Chapter 6 - The LetterMy father's letter was four pages long.
I read it once.
Then again.
Then I cried.
Not because he was dead.
That grief was old.
I cried because he had known.
He had known what my mother was capable of.
He had known Vanessa was involved.
He had known someone would eventually come after me.
The first sentence read:
Amanda,
If you are reading this, they have probably convinced you that family means obligation.
Do not believe them.
Family is not a legal excuse for theft.
I kept reading.
He explained that the holding company contained assets he had deliberately kept separate from the rest of the family's finances.
He had planned to transfer control to me.
But after discovering the withdrawals, he realized the problem was larger than money.
Someone was altering records.
Forging signatures.
Creating false debts.
Moving assets.
He suspected the attorney.
Then came the part that made my hands shake.
“I believe your mother intends to use your identity.”
He had written that sentence months before his death.
He was right.
My father's letter continued:
“If she ever claims you took money from her, ask for the original bank records. Do not accept printed statements alone. There will be a forged power of attorney bearing your name.”
I stopped reading.
The exact document police had shown me.
My father had predicted it.
He even wrote where the original would be stored.
“Safe deposit box 118.”
I stared at the page.
There was one more line.
“The key is hidden in a place Vanessa will never search.”
I knew immediately.
My father's workshop.
That afternoon I drove there.
The property had been empty since his death.
Dust covered everything.
Old tools.
Wood scraps.
A cracked radio.
I searched for hours.
Then I noticed something strange.
A toolbox had a false bottom.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
Safe deposit box 118.
I drove to the bank.
The manager checked the documents.
Then gave me a box.
Inside was a notebook.
A second flash drive.
And a list of names.
At the top was:
Marlene Whitaker.
Underneath:
Vanessa Whitaker.
Paul Whitaker.
Richard Sloan.
Richard Sloan.
The attorney.
There were dates beside every name.
Then I saw something impossible.
The final date was two days ago.
Next to it was a note:
Amanda Carter.
My own name.
I stared at it.
Someone was still writing in my father's notebook.
Someone had access.
Someone knew what I was doing.
My phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
Stop digging.
Another message arrived.
Your son is not part of this. Keep it that way.
I stood so quickly that the chair behind me fell over.
My heart raced.
Someone had threatened Ethan.
I called the police.
Officer Daniels answered.
When I told him about the messages, his tone changed immediately.
“Don't go home.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
There was a pause.
Then he said:
“We ran the power-of-attorney document.”
“And?”
“The witness signature is fake.”
Relief hit me.
Then he added:
“But the person who submitted it wasn't your mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who was it?”
May you like
Officer Daniels lowered his voice.
“Your sister.”
