Elaine Brooks lived twenty minutes from my house.
I had known her for more than fifteen years.
She had worked for Richard long enough to know which clients preferred phone calls and which demanded emails. She knew his handwriting, his filing system, his passwords, and the location of the safe.
After Richard died, she had spent three afternoons helping me organize his office.
I remembered thanking her.
Now I wondered whether she had been organizing something else.
Thomas met me outside her house.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But I'm going anyway.”
Elaine opened the door.
When she saw us, her face changed.
Not shock.
Recognition.
Fear.
“Maggie.”
“Can we talk?”
She stepped aside.
“Of course.”
Her living room looked exactly as I remembered.
Same floral curtains.
Same wooden shelves.
Same photograph of Richard from a company Christmas party.
I sat down.
Thomas remained standing.
Elaine looked at him.
“What is this about?”
I placed a copy of the property authorization on the table.
She stared at it.
Then she looked at me.
“I don't know anything about that.”
“Your name appears in the chain of custody.”
Her face went pale.
“I didn't sign it.”
“I didn't say you did.”
Silence.
Thomas placed another document beside it.
“This was retrieved from a backup archive.”
Elaine stared.
It was an email.
From her.
To Michael.
The message contained instructions about Richard's filing system.
I felt something inside me sink.
“You helped him.”
Elaine shook her head.
“I was trying to help the family.”
“By giving my son access to my financial documents?”
“I didn't know what he intended.”
“You knew enough to help.”
She looked at me.
“I thought you were overwhelmed.”
“I was grieving.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to protect my privacy.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“I made a mistake.”
“How many?”
She didn't answer.
Thomas asked, “Did you provide Michael with copies of Richard's private financial records?”
Elaine lowered her head.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“Because he told me Richard had promised him access.”
“He lied.”
“I know that now.”
“When did you realize?”
“After the first transfer attempt.”
I looked at her.
“What transfer?”
“The three hundred thousand dollars.”
My heart tightened.
“You knew about that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard stopped it.”
I stared at her.
“So you watched.”
“I was afraid.”
Everyone had been afraid.
Daniel.
Lisa.
Elaine.
But fear didn't make what they did harmless.
“What else did you give him?”
Elaine swallowed.
“Copies of the trust.”
“Which trust?”
“The property trust.”
I stared at her.
“That explains how they knew.”
“Yes.”
“Did Michael ask you for anything else?”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“A blank signature page.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“He said Richard had used them for drafts.”
“That was a lie.”
“I know.”
“Did you give him one?”
She nodded.
I stood.
“You gave my son a blank page bearing my husband's signature?”
“No.”
She shook her head quickly.
“Not Richard's.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
The room went silent.
Thomas stepped forward.
“How did you obtain Margaret's signature?”
Elaine began crying.
“From a scanned document.”
I stared at her.
“You copied my signature?”
“I didn't create the power of attorney.”
“But you made it possible.”
“I know.”
I sat back down.
For a moment, I couldn't feel my hands.
Richard had trusted Elaine.
I had trusted her.
And she had quietly helped my children build a path toward controlling me.
“Did Jennifer know?”
“I don't know.”
“Lisa?”
“I don't know.”
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“He knew everything?”
Elaine nodded.
“He was the one who asked.”
Thomas looked at me.
“This gives us a direct connection.”
I shook my head.
“Not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to know why.”
Elaine looked at me.
“Why?”
“Yes.”
“Why did Michael need my signature?”
“Because he believed you would never voluntarily give him control.”
I closed my eyes.
He was right.
I wouldn't have.
Not then.
Not now.
Thomas collected the documents.
“We're going to preserve everything.”
Elaine nodded.
Before we left, she called after me.
“Maggie.”
I stopped.
“I am sorry.”
I turned.
“I'm sure you are.”
“I loved Richard.”
“So did I.”
Her eyes filled.
“That doesn't make what you did acceptable.”
“I know.”
I left.
In the car, Thomas said nothing.
Neither did I.
Finally I asked, “Can they still challenge the estate?”
“They can try.”
“But?”
“But now we have evidence showing deliberate attempts to interfere with your finances and property.”
I looked out the window.
