing too fast.
“Patrice.”
“I hear you.”
“Freeze their credit.”
“Yes.”
“Do yours too.”
“Yes.”
“Karen’s.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Robert said, “Mine too.”
I looked at him.
“Everyone.”
The family had spent months trying to get access to my assets.
Now we were all trying to stop someone from using theirs.
The irony was almost too perfect.
We reached my street shortly before five.
A patrol car remained outside my house.
Marlene stood on her porch but did not approach.
I stayed in the car for a moment.
My home looked exactly the same from the outside.
White trim.
Maple tree.
Frank’s old wind chime near the porch.
Nothing visible announced that strangers had been inside my private rooms.
I stepped out.
Robert followed.
An officer met us at the walkway.
“We need you to identify what’s missing.”
I nodded.
Inside, the house smelled faintly stale.
Drawers remained open.
Folders had been moved.
The ceramic bird lay on the office floor inside an evidence marker.
I stood in the doorway.
My private space had become a scene.
Robert stayed behind me.
“I’m sorry.”
I did not answer.
I walked to the desk.
Tax folders gone.
Passport gone.
Insurance records gone.
A folder containing copies of investment statements gone.
The original will gone.
Then I checked the cabinet beside the bookshelf.
Something else was missing.
I stared at the empty slot.
“What?” Robert asked.
I pointed.
“A binder.”
“What binder?”
“Frank’s estate papers.”
He frowned.
“Why would Susan want Dad’s documents?”
I did not know.
Those papers were years old.
Death certificate.
Probate documents.
Old property records.
Past beneficiary statements.
Nothing I could imagine useful now.
Then I remembered something.
Frank had kept records of a small investment account we closed after his death.
The account no longer existed.
But the statements might show something important.
Signatures.
Account numbers.
Historical transfers.
I opened another drawer.
The old check register was gone too.
My stomach tightened.
“This isn’t only about my current information.”
Robert looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“She took your father’s records.”
He stared at the empty shelf.
The officer asked us to list everything.
I did.
Then Robert found something wedged behind the desk.
A photograph.
He picked it up by the edge before the officer stopped him.
“Don’t touch that.”
Too late.
Robert stared at it.
“What is it?” I asked.
His face changed.
“Mom.”
I stepped closer.
The photograph was old.
At least fifteen years.
Frank stood outside our house beside Robert.
And between them was a woman I recognized only after several seconds.
Younger.
Different hair.
Same eyes.
Susan.
I felt the room tilt.
“What is she doing there?”
Robert looked horrified.
“I don’t know.”
The officer took the photograph carefully.
On the back, someone had written a date.
Seventeen years earlier.
I stared at it.
Patrice had not married Robert until fourteen years ago.
According to everything we had been told, Susan entered our family through Patrice.
But the photograph proved Susan knew my husband and my son three years before Patrice ever became my daughter-in-law.
I turned toward Robert.
His face was drained of color.
“You knew her before Patrice.”
“No.”
“She is standing beside you.”
“I don’t remember this.”
“Look at the picture.”
“I am.”
“What happened that day?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at him.
He seemed genuinely frightened.
Then a memory came to me.
Seventeen years ago, Frank had briefly considered investing in a small property-development partnership.
He had eventually backed out.
At the time, he told me the numbers felt wrong.
I had forgotten the name of the person who introduced the deal.
Robert had been working in commercial lending then.
I looked at him.
“Did Susan know your father through work?”
His eyes widened.
“I don’t know.”
The officer turned the photograph over again.
“There’s another name written here.”
“What name?”
He read it aloud.
Thomas Vale.
Susan’s former husband.
The room went silent.
I stared at the picture.
Susan.
Thomas.
Frank.
Robert.
All connected years before Patrice supposedly introduced Susan into our lives.
Everything we had believed about where this began was wrong.
My son whispered, “Mom, I swear I didn’t remember.”
I looked at him.
“Then we need to find someone who does.”
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered immediately.
“I was about to call you.”
“So was I.”
“Why?”
“I spoke to Thomas again.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did he say?”
“That Susan did not meet your family through Patrice.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who did she meet first?”
Daniel paused.
“Frank.”
The answer landed heavily.
“How?”
“A failed investment deal seventeen years ago.”
I stared at the photograph in the officer’s hand.
Daniel continued.
“Thomas claims Frank discovered Susan was moving investor money through accounts that did not match the partnership records.”
My throat tightened.
“What did Frank do?”
“He threatened to report it.”
Robert looked at me.
I put the call on speaker.
Daniel continued.
“Thomas says Susan begged Frank not to involve authorities.”
I felt cold.
“What happened?”
“Frank walked away from the investment.”
“Did he report her?”
“Thomas doesn’t know.”
I looked toward the empty shelf where Frank’s estate binder had been.
Suddenly, Susan stealing his old files made sense.
She was not only looking for my financial information.
She was looking for something Frank had kept.
Evidence.
Records.
Something from seventeen years ago that could still matter.
I asked, “Did Thomas say what Frank had?”
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What?”
“Copies of bank transfers.”
The room went completely still.
Daniel’s voice lowered.
“And one handwritten ledger Susan believed Frank kept after the deal collapsed.”
I looked at the empty cabinet.
The missing binder.
The vanished check register.
Susan had not returned to my life because Patrice happened to mention an older woman with money.
She had returned because she already knew exactly who I was.
And she was searching my house for something my husband had hidden seventeen years earlier.
Click here to continue reading: PART 13: Frank Had Hidden Evidence for Seventeen Years, and the First Place He Taught Me to Look Wasn’t in Our House
I Paid for the Family Vacation, Then Heard Patrice Decide Exactly Where I Was Allowed to Sleep
Part 12 of 35
