Chapter 8 - Patricia's DepositionPatricia's deposition was forty-three pages long.
Every page was dated.
Every page was signed.
Every statement was witnessed.
And every word made me realize how badly I'd underestimated what my wife had discovered before she died.
She had documented everything.
Renata's questions.
Marcus's financial problems.
The suspicious transfers.
The property searches.
And one meeting Patricia had never told me about.
A meeting with Renata.
Three years before Patricia died.
I read the transcript.
Renata had asked:
"How much does Walter have?"
Patricia had replied:
"You should ask Walter."
Renata:
"He won't tell Marcus."
Patricia:
"Maybe he has a reason."
Renata:
"Marcus is his son."
Patricia:
"Being someone's son doesn't make you entitled to everything they own."
Then Renata said something that made my blood run cold.
"He doesn't have forever."
I stopped reading.
Raymond watched me.
"Keep going."
I did.
Patricia wrote:
At this moment, I realized Renata wasn't asking about Walter's retirement.
She was asking about his death.
That sentence destroyed me.
Patricia had seen it.
She had understood.
And she had spent years preparing.
At the final page was a photograph.
Renata standing beside a man.
The same man from an old Northstar document.
His name was Victor Hale.
Raymond recognized him.
"Former financial intermediary."
"Where is he?"
"Dead."
I laughed bitterly.
"Everyone connected to this seems to be dead."
Raymond looked at me.
"Not everyone."
"Who?"
"Renata."
That afternoon, Marcus was still missing.
The police said they were investigating.
Renata acted like she was the victim.
She gave interviews.
She cried on camera.
She told reporters she only wanted her husband home.
Then she looked straight into the cameras and said:
"My father-in-law has been acting irrationally."
I watched the clip in silence.
Raymond turned it off.
"She's building a narrative."
"What narrative?"
"That you're unstable."
"Because she's losing."
"Exactly."
Then my lawyer showed me something else.
A social media campaign.
Anonymous accounts had begun posting rumors about me.
"Old contractor hiding millions."
"Family dispute over secret assets."
"Retired businessman suspected of fraud."
I stared at the screen.
"How quickly did she organize this?"
"Very."
"Can we prove it's her?"
"Not yet."
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Daniel.
Don't trust the police search.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
"Why?"
"Because the warrant is based on false evidence."
"I know."
"No. You don't understand."
"What?"
"Someone inside the investigation has been paid."
I felt the room go cold.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"How do you know?"
"Because your wife warned me."
"Where?"
"She left instructions."
"Where?"
"At the old marina."
We drove there.
Behind a row of storage units was a rusted metal locker.
The brass key opened it.
Inside were boxes.
Records.
Photographs.
A cassette recorder.
And a tiny notebook.
Patricia's handwriting.
Walter, this is the real story.
I opened the notebook.
The first page showed a list of names.
Victor Hale.
Grant Mercer.
Samuel Hayes.
Northstar Development.
Then one final name.
Renata Hayes.
Beside her name were three words.
NOT HER BRAIN.
I looked at Raymond.
"What does that mean?"
"Maybe she isn't the mastermind."
"Who is?"
A sound came from behind us.
A car door slammed.
Daniel ran toward the marina.
"Move!"
We turned.
A black sedan was accelerating toward us.
Daniel pushed me aside.
The vehicle crashed into the storage units.
Metal exploded.
Glass shattered.
I hit the ground.
Raymond shouted.
The sedan reversed.
Then sped away.
Daniel was bleeding.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
He looked at the notebook.
"Did you get it?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Then they know."
"Who?"
Daniel looked toward the road.
"Whoever has been behind this from the beginning."
Back at the cottage, we examined the notebook.
The final pages contained bank account numbers.
Dates.
Transfer amounts.
And one phrase repeated over and over:
FOUNDATION ACCOUNT.
Raymond searched the records.
Then he froze.
"There."
"What?"
"This account is connected to Hayes Family Trust."
"How much?"
Raymond entered the number.
A balance appeared.
He stared.
I stared.
The amount was larger than the four million.
Much larger.
"How much?"
He swallowed.
"Eleven million, six hundred thousand."
I stepped back.
"Whose money is that?"
"Patricia's."
"No."
He turned the screen toward me.
The account had been established two months before Patricia died.
The beneficiary was listed as:
Walter Hayes.
I sat down.
Then I noticed another line.
Secondary beneficiary: Marcus Hayes.
Underneath:
Conditional beneficiary: Renata Hayes.
My wife had left Renata something.
But only under one condition.
I read the clause.
And suddenly I understood why Renata had become desperate.
She wasn't trying to steal my money.
She was trying to force the condition.
May you like
The condition said:
If Walter is declared legally incapable of managing his estate, Renata becomes the controlling beneficiary.
