Chapter 5 - The Birthday Party Was Never About DinnerThe next morning, Detective Reynolds returned with news.
“We have a preliminary forensic report on your husband's vehicle,” he said. “The repair marks on the front bumper appear recent. The shop that handled the work is cooperating.”
“Did Andrew take the car there after the collision?”
“We're still establishing the timeline.”
He set a photograph on the table.
It showed a dark SUV parked behind a repair garage. The front bumper had been removed, exposing part of the frame underneath.
I recognized the vehicle immediately.
Andrew had bought it two years earlier. He had been so proud of it that he spent an entire Sunday polishing the bodywork while Katie sat on the driveway drawing flowers with chalk.
Now the same vehicle was evidence in a criminal investigation.
“What about Katie's statement?” I asked.
“The officers will work with the hospital team to make sure any further interview is appropriate. We won't pressure her.”
I nodded.
Then Reynolds asked about the house again.
“Your attorney has filed an emergency application to prevent the transfer. The property registrar has been notified of the disputed document. That gives us time to investigate, but it doesn't tell us why the attempted sale was arranged.”
“Barbara wanted me out. She threatened to lock me outside my own home.”
“Was she planning to move in?”
“She already had a key. She treated the place as though she owned every room.”
Reynolds studied a note.
“Did she know your father had left you the property before you married Andrew?”
“Yes. She disliked my father. She thought he was controlling because he refused to let Andrew borrow money from him.”
“Did Andrew ask your father for money?”
“More than once. My father said Andrew needed to learn the difference between ambition and recklessness.”
I remembered the last argument my father had with my husband. It had taken place in the kitchen, two months before Dad died.
Andrew had asked for a large loan. My father had refused.
“You're a good man when you have something to gain,” Dad had told him. “I wonder what you'll be when there's nothing left to take.”
Andrew hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the visit.
At the time, I had blamed my father for being unnecessarily harsh.
Now I wondered whether he had seen something I could not.
That afternoon, Barbara arrived at the hospital.
She wore a cream coat, pearl earrings, and the expression of a woman visiting a neighbour after hearing about a minor inconvenience.
She stopped outside Katie's room when she saw me.
“Finally,” she said. “I was beginning to think you had forbidden everyone from seeing her.”
“You may visit only if Katie wants you here.”
“She's my granddaughter.”
“And she's frightened.”
Barbara's lips tightened.
“You have always enjoyed making yourself the victim.”
She looked through the window at Katie.
“Poor child. All this attention must be very confusing for her.”
I stepped between Barbara and the door.
“Don't speak about her that way.”
She lowered her voice.
“Listen to me carefully. Whatever she said, whatever you've convinced yourself happened, you need to stop this before it destroys the family.”
“Which family? The one where a grandmother threatens a mother while her granddaughter lies in intensive care?”
Barbara glanced toward the nurses' station.
“You don't understand the consequences of what you're doing.”
“Then explain them.”
For the first time, she seemed unable to find a response.
A nurse approached and asked whether Barbara had arranged a visit with Katie's medical team.
Barbara immediately transformed her expression.
“I am her grandmother. I only want to help.”
The nurse politely explained that Katie needed rest and that visitors would be limited according to her condition and wishes.
Barbara left without seeing her.
As the elevator doors closed, she turned toward me.
“You should have cooked the dinner.”
I watched the doors slide shut.
That evening, Andrew sent an email with the subject line Family Matters. Attached was a draft agreement offering me a lump sum if I agreed to move out of the house voluntarily.
The document was dated two days before the accident.
The offer required me to surrender my ownership claim and waive any objection to the sale. In exchange, I would receive enough money to rent a small apartment for several months.
At the bottom was a signature line.
My name had already been typed.
I forwarded the email to Grace and Reynolds.
Then I noticed a paragraph buried in the agreement.
It stated that if I refused to cooperate, Andrew could seek sole custody of Katie on the grounds that I was emotionally unstable and unable to provide a suitable home.
He had prepared a strategy to take my house and my daughter before Katie was ever struck.
My phone rang.
Andrew.
I let it go to voicemail.
His recorded message was only eight seconds long.
“Amanda, this can still be handled quietly. If you force me to involve lawyers, you won't like what happens next.”
I saved it.
Then I opened the email again and studied the date.
Two days before the accident.
Two days before my daughter was injured.
Two days before Andrew told me he was taking her for ice cream.
The collision and the property sale were not separate disasters.
May you like
They were parts of the same plan.
And somebody had decided that I would be easier to control if my daughter and I were left with nothing.
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