The detective drove back toward town with the recovered documents secured in an evidence box.
Brian and I followed.
Harold and Melissa stayed at the hospital with Ethan.
The boy was being examined, fed, and given a quiet room. The police had promised Harold they would not question him until he had rested.
For once, nobody was demanding answers from the child.
That mattered to me.
The detective had arranged for us to meet at a small police office away from the main station.
Brian sat across from the detective.
I sat beside him.
A file rested on the table.
“This account belonged to your father,” the detective said.
Brian stared at the paperwork.
“I've never seen it.”
“It was opened twelve years ago.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
The detective slid over the first statement.
Brian read it.
Then another.
His expression slowly changed.
Money had been deposited every month.
Not large amounts.
Five hundred dollars.
Eight hundred.
Sometimes two thousand.
The payments continued for years.
Then, three years before his father's death, they stopped.
Brian looked up.
“Where did the money come from?”
“That is what we're investigating.”
Daniel entered the room carrying another folder.
He had spent the afternoon reviewing the bank records.
“I found something.”
He sat beside me.
“The account wasn't hidden from everyone.”
Brian looked at him.
“Who knew?”
Daniel opened the folder.
“Patricia.”
Brian closed his eyes.
Of course.
Daniel continued.
“But there was another authorized person.”
“Who?”
Daniel looked at the detective.
Then he placed a copy of the signature authorization on the table.
Brian stared at it.
His face went pale.
“That's impossible.”
I looked at the page.
The name was Derek Cole.
Brian leaned back.
“My father trusted him?”
“Apparently.”
“But why?”
Daniel turned another page.
There was a transfer record.
A substantial one.
The money had gone from the account to a construction company.
Brian's eyes widened.
“That company belonged to my father.”
The detective nodded.
“So your father was moving money from one company account into a private account.”
Brian looked confused.
“Why?”
Daniel pointed to the dates.
“Look at what happened immediately afterward.”
Brian followed the timeline.
The private payments began shortly after a major construction project had been completed.
Then another.
Then another.
The amounts weren't random.
They were nearly identical.
Brian whispered, “He was skimming money.”
The detective corrected him.
“Possibly.”
“From his own company?”
“Yes.”
Brian looked at me.
“My father always said the company was struggling.”
I remembered Patricia saying similar things.
She had often complained about expenses.
Taxes.
Payroll.
Insurance.
Unexpected repairs.
At the time, I had never questioned her.
Daniel placed another document on the table.
“This is a letter from your father's accountant.”
Brian read it.
His lips tightened.
“What does it say?”
I asked.
“He was concerned about missing funds.”
Brian turned the paper toward me.
The letter was dated six months before his father's death.
The accountant had requested a meeting.
He never got one.
The next page was a death certificate.
The detective said nothing.
But the implication hung in the room.
Brian's father had died before explaining where the money went.
Brian pushed the papers away.
“My father didn't kill himself.”
Nobody had mentioned suicide.
The detective looked at him carefully.
“We haven't said he did.”
Brian stood.
“You were thinking it.”
“No.”
“Then why are you showing me this?”
“Because the financial records may explain why your mother became involved with Derek.”
Brian sat again.
Daniel said quietly, “Your father may have been blackmailing someone.”
I felt a chill.
“Who?”
Daniel shook his head.
“That's what we don't know.”
The detective received a message.
He read it.
Then looked at us.
“The phone from the farmhouse has been partially recovered.”
“What did you find?” Brian asked.
“Messages between Patricia and Derek.”
Brian stiffened.
“About Ethan?”
“Some.”
“And the money?”
“Yes.”
The detective placed printed messages on the table.
The first was from Patricia.
*I need more time.**
Derek's response came minutes later.
*You already had six months.**
Another message.
*The wife cannot know.**
Then:
*She will know if you fail again.**
Brian stared at the page.
“Again?”
The detective nodded.
“That word matters.”
The next message was worse.
*Your son's wife is the easiest person to blame.**
Brian's face collapsed.
I looked away.
The detective continued.
“There are several messages referring to you.”
My name appeared repeatedly.
Not Angela.
Not Mrs. Brooks.
*The wife.**
As though I were an obstacle rather than a person.
One message contained a photograph of me leaving the hospital.
The caption read:
*She works late Tuesday.**
Another:
*Her purse is usually unattended at lunch.**
I remembered those days.
The hospital cafeteria.
The break room.
My purse hanging beneath a chair.
Someone had been watching.
Daniel leaned forward.
“This was organized.”
The detective nodded.
“And there is one more thing.”
He placed a final message on the table.
*When the divorce is final, the account will be hers.**
Brian stared at it.
“What account?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Daniel looked at him.
“Your father's private account.”
Brian frowned.
“I thought it belonged to the estate.”
“So did everyone else.”
The detective shook his head.
“According to the latest documents, the beneficiary was changed.”
Brian looked at the page.
“Who was named?”
The detective's expression tightened.
“Angela.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
Brian looked at me.
“You?”
I shook my head.
“I never knew.”
The detective handed me a copy.
My name appeared on the document.
The beneficiary designation had been made eighteen months earlier.
I remembered that period.
Brian and I had been discussing buying a house.
He had told me his mother wanted us to wait.
Patricia had said the market was unstable.
She had insisted we keep our savings liquid.
I had listened.
Now I understood why.
If the account existed, and if I was the beneficiary, then the sixty-one thousand dollars might have been only part of what someone wanted to control.
Daniel studied the paperwork.
“This changes the case.”
“How?”
“If Angela inherited the account after Brian's father's death, someone may have been trying to prevent that transfer.”
Brian looked at his hands.
“My mother knew.”
“Yes.”
“And Derek knew.”
“Yes.”
“What about my father?”
The detective answered quietly.
“He may have known Angela was going to inherit it.”
Brian looked up.
“Why would he name my wife?”
Daniel pointed to another document.
“Because your father knew her.”
I frowned.
“I met him only a few times.”
“That isn't what the record says.”
Daniel opened the folder.
There were several payments from my hospital charity fund to an organization my father-in-law had supported.
I remembered donating small amounts.
I hadn't realized he had matched them.
Brian stared.
“My father knew about your work.”
I nodded.
The detective said, “And according to this letter, he considered Angela trustworthy.”
Brian looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then the detective's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Say that again.”
He listened.
Then stood.
“We need to go.”
“Where?” Brian asked.
“The hospital.”
My heart dropped.
“Ethan?”
The detective shook his head.
“Not Ethan.”
He looked directly at Brian.
“Your mother is gone.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Patricia Vanished Before the Police Could Question Her, Leaving Behind a Message That Was Meant for Brian
The Accusation That Turned Nine Years of Marriage Into a Question I Could Not Answer
Part 6 of 20
