Chapter 5
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Clara's voice.
“The woman with the white folder knows everything.”
I had seen a white folder earlier that day.
Nia carried one when she entered my dining room.
It held the transfer agreement she demanded I sign.
At first, I dismissed the connection.
White folders were common.
But the more I thought about it, the more frightened I became.
Ruth had been followed.
Threatened.
Taken to a hospital without identification.
Then somehow removed before anyone could contact her family.
And someone wanted my house badly enough to frighten an elderly woman.
I sat at the kitchen table until sunrise.
Marcus joined me shortly after six.
He looked exhausted.
“Mom, you haven't slept.”
“Neither have you.”
He sat across from me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Nia didn't come home last night.”
I looked up.
“Did she call?”
“No.”
“Have you tried reaching her?”
“Yes.”
I studied his expression.
“Are you worried?”
He nodded.
“I'm worried about everything.”
I reached for his hand.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“Mom, I think I've been living with a stranger.”
I didn't know what to say.
I had disliked the way Nia treated people for years.
But I also remembered the woman Marcus fell in love with.
She had been charming.
Attentive.
Always smiling.
She brought flowers to my birthday dinner.
She volunteered at community events.
She told everyone how lucky she was to marry into our family.
Then Richard died.
And something changed.
At first, the demands were small.
She wanted access to family financial records.
She insisted Marcus needed more control over the estate.
She questioned every gift Richard had given before his death.
Then she began speaking about Ruth as though she were an outsider stealing from us.
I had noticed.
But I told myself grief was making everyone difficult.
Now I regretted my silence.
Marcus looked down.
“I signed whatever she put in front of me.”
I squeezed his hand.
“You trusted your wife.”
“I was careless.”
“Yes,” I said gently. “You were.”
He looked surprised.
I continued.
“But being careless doesn't mean you deserve to be deceived.”
His face crumpled.
I moved beside him.
He leaned against my shoulder like he used to when he was little.
For a moment, he wasn't a grown man with financial problems.
He was my son.
And he was hurting.
My phone rang.
Detective Brooks.
“We found Samuel Price,” she said.
I stood.
“Where?”
“He's living outside Savannah.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“What did he say?”
“He claims he left Richard's company because he discovered irregularities in the estate-related accounts.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who was responsible?”
“He wouldn't discuss names over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“He says he has documents that could expose several people.”
I looked at Marcus.
He was already standing.
Detective Brooks continued.
“Samuel is coming to Brookfield this afternoon to give a statement.”
“Does he know where Ruth is?”
“We're asking him.”
I gripped the phone.
“Detective, please find her.”
“We're doing everything we can.”
After the call, Patricia arrived.
She carried a thick folder of financial records.
Her expression told me the news wasn't good.
“I reviewed the inheritance distributions,” she said.
Marcus sat down.
“What did you find?”
Patricia opened the folder.
“Several accounts were transferred into an investment management company shortly after Richard died.”
I looked at her.
“What company?”
“Bennett Family Wealth Partners.”
Marcus frowned.
“I've never heard of it.”
Patricia nodded.
“That's what concerns me.”
She pointed to a document.
The company had been created by Daniel Whitmore.
Nia was listed as an authorized representative.
Marcus stared at the page.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“How much money?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Approximately one million four hundred thousand dollars.”
The room went silent.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
My husband had worked for decades to build security for our family.
And now someone had moved most of Marcus's inheritance into a company he didn't even know existed.
Marcus looked sick.
“Is it gone?”
“We're tracing the transactions.”
“Can we freeze the accounts?”
“I'm requesting emergency legal relief.”
I looked at Patricia.
“And Ruth's trust?”
Her expression darkened.
“We found attempted withdrawals.”
My heart stopped.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Were they successful?”
“Not all of them.”
I gripped the table.
“Who authorized them?”
Patricia looked at Marcus.
“The documents carry Ruth's signature.”
I shook my head.
“Ruth would never authorize that without telling me.”
“That's why we need a handwriting expert and the original records.”
Marcus stared at the papers.
Then he whispered, “Nia's attorney prepared them.”
Patricia nodded.
“Yes.”
I felt anger rising.
Not the loud kind.
The cold kind.
The kind that made every word deliberate.
“I want every account examined.”
Patricia met my eyes.
“We will.”
“And I want Ruth found.”
“We're working with the police.”
I stood.
“Then let's stop talking about what Nia might have done and find out what she actually did.”
That afternoon, Detective Brooks called again.
Samuel Price had arrived.
He requested to meet with the detective first, but he agreed to speak with us afterward if it wouldn't interfere with the investigation.
We waited at Patricia's office.
The minutes dragged.
Finally, Samuel entered.
He was sixty-one, with graying hair and tired eyes.
The moment he saw me, his face changed.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
“Samuel.”
He lowered his head.
“I'm sorry.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“For what?”
He sat down slowly.
“For leaving when Richard needed someone to protect his records.”
I looked at him.
“Tell me what happened.”
Samuel opened a folder.
“After Richard died, I discovered transfers that didn't match his instructions.”
“Who made them?”
He looked at Marcus.
Then at me.
“Daniel Whitmore prepared the documents.”
Marcus swallowed.
“And Nia?”
Samuel hesitated.
“She was involved.”
I closed my eyes.
But Samuel wasn't finished.
“There was someone else.”
I looked up.
“Who?”
He pushed a photograph across the table.
It showed Nia standing outside a restaurant with Daniel.
Beside them was a man I recognized immediately.
My breath caught.
“That's impossible.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Mom, who is he?”
I stared at the photograph.
The man was older now.
His hair had turned gray.
But I knew his face.
I had known it for forty years.
“That's Charles Whitmore.”
Marcus frowned.
“Daniel's father?”
I nodded slowly.
Then I whispered the truth.
“Charles was your father's business partner.”
Samuel looked at me.
“And there's something Richard never told you.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
Samuel took a breath.
“Charles believed half of your family's wealth belonged to him.”
I stared at the photograph.
May you like
Then Samuel spoke again.
“And he has spent the last five years trying to take it.”
