Chapter 6
My father moved in front of me.
For the first time in years, he did it without hesitation.
Aunt Vanessa aimed the gun at his chest.
“Don’t play hero, Daniel. You were never good at it.”
Rachel whimpered.
I gripped the plastic bag behind my back.
The lake behind us was black.
The road was blocked.
My phone was in my coat pocket, already connected to Detective Miller because I had called her before stepping out of the car.
I prayed the line was still open.
Vanessa smiled.
“You always were dramatic, Olivia. Just like Noah.”
My father’s voice turned cold.
“Do not say his name.”
“Oh please. That boy was going to ruin everything.”
My blood froze.
“That boy?”
She laughed softly.
“You think Margaret had the stomach to manage all this? She was needy. Eric was greedy. I was the one keeping everyone alive.”
Rachel whispered, “You ordered the transfers.”
Vanessa swung the gun toward her.
“You stole from me.”
Rachel cried, “I kept copies because I knew you’d blame me.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Give me the drive.”
I pulled it out.
My father said, “Olivia, don’t.”
I looked at Vanessa.
“Did Mom know Eric hit Noah’s truck?”
Vanessa’s smile faded.
“Your mother knew enough.”
“Did she watch him die?”
“She wasn’t there when he went off the road.”
That answer was too specific.
My father heard it too.
He whispered, “But Eric was.”
Vanessa shrugged.
“Noah was emotional. He should have pulled over.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I kept her talking.
“You planted the bottle.”
“Eric did.”
“With Mom’s prints.”
“Margaret was useful when she was scared.”
My father took a step forward.
“You destroyed my family for money.”
Vanessa’s eyes sharpened.
“No, Daniel. Your family was easy to destroy because none of you trusted each other.”
That hit harder than I wanted it to.
Because she was not entirely wrong.
Lies grow best in rooms where love has already learned to doubt itself.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Vanessa heard them.
Her face twisted.
“You called them.”
I held up the drive.
“And you confessed.”
She lunged.
My father shoved me behind him.
The gun went off.
The sound cracked across the water.
For one second, I thought I had been hit.
Then my father stumbled.
Blood spread across his shoulder.
I screamed.
He fell to one knee.
Vanessa grabbed the drive from my hand and ran toward her car.
Rachel slammed into her from the side.
Both women hit the gravel.
The gun skidded away.
I dropped beside my father.
“Dad!”
“I’m okay,” he gasped.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Shoulder.”
I pressed my hands against the wound.
He looked at me, pain twisting his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that now.”
“I should have stood in front of you years ago.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“You’re doing it now.”
Detective Miller’s car tore onto the property first.
Deputies followed.
Vanessa was cuffed in the gravel, screaming that she knew judges and donors and half the city.
Rachel sat shaking beside the boathouse.
The flash drive lay beneath her shoe.
Safe.
My father was taken by ambulance.
I rode with him.
He kept trying to talk.
I kept telling him to save his strength.
At the hospital, they took him into surgery.
I sat in the waiting room with my shirt stained with his blood.
Detective Miller arrived two hours later.
“Vanessa is in custody. Rachel gave a full statement. The drive has financial records, emails, scanned signatures, and messages between Vanessa, Eric, and your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
I looked down.
“What did she do?”
The detective sat across from me.
“We believe she helped falsify documents to move money from Noah’s trust. We also believe she knew Eric forced Noah off the road, but helped cover it up afterward.”
The room tilted again.
Part of me had still hoped.
Not that she was innocent.
Just less guilty.
A foolish daughter’s hope.
“What about Eric?”
“Arrested at the airport.”
I closed my eyes.
The first real breath I had taken in weeks left me shaking.
“Good.”
My father survived surgery.
When I saw him, he looked small against the white sheets.
His shoulder was bandaged.
His face was pale.
But his eyes opened when I entered.
“Olivia.”
I stood beside the bed.
“You’re not allowed to die before apologizing properly.”
A weak laugh escaped him.
Then tears slid into his hair.
“I loved your mother badly,” he whispered. “I loved her in a way that made me blind. But that is not your burden. It was mine. I gave it to you. I gave it to Noah. I am so sorry.”
For the first time, his apology did not ask me to comfort him.
So I let myself cry.
I took his hand.
“I don’t know how to forgive you yet.”
May you like
He nodded.
“I’ll wait.”
