Chapter 9 - The Fifty Thousand DollarsSarah Had One More SecretSarah denied the payment.
Then the bank records proved it.
She couldn't explain where the money came from.
She said her father gave it to her for "legal expenses."
Martin verified the transfer.
There was no legal retainer.
No attorney.
No invoice.
Just $50,000 sent into Sarah's personal account.
"What did you promise?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Then why were you paid?"
She looked at David.
He stepped away from her.
"Tell her."
Sarah started crying.
"I was supposed to cooperate."
"With whom?"
"Someone connected to my father's creditors."
I waited.
"They wanted me to make sure the property looked financially connected to his company."
I felt a wave of anger.
"And the forged documents?"
"I didn't create them."
"Did you provide my information?"
She nodded.
"The signatures?"
"I gave them copies."
David stared at her.
"You gave them Mom's signature?"
Sarah covered her face.
"I was desperate."
"No."
I spoke softly.
"You were ambitious."
She looked at me.
"There is a difference."
The investigation widened.
Gregory Voss disappeared.
Robert's business records were seized.
Sarah became a witness.
And my house became the center of a financial investigation.
For the first time in months, I was not the woman being pressured.
I was the woman everyone needed information from.
That changed everything.
But peace did not come.
One evening, I returned from the attorney's office and found my bedroom door open.
I knew I had locked it.
I walked inside.
Nothing looked disturbed.
My jewelry was untouched.
The furniture was untouched.
The drawers were closed.
Then I saw the closet.
Arthur's old wooden trunk sat there.
Its lid was open.
I rushed to it.
Inside were our marriage photographs, old letters, and the quilt I made when David was born.
Nothing was missing.
Except one thing.
Arthur's final letter.
The one that had been in the safe-deposit box.
I checked every drawer.
Gone.
I called Martin.
Then Helen.
Then David.
Nobody had it.
I returned to my bedroom.
A small piece of paper lay on my pillow.
I picked it up.
One sentence.
You keep looking at the house. You should be looking at your son.
My stomach dropped.
David arrived twenty minutes later.
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know."
He stared at the note.
"Mom, I swear I didn't."
"I know."
"Then why mention me?"
I looked at him.
"Because someone wants me to doubt you."
He sat.
Then said something I hadn't expected.
"Maybe you should."
I frowned.
"What?"
He looked exhausted.
"I've made mistakes."
"Yes."
"I signed Sarah's expense documents."
"Yes."
"I knew she was calculating what the house was worth."
"Yes."
"I didn't stop her."
He looked at me.
"But I never wanted your house."
I believed him.
Then he reached into his pocket.
"I found this."
It was a key.
Small.
Brass.
Old.
I recognized it immediately.
The key from Arthur's cash box.
"Where did you get that?"
"Sarah's car."
I stared at him.
"Why was it in Sarah's car?"
"I don't know."
I took it.
Then remembered the second compartment in Arthur's box.
The compartment I had not opened because the tiny key slot was hidden beneath the lining.
I returned to the garage.
David followed.
I opened the box.
I removed the lining.
There it was.
A tiny lock.
I inserted the brass key.
The compartment opened.
Inside was a single flash drive.
And a note.
For Priscilla. Watch this only when you are ready to stop protecting David.
I looked at my son.
He stared at the note.
"Mom..."
I plugged the drive into my laptop.
A video file appeared.
Date:
Four years earlier.
Two weeks before Arthur died.
I pressed play.
Arthur appeared on screen.
Older.
Tired.
Serious.
He looked directly into the camera.
"Priscilla, if you're watching this, something has gone very wrong."
He paused.
Then he said:
"There is one person you must not trust."
The screen went black.
The file ended.
David stared at me.
"Who?"
I looked at the frozen screen.
May you like
The answer was coming.
And I was terrified that I already knew it.
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