Chapter 6
“No.”
I said it immediately.
“Kayla didn't do this.”
Naomi remained calm.
“I didn't say she did.”
I stared at the signature.
It looked like Kayla's name.
But after seeing my own signature forged, I knew better than to trust ink.
Marcus called Detective Brooks.
Within an hour, investigators confirmed Kayla had never heard of the insurance policy.
She burst into tears when told.
“I didn't sign anything.”
I believed her.
Brooks did too.
Someone had used both our names.
That meant the forgeries weren't random.
They were designed to create suspects.
Rachel on one document.
Kayla on another.
Marcus's name on a fake company.
Vale had been building escape routes.
If everything went wrong, he could point toward my entire family.
Maybe that was why he'd chosen people who already had conflicts with me.
A jealous sister.
A controlling father.
An intrusive mother.
A husband outsiders could accuse of wanting money.
And a teenager whose digital signature could be easy to steal.
“He's been preparing for years,” Marcus said.
Naomi nodded.
“Yes.”
That frightened me more than anything.
This hadn't begun with my pregnancy.
My pregnancy had only activated his final phase.
The emergency audit started the next morning.
Accounts were frozen.
Subpoenas went out.
Vale's companies stopped moving money.
Police issued a nationwide warrant.
Still, he remained missing.
My parents stayed in custody.
Rachel was released under strict conditions after prosecutors agreed she could remain with our aunt while her case proceeded.
She was forbidden from contacting me.
I was relieved.
And strangely sad.
Three days passed.
My doctors wanted to discharge me.
Medically, I was stable.
Emotionally, I felt like every wall contained a hidden door.
“We aren't going home,” Marcus said.
I looked at him.
“Where then?”
“Somewhere secure.”
Police arranged a temporary location.
A furnished house owned by a retired federal agent outside the city.
No public listing.
No connection to my family.
I hated needing it.
But the first night there, I slept six hours straight.
That was more than I'd slept since the cookout.
Marcus made breakfast the next morning.
The pancakes were terrible.
I ate three.
“Don't lie,” he said.
“They're good.”
“They're shaped like roofing material.”
I almost smiled.
Then our daughter kicked.
Marcus froze.
He hurried around the counter and placed both hands on my belly.
Another kick.
His face softened.
“There you are.”
For one minute, we were simply husband and wife.
Future mother and father.
Not witnesses in a criminal investigation.
I needed that minute.
Then Detective Brooks called.
They had found something inside Vale's abandoned office.
A storage key taped beneath his desk.
The key opened a private records locker.
Inside were copies of insurance documents, financial ledgers, and photographs.
Photographs of me.
Leaving work.
At the grocery store.
Walking into my obstetrician's office.
My skin crawled.
“He had me followed?”
Brooks nodded during a secure video call.
“For at least seven months.”
“Who took the pictures?”
“We don't know.”
Another photograph showed Marcus and me entering David's office.
Date: three days before the cookout.
Vale had known about our meeting.
Another showed my mother outside Vale's office.
Another showed Dad.
Then Rachel.
My family had been going there for months.
“Did Rachel admit that?”
I asked.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
So she was still hiding something.
Brooks continued.
“We're interviewing her again.”
This time Rachel talked.
She claimed she'd visited Vale because Mom told her he could help with debts.
“What debts?”
I asked.
Brooks glanced at her notes.
“Rachel owes approximately thirty thousand dollars on credit cards.”
I hadn't known.
Mom had apparently been giving her money from trust accounts.
Rachel thought it was Mom and Dad's money.
Or claimed she did.
Vale had offered to clear her debts if she helped convince me not to challenge the trust.
Suddenly Rachel's anger at the cookout made more sense.
She had financial incentive too.
Still no excuse.
But another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
That evening I received a letter.
Not electronically.
Physical mail.
It had been sent to the secure house.
Only a handful of people knew the address.
Marcus didn't touch it.
He called Brooks.
Police collected it wearing gloves.
Inside was a single photograph.
Me on the hospital balcony.
Taken two days earlier.
Someone had been watching even after my transfer.
On the back, three words were printed.
STOP THE AUDIT.
My fear turned into anger so quickly it startled me.
“No.”
Marcus looked at me.
“What?”
I stared at the photograph.
“No more.”
Brooks told me not to touch anything.
“I know.”
I pointed at the message.
“He thinks I'm scared enough to stop.”
“You are scared,” Marcus said softly.
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Saying it didn't weaken me.
It made something inside me settle.
“I am terrified.”
I placed my hand on my belly.
“But I'm doing it anyway.”
Naomi expanded the audit.
David petitioned to remove every existing trustee associated with my family.
The court approved emergency independent control.
For the first time since Grandpa died, my parents had no access.
Vale had no access.
The money was locked.
Two days later, investigators found the first huge break.
The envelope Vale had given Mom at the motel had contained passports.
Fake passports.
One for Vale.
One for Dad.
One for Mom.
Vale had planned for all three to disappear.
Mom admitted it after being confronted.
“He said we could leave the country until things calmed down.”
“Where?” Brooks asked.
“Belize.”
“Why didn't you go?”
Mom cried.
“Robert didn't come.”
Dad had changed his mind.
His decision to surrender may have saved him from even more charges.
Vale's escape route narrowed.
Airports were alerted.
Borders flagged.
Then Naomi called us late that evening.
Her voice trembled with excitement.
“We found the missing money.”
“How much?”
Marcus asked.
“Four-point-seven million.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“An offshore account.”
“Vale's?”
“Controlled by one of his companies.”
Naomi paused.
“But he can't withdraw it alone.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does he need?”
“A second authorization.”
“From who?”
She took a breath.
“Your father.”
Dad was in custody.
Marcus exhaled.
“So Vale can't get the money.”
“No.”
Naomi sounded uneasy.
“Unless he has another authorization method.”
“What method?”
“Biometric verification.”
I went cold.
“What kind?”
“Voice and facial recognition.”
Marcus stood.
“He has photographs.”
“And recordings,” I whispered.
Kayla's video.
Family videos.
Social media.
Vale had years of material.
Naomi continued.
“The bank requires a live verification challenge.”
“So prerecorded footage shouldn't work.”
“Shouldn't.”
That word bothered me.
Then another call came.
From Detective Brooks.
She didn't waste time.
“Vale was spotted.”
“Where?”
“At your parents' neighborhood.”
My heart pounded.
“Why would he go back?”
“We don't know.”
Brooks paused.
“Claire, officers checked your parents' house.”
“And?”
“The safe in your father's study was open.”
“What was inside?”
“Your grandfather's original trust records.”
My stomach dropped.
“Were they taken?”
“Some.”
“What else?”
Brooks went silent for half a second.
Then she said, “A handgun registered to your father is missing.”
Marcus looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Vale had lost access to the money.
The audit was exposing him.
Police were closing in.
And now a man who had already tried to kill me had armed himself.
For the first time, I wondered whether hiding would ever be enough.
Then my daughter moved beneath my hand.
I felt the strength of her kick.
And I knew the answer.
May you like
I wasn't going to hide forever.
One way or another, Thomas Vale was going to face us.
