Chapter 4
I called Ruth seventeen times.
Every call went straight to voicemail.
By the tenth attempt, my hands were shaking so badly that Marcus took the phone from me.
“Mom, breathe.”
I looked at him.
“She never ignores my calls.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't understand.”
My voice cracked.
“Ruth calls me every morning. Even when she's visiting her sister. Even when she's sick.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Then we'll find her.”
Patricia contacted Ruth's sister, Dorothy.
Dorothy answered immediately.
The moment she heard Patricia's voice, she began crying.
“I thought Ruth was with Evelyn.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Dorothy explained that Ruth had planned to visit me earlier in the week.
She had left her apartment carrying a folder of documents.
She never returned.
Dorothy assumed Ruth had decided to stay at my house.
I assumed Ruth was staying with Dorothy.
And somehow, three days had passed without either of us realizing she was missing.
I felt sick.
“We need to call the police,” I said.
Marcus nodded.
Patricia helped us contact the authorities.
Within an hour, Detective Angela Brooks arrived.
She was a tall Black woman in her early forties, with a steady voice and attentive eyes.
She asked detailed questions.
When had we last spoken to Ruth?
Had she mentioned threats?
Did she have medical conditions?
Was there anyone who might want to harm her?
I told her everything.
Including the confrontation with Nia.
And the property-transfer documents.
The detective listened without interrupting.
Then she asked something that made my heart pound.
“Did Ruth own anything else of significant value?”
I looked at Patricia.
She hesitated.
“Possibly.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Patricia opened her notebook.
“Ruth contacted me about an investment account connected to Richard's estate.”
I stared at her.
“An investment account?”
She nodded.
“Richard established a separate fund for her future medical care and living expenses.”
I knew he had wanted Ruth financially secure.
But I hadn't known the full value of the account.
Patricia continued.
“The account currently holds approximately six hundred thousand dollars.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Dad left Ruth six hundred thousand dollars?”
“Through a designated trust arrangement, yes.”
I felt tears fill my eyes.
Richard had always been generous.
But he had been quiet about it.
He believed giving should protect people, not make them feel indebted.
Detective Brooks wrote something down.
“Who else knew about this fund?”
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
“The trustee. The financial institution. Ruth. And possibly anyone who obtained copies of Richard's estate planning documents.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Nia.
Daniel.
Someone had been studying the inheritance.
Someone had been searching for money.
And Ruth had suddenly disappeared.
Detective Brooks asked to review the threatening communications.
Patricia had saved copies of several messages Ruth received.
One read:
“You don't deserve what Richard left you.”
Another said:
“Sign the transfer documents, or things will become difficult.”
And the last message chilled me.
“People your age disappear every day.”
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
Marcus stood.
“Who sent those?”
“The number isn't identified yet,” Patricia answered.
Detective Brooks requested the records.
Then she asked Marcus about Nia.
My son looked devastated.
But he answered every question.
He explained the planned sale.
The buyer.
The attorney.
The inheritance documents.
When the detective asked whether he believed his wife could have threatened Ruth, he fell silent.
Finally, he whispered, “I don't know anymore.”
I wanted to hold him.
But I was too frightened for Ruth.
After the detective left, I insisted on visiting Dorothy.
Marcus drove.
Patricia followed in her own car.
Dorothy lived in a small brick house fifteen minutes away.
She opened the door before we reached the porch.
The moment she saw me, she began crying.
“Evelyn, where is my sister?”
I hugged her tightly.
“I don't know, sweetheart.”
She held on to me.
“She was frightened.”
I pulled back.
“What do you mean?”
Dorothy wiped her face.
“Ruth told me someone had been following her.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
Dorothy led us into the living room.
Then she opened a drawer.
Inside was a small notebook.
“She wrote down things that worried her.”
I took it carefully.
The first pages contained ordinary reminders.
Grocery lists.
Doctor appointments.
Birthdays.
Then the handwriting changed.
One entry said:
“Black SUV outside apartment again.”
Another read:
“Daniel called twice. Wants meeting without attorney.”
And another:
“Nia knows about the trust. How?”
Marcus sank into a chair.
Dorothy looked at him.
“I don't want to accuse your wife unfairly.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
But his face showed that he was beginning to understand too.
I turned another page.
There was a name.
Samuel Price.
I frowned.
“Who is Samuel Price?”
Dorothy looked surprised.
“Ruth said he worked with your husband's old business.”
I searched my memory.
Richard had employed dozens of people over the years.
But Samuel Price was familiar.
Then I remembered.
He had been our company's accountant.
He left shortly after Richard died.
At the time, I was told he had accepted a job in another state.
I hadn't questioned it.
“Marcus,” I said, “do you remember Samuel?”
He nodded.
“Dad's accountant.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
I looked at Patricia.
“Can we find him?”
She nodded.
“I'll try.”
Then Dorothy handed me something else.
A small photograph.
Ruth stood beside Richard in our garden.
They were both smiling.
I remembered the day.
It was Richard's seventieth birthday.
He had insisted Ruth appear in the family photograph.
Nia had complained.
She said household employees shouldn't be included in private family pictures.
Richard had looked at her and said, “Ruth is family.”
I remembered Nia's expression.
Cold.
Humiliated.
Angry.
I had forgotten that moment until now.
Suddenly, it seemed important.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice spoke.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“Are you looking for Ruth Jackson?”
I grabbed Marcus's arm.
“Yes! Who is this?”
The woman hesitated.
“My name is Clara. I work at Riverside Medical Center.”
My heart pounded.
“Is Ruth there?”
A long pause.
Then Clara whispered, “She was.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What do you mean?”
“She was brought in two nights ago. Confused, frightened, and carrying no identification.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“Where is she now?”
Clara's voice changed.
“That's why I'm calling.”
My stomach tightened again.
“She disappeared from the hospital yesterday.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
“And Mrs. Bennett…”
“Yes?”
“Before she vanished, she kept repeating one sentence.”
I could barely speak.
“What sentence?”
Clara took a breath.
“She said, 'Tell Evelyn the son isn't the one who betrayed her.'”
I looked at Marcus.
He was staring at me.
May you like
Then Clara added something even more disturbing.
“She said, 'The woman with the white folder knows everything.'”