“What happens to Elaine?”
“That depends on what investigators determine.”
I nodded.
I didn't feel victorious.
I felt tired.
When we got home, there was a package on my porch.
No return address.
Thomas opened it carefully.
Inside was a small envelope.
My name was written on it.
I knew the handwriting.
Richard's.
My heart stopped.
“That can't be.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
Richard and Elaine were standing together outside his office.
On the back, Richard had written a date.
Six weeks before he died.
Underneath the date was one sentence.
I finally know who has been helping them.
I looked at Thomas.
“Why would Richard photograph this?”
“I don't know.”
There was another sheet beneath the photograph.
A handwritten list.
Michael.
Jennifer.
Lisa.
Elaine.
Daniel.
My breath caught.
Every person involved was there.
But next to Elaine's name was a question mark.
Next to Daniel's was a line.
Trusted, but frightened.
Next to Lisa's:
Weak, not malicious.
Next to Jennifer:
Desperate.
And next to Michael:
Dangerous when he believes he is entitled.
I stared at the page.
Richard had understood them better than I had.
Then I noticed something else.
At the bottom of the paper, beneath all five names, he had written:
There is one more person they are listening to.
I looked at Thomas.
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“We don't know.”
The next line was smudged.
Only two words remained readable.
Find him.
I stared at the handwriting.
“Why would Richard write ‘him’?”
Thomas looked at the page.
“I don't know.”
I turned the photograph over again.
The date.
Six weeks before Richard died.
Something about it bothered me.
Then I remembered.
That was the week Richard told me he had a business dinner downtown.
He had said he'd be home late.
I had never questioned him.
Now I wondered where he had actually gone.
I called Daniel.
He answered.
“Daniel, I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Six weeks before Richard died, did he meet someone?”
Daniel was quiet.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Daniel.”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Where did he go?”
Daniel hesitated.
Then said, “A private club downtown.”
I knew the place.
Richard had taken me there once.
It was expensive, discreet, and difficult to enter without an invitation.
“Who invited him?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Elaine know?”
Another silence.
“I think so.”
I hung up.
Thomas was staring at me.
“What?”
“You know what this means.”
“No.”
“Richard wasn't just protecting you from your children.”
I looked at the photograph.
“What was he protecting me from?”
Thomas shook his head.
“We need to find out who that fifth person was.”
I walked into Richard's study.
The late afternoon light stretched across his desk.
I opened the bottom drawer.
Inside were his old business cards.
His passport.
Several photographs.
And a membership card for the private club.
I turned it over.
There was a handwritten number.
I recognized the handwriting.
Richard's.
I called the number.
A man answered.
“Hello?”
I swallowed.
“My name is Margaret Harris.”
Silence.
“I was married to Richard Harris.”
The man's voice changed.
“I know who you are.”
My heart began pounding.
“Did you know my husband?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Another pause.
“Your husband asked me to keep something safe.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
I gripped the desk.
“What recording?”
“The one that explains why your children were never the real danger.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Who are you?”
The man gave me his name.
I had never heard it before.
Then he said something that made the room seem to tilt.
“Richard told me that if you ever called, I was supposed to give you the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That six weeks before he died, your husband discovered someone inside his own family was helping your children.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know about Elaine.”
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“You don't.”
“Then who?”
He hesitated.
“The person helping them was much closer to Richard than Elaine ever was.”
The line went silent.
I heard my own breathing.
Then the man added one final sentence.
“And Maggie, Richard knew this person was the one who could make the forged documents look legitimate.”
The call ended.
I stood alone in the study.
Outside, the garden was beginning to darken.
On Richard's desk, the photograph of our tenth anniversary caught the last light.
I picked it up.
For the first time, I looked closely at the reflection in the window behind us.
There was another person standing in the room.
Someone I hadn't noticed before.
And suddenly, I knew exactly where I had seen that face.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Face Reflected Behind Richard Was Someone I Had Trusted for Years, and Suddenly His Final Warning Made Terrifying Sense
The Night I Realized My Children Had Stopped Seeing Me as Their Mother and Started Seeing Me as Someone They Would Eventually Inherit From
Part 8 of 20
