Chapter 9
I sat completely still.
“Someone wanted the company destroyed?”
“That’s Eric’s claim.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Criminal conspiracies often make less sense from the inside than people expect.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Where does Melissa fit?”
“Eric says she was contacted through an encrypted messaging app.”
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“That was before Mom moved into our house.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Mom had moved in eight months earlier after a fall at her apartment.
Had that really been a coincidence?
“Did Melissa engineer Mom moving in?”
“We’re investigating.”
I looked at Mom.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Do you remember your fall?”
“Of course.”
“Exactly what happened?”
“I slipped near my kitchen.”
“On what?”
She frowned.
“Water.”
“Where did the water come from?”
“I assumed I spilled something.”
“Was Melissa there that day?”
Mom’s face changed.
“She had visited that morning.”
Michael whispered, “Jesus.”
I held up my hand.
“We don’t know.”
But the possibility made me nauseous.
If Melissa had somehow created the circumstances that pushed Mom into our home, then this wasn’t a scheme that spiraled out of control.
It had been planned.
I asked Harris, “Can I speak to Eric?”
“Not directly.”
“I need answers.”
“We’ll get them.”
“When?”
“Daniel.”
It was the first time he had used my first name.
“You have not slept.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if you start making decisions while exhausted.”
I hated that he was right.
“I’ll call when I have something solid.”
He hung up.
Michael looked at me.
“You should sleep.”
I laughed.
“You sound like the detective.”
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Fair.”
Mom watched us.
For the first time, something almost peaceful passed across her face.
Two sons insulting each other.
Maybe she was imagining what should have happened decades ago.
A nurse entered and said Mom could likely be discharged that afternoon if the doctor approved.
I immediately said she was coming with me.
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I’m not going back to your house.”
“I wasn’t taking you there.”
“Good.”
“I’ll get a hotel suite.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I’m staying with Ruth.”
Aunt Ruth was Mom’s younger sister.
She lived in Plano.
“You haven’t spoken to Ruth in three months.”
“That doesn’t mean she stopped being my sister.”
I glanced at Michael.
He wisely stayed silent.
Mom smiled faintly.
“I need somewhere that doesn’t belong to you or Melissa.”
That hurt.
But I understood.
“Okay.”
“I also need my own phone.”
“You have a phone.”
“One Melissa doesn’t know the password to.”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
“My bank accounts frozen.”
“Already working on it.”
“And Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Stop deciding everything for me.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
At noon, I drove to the house with police authorization to collect Mom’s belongings and some of my own.
Nothing looked different.
That disturbed me.
The kitchen had been cleaned.
The bowl was gone.
Sunlight streamed across the countertops.
Our wedding photograph still hung in the hallway.
Melissa and me smiling on a beach in Florida.
I stopped in front of it.
Eleven years.
How much had been real?
Maybe some of it.
That was the hardest part.
People wanted betrayal to erase every good memory.
It didn’t.
I remembered Melissa sleeping beside Dad’s hospital bed so Mom and I could rest.
I remembered her organizing meals after his funeral.
I remembered her holding my hand during fertility appointments.
Maybe she had loved me.
Maybe greed came later.
Maybe resentment.
Maybe fear.
Or maybe I had never known her.
I took the photograph off the wall.
Then put it face down on the entry table.
In Mom’s room, I packed clothes.
Her Bible.
Dad’s old watch.
Family photos.
Then I found a note taped beneath her dresser.
Daniel,
If you find this before I can speak to you, check the camera in George’s workshop.
Mom.
I stared at it.
Camera?
I went outside with the officer accompanying me.
Dad’s workshop looked untouched.
I searched the shelves.
Then noticed a small security camera above the side window.
I had installed it years earlier after tools were stolen.
I’d forgotten it existed.
The camera stored footage to a memory card.
I removed it.
The officer documented everything.
At the station, investigators reviewed the recordings.
Most footage was useless.
Empty workshop.
Mom occasionally entering to clean.
Me grabbing tools.
Then Detective Harris called me into a viewing room.
“Watch.”
The date was seven months earlier.
Melissa entered.
Alone.
She searched Dad’s cabinets.
