Chapter 5
I read Marcus’s letter three times.
Each time, the words became worse.
Closer than you think.
Raymond was already in cuffs.
But Marcus had written family.
Not Raymond.
Family.
Grant guided me inside while agents filled the house.
The kitchen that had felt hostile an hour earlier now looked pathetic.
Cold coffee.
Half-cut pies.
My father’s newspaper on the floor.
My mother crying beside the sink.
Victoria shouting at Raymond through the window.
“How could you hide this from me?”
Raymond finally shouted back.
“You wanted the money!”
She froze.
I turned slowly.
“What money?”
Victoria spun toward me.
“That’s not what he meant.”
Reeves entered with another evidence bag.
“General, we found bank authorization forms in the guest room.”
Grant took them.
Then looked at me.
“Amelia.”
I knew before she spoke.
“My accounts?”
“Marcus’s death benefits. Survivor pension. House transfer forms.”
My mother whispered, “We were only trying to help manage things.”
I stared at her.
“You knew?”
She cried harder.
“You were emotional.”
My father took a step back.
“Eleanor?”
She would not look at him.
Victoria’s voice sharpened.
“Mom said Amelia wouldn’t need the house once the Army took her away.”
Once the Army took me away.
Not if.
Once.
I looked at my mother.
“You thought I was being removed?”
She covered her mouth.
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“Who told you that?”
No one spoke.
Then Raymond laughed from the driveway.
A broken, ugly sound.
“You people still don’t get it.”
May you like
He looked straight at me.
“Marcus isn’t the only one they wanted dead.”
