Chapter 13 - The DealI replayed the voicemail five times.
Your life.
The words were absurd.
Until I remembered the insurance beneficiary.
The forged documents.
The property transfers.
The trust.
Suddenly, none of it seemed random.
I called Mom.
She answered immediately.
"Rachel."
"What deal?"
She began crying.
"Your father was desperate."
"You always say that."
"This time, it's worse."
"Tell me."
She took a long breath.
"Years ago, when the business was collapsing, your father promised Uncle Mark something."
"What?"
"Control."
"Of what?"
"Of the family trust."
My stomach dropped.
"How?"
"By transferring control to you, then making you personally responsible for certain debts."
"That's impossible."
"Not if the documents are structured correctly."
"Who created them?"
"Eric."
I closed my eyes.
"How did he know?"
"Because your father told him."
"What did they want?"
Mom's voice trembled.
"They wanted access to the trust assets."
"How much?"
"Everything."
There was silence.
"Why me?"
"Because you were the beneficiary."
I laughed bitterly.
"So I was a walking bank account."
"No."
"Yes."
Mom cried harder.
"Rachel, I tried to stop it."
"When?"
"Years ago."
"Then why did you keep it secret?"
"Because your father threatened to leave."
I stared out the window.
For the first time, I began to see my mother's role differently.
Not innocent.
But perhaps trapped.
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"Did you forge anything?"
Silence.
"Mom."
She whispered:
"One signature."
My heart sank.
"Mine?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
"The first company registration."
I closed my eyes.
She had been part of it from the beginning.
"Why?"
"Because if I didn't, Eric would have taken everything from the trust."
"Did he know?"
"No."
"Did Dad?"
"Eventually."
I sat down.
Then I heard something in the background.
A man's voice.
"Hang up."
I froze.
"Mom?"
She didn't answer.
"Mom, who's there?"
Another voice.
My father's.
"Rachel, you need to stop."
I stood.
"Dad?"
The call ended.
I immediately called Daniel.
"Someone is with my parents."
He asked for the address.
Twenty minutes later, deputies were there.
The house was empty.
My mother and father were gone.
The front door was unlocked.
A chair was overturned.
A glass was broken on the floor.
No blood.
No sign of a struggle.
But on the kitchen table was a note.
Three words.
Stop digging, Rachel.
Underneath was a photograph.
It showed me leaving work.
Taken from across the street.
Then another photograph.
Me entering my apartment.
Then another.
Me sleeping behind an open curtain.
My hands went cold.
Someone had been watching me.
For weeks.
Maybe months.
On the back of the final photo was a single sentence.
You should have stayed grateful.
I looked at Daniel.
"This isn't about money anymore."
He nodded.
"No."
May you like
He looked at the photographs.
"Now it's about keeping you alive."
