Chapter 8
Ryan wanted to call Diane immediately.
I stopped him.
“No.”
“She framed me.”
“And calling her tells her we know.”
“I want to hear her say it.”
“You want answers. That’s different.”
He paced across the porch.
“I’ve spent thirty-four years doing exactly what she wanted.”
“I know.”
“I defended her against you.”
“I know.”
His face twisted.
“Stop saying that.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That I can fix this.”
I looked at him.
“You can’t fix everything.”
That hurt him.
But it was true.
Charles cleared his throat.
“There may be a way to protect the shares.”
Ryan turned.
“How?”
“William appointed an independent trustee.”
“Who?”
Charles looked at me.
“Thomas Carter.”
Ryan stared.
“My father?”
“The man who raised you, yes.”
“But he’s dead.”
“He named a successor.”
Charles handed me another page.
I read the name.
Emily Carter.
I almost dropped it.
“No.”
Ryan took the paper.
His eyes widened.
“Why would Dad name Emily?”
Charles looked uncomfortable.
“Thomas didn’t trust Diane.”
“He trusted Emily more than me?”
“At the time, apparently.”
I remembered Thomas as quiet.
Kind.
He loved Ethan.
He held Lily only once before he died.
He had never told me any of this.
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because the trusteeship activates only if a dispute arises before Ryan’s thirty-fifth birthday.”
Ryan laughed bitterly.
“Dad planned for a war after his death.”
“No,” Charles said. “He planned for your mother.”
That sentence landed hard.
I invited Charles inside only long enough to copy the documents.
Ryan stayed on the porch.
The children still didn’t want him inside.
I wasn’t going to force them.
When Charles left, Jessica called again.
“I found something else.”
Ryan put her on speaker.
“What?”
“The $68,000 transfer wasn’t just theft.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was sent into Diane’s holding company and then immediately forwarded.”
“To where?”
“A private investigator.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Jessica hesitated.
“He’s been following Emily.”
I felt every hair on my arms rise.
Ryan whispered, “What?”
“For at least four months.”
I grabbed the phone.
“Following me where?”
“Work. School pickup. Grocery store. Your mother’s old apartment building.”
“My mother died six years ago.”
“I know.”
That confused me more.
“Why would I go there?”
Jessica said, “According to the report, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Ryan looked at me.
“When?”
“June 12.”
I remembered June 12.
I had worked until five.
Picked up Ethan.
Bought groceries.
Went home.
“I wasn’t there.”
Jessica continued.
“There are photographs.”
“Of me?”
“A woman who looks like you.”
I felt sick.
“Send them.”
Seconds later, the pictures arrived.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Similar blue coat.
But it wasn’t me.
Then I saw her face.
My phone nearly slipped from my hand.
Ryan noticed.
“What?”
I enlarged the photo.
The woman was older than me.
Maybe ten years.
But I knew that face.
Not because I had met her.
Because I had seen her in an old photograph hidden in my mother’s jewelry box.
A photograph my mother refused to explain.
Ryan took the phone.
“Who is she?”
“My mother’s sister.”
“You have an aunt?”
“I thought she died when I was a baby.”
Jessica spoke.
“She’s alive.”
I sat down.
“What does she have to do with Diane?”
Jessica took a breath.
“According to the investigator’s report, Diane has met her seven times.”
Ryan stared at me.
“Why would my mother secretly meet your dead aunt?”
I couldn’t answer.
Then a message appeared from an unknown number.
It contained only an address.
And one sentence.
If you want to know why Diane hates your children, come alone.
I showed Ryan.
He immediately said, “No.”
But another message arrived.
This time it was a photograph.
My aunt stood beside Diane.
Between them was my late mother.
The picture was more than thirty years old.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
Three sisters. One secret.