Opened drawers.
Photographed files.
Then left.
Next clip.
Six months earlier.
Melissa returned with Kevin.
My CFO.
They talked for nearly forty minutes.
No audio.
But Kevin examined documents.
Melissa photographed them.
Then Kevin took one folder with him.
Third clip.
Four months earlier.
Eric.
He carried a box into the workshop.
Melissa joined him.
They hid it behind a cabinet.
Fourth clip.
Three weeks earlier.
Kevin again.
This time, someone else entered.
A woman.
Late sixties.
White hair.
Elegant clothes.
I didn’t recognize her.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Harris paused the footage.
“We were hoping you knew.”
I shook my head.
The woman handed Melissa an envelope.
Melissa opened it.
Then hugged her.
Not a polite hug.
A familiar one.
My stomach tightened.
“Whoever she is, Melissa knows her.”
Harris nodded.
“We ran facial recognition through available law-enforcement databases. No match.”
“Can you enhance the vehicle?”
“Already did.”
The woman drove a Lexus registered to a corporation.
“Which corporation?”
Harris handed me the printout.
Parker Heritage Foundation.
I stared at the name.
Parker.
Michael’s mother’s maiden name.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Do you know the Parker Heritage Foundation?”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Just answer.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“My aunt’s foundation.”
“Which aunt?”
“My mother’s sister.”
My chest tightened.
“What’s her name?”
“Rebecca Parker.”
“How old?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“White hair?”
“Yes.”
I sent him a still frame.
His response came ten seconds later.
“That’s her.”
“Why is your aunt meeting my wife?”
“I have no idea.”
Detective Harris motioned for the phone.
I put it on speaker.
“Mr. Bennett, when did you last speak with Rebecca Parker?”
“Maybe five years ago.”
“Why so long?”
Michael sighed.
“She hated my father.”
“Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know George Carter was your biological father?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she did.
Harris asked, “How did she feel about Mr. Carter?”
Michael went quiet.
“Rebecca blamed George for destroying my mother’s life.”
The room became very still.
“Would she want to hurt Carter & Sons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Bennett.”
Michael sighed.
“When I was younger, she said the company was built on stolen lives.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She believed Samuel should have owned part of it.”
“That doesn’t explain Melissa.”
“No.”
Then Michael paused.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Rebecca knew Melissa.”
I gripped the phone.
“How?”
“Your wedding.”
My mind raced.
“You were at my wedding?”
“No. Rebecca was.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Melissa invited her.”
“What?”
“Years ago, Rebecca mentioned attending a wedding in Dallas. She said the bride was the daughter of an old friend.”
I thought of Melissa’s family.
Her mother, Carol, died before we married.
Carol had grown up in Fort Worth.
Same city as Linda Parker.
“Who was the friend?”
Michael whispered, “Carol Hayes.”
Melissa’s mother.
Everything shifted again.
Our families hadn’t collided by accident.
Melissa’s mother knew Michael’s aunt.
Possibly Michael’s mother.
Possibly Dad.
I called Mom.
“Did you ever meet Melissa’s mother before our wedding?”
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“George acted strange when he heard her maiden name.”
“What was it?”
“Parker.”
I stopped breathing.
“No. Melissa’s mother’s maiden name was Hayes.”
“That was her married name.”
Mom’s voice trembled.
“Her maiden name was Parker.”
I sat down.
Melissa’s mother.
Carol Parker Hayes.
Michael’s mother.
Linda Parker Bennett.
Rebecca Parker.
“How many Parker sisters were there?”
Mom whispered, “Three.”
I looked at Detective Harris.
Michael was still on speaker.
He understood before I said it.
“My mother had two sisters,” he whispered.
“Rebecca and…”
He stopped.
I finished.
“Carol.”
Melissa’s mother.
Michael whispered, “Melissa is my cousin.”
I closed my eyes.
And my wife had known exactly where to find him.
This was never random.
It was family history reaching into another generation.
Harris’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Where?”
He stood.
“When?”
Then he looked at me.
“Send units.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Rebecca Parker just entered the hospital.”
My blood turned cold.
May you like
“Mom.”
I ran.
