Chapter 5
I didn't sleep after Detective Carter's call.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table.
Her tired smile.
The medication bottles.
The woman standing beside her.
Vanessa.
I had spent four years believing my mother died because she was sick.
Now I was learning someone may have interfered with her treatment.
I felt sick.
Dad found me sitting in the living room at three in the morning.
He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans.
His biker vest hung over the back of a chair.
He looked exhausted.
"Baby girl?"
I looked up.
"Hi."
He sat beside me.
"Can't sleep?"
I shook my head.
He nodded.
"Me neither."
For a moment, we listened to the quiet house.
Then I whispered,
"Dad, did Mom suffer?"
His face crumpled.
He took my hand.
"I don't know everything."
I swallowed.
He continued.
"But I know she loved you until the very end."
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I leaned against him.
He held me tightly.
Then I asked,
"Do you think Vanessa hurt her?"
Dad closed his eyes.
"I think we need to let the evidence answer that."
I nodded.
I wanted to be certain.
Not because I doubted my memories.
Because the accusation was too serious to build on fear alone.
The next morning, Detective Carter contacted us.
Investigators had located a former healthcare worker named Patrice Coleman.
She had occasionally assisted Rachel with medication organization.
Patrice agreed to provide a statement.
According to the detective, Patrice remembered Vanessa visiting Rachel before the fatal emergency.
She also recalled concerns about medication access.
My hands trembled.
"Did Patrice see Vanessa change anything?"
The detective answered carefully.
"She didn't witness that directly."
I swallowed.
"But she was concerned?"
"Yes."
The detective continued.
"She says Rachel told her she was frightened."
I closed my eyes.
Mom had been afraid.
And I hadn't known.
That afternoon, I visited the children's rehabilitation center where I volunteered.
I needed somewhere familiar.
Somewhere that reminded me why I wanted to study physical therapy.
A little boy named Caleb was practicing walking with braces.
He was six.
He grinned when he saw me.
"Miss Maya!"
I smiled.
"Hey, superstar!"
He held up his arms.
"Watch!"
With his therapist beside him, he took several careful steps.
I clapped.
"That's amazing!"
He laughed.
Then looked at me.
"Are you sad?"
My smile faltered.
"Why do you ask?"
He shrugged.
"Your eyes look tired."
I knelt beside him.
"Someone I love has been on my mind."
He nodded seriously.
Then said,
"My mom says sad days don't last forever."
My throat tightened.
I smiled through tears.
"Your mom sounds pretty smart."
He grinned.
"She is."
For the first time that day, I felt a little lighter.
I remembered why Mom encouraged me to help people.
She said the world would always need more kindness.
And that no matter what happened, I should never let cruel people make me cruel too.
That evening, Dad received a call from Olivia.
She had completed another review of the education trust.
Several transfers appeared unauthorized.
The total exceeded one hundred thousand dollars.
My stomach twisted.
"Can we get it back?"
Olivia answered carefully.
"We've identified assets and accounts that may support recovery."
I nodded.
Then she continued.
"There's something else."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
"Vanessa submitted an application to become an authorized manager of your remaining trust assets."
I froze.
"When?"
"Two months ago."
I stared.
I was still seventeen then.
Vanessa had been telling me college was too expensive.
She insisted I should remain at home.
She said I needed to work full-time after graduation.
Now I understood why.
If I stayed dependent, she could keep controlling the money.
I took a breath.
"Was the application approved?"
"No."
Relief washed through me.
Olivia continued.
"The trustee requested additional verification."
I nodded.
At least someone had questioned the paperwork.
Then Dad's phone rang.
Reggie.
He answered.
Listened.
And stood abruptly.
"What do you mean she's gone?"
I looked up.
"Dad?"
His expression changed.
He ended the call.
Then looked at me.
"Vanessa left the house."
I frowned.
"Okay."
He shook his head.
"With several boxes of documents."
My stomach tightened.
"What documents?"
"Reggie saw her loading them into her car."
I stood.
"We need to stop her."
Dad held up a hand.
"Not ourselves."
He called Olivia and Detective Carter.
I watched him.
For the first time, he wasn't trying to solve everything through anger.
He was letting people trained to handle the situation do their jobs.
I felt proud of him.
But fear was growing.
What if Vanessa destroyed the records?
What if Mom's final warning disappeared forever?
Later that evening, Detective Carter called.
Officers had located Vanessa's vehicle at a storage facility.
She had been questioned about the documents.
Several boxes were secured for review through proper legal procedures.
I exhaled.
"Did they find anything?"
The detective hesitated.
"Yes."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
"Financial records."
I nodded.
"And?"
"Medical documents connected to Rachel."
My stomach tightened.
Then she said something that made the room spin.
"One folder contained a handwritten schedule of your mother's medication."
I stared.
"What kind of schedule?"
The detective answered,
"Dates, doses, and notes about changes."
My hands trembled.
Then she continued.
"Several entries don't match the official prescriptions."
I covered my mouth.
My mother had been taking medication for a serious heart condition.
Unauthorized changes could have been dangerous.
I looked toward Dad.
His face was pale.
Detective Carter continued.
"We're arranging an independent medical review."
I nodded.
I wanted to know.
Even though I was terrified of the answer.
Then she added,
"Maya, there's another document."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"A signed payment agreement."
I frowned.
"Between whom?"
"Vanessa and a former pharmacy employee."
I stopped breathing.
The detective continued.
"The payment was made two days after your mother died."
My hands began shaking.
"How much?"
A pause.
Then she answered.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars."
I stared at the wall.
Mom's funeral.
Dad's grief.
My childhood ending.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Vanessa had paid someone twenty-five thousand dollars.
I whispered,
"What did she pay for?"
Detective Carter's voice became serious.
"That's exactly what we're investigating."
Then another message arrived on my phone.
An unknown number.
It contained one sentence.
Rachel didn't die because of her heart. Ask Vanessa what she bought from the pharmacy.
May you like
I felt cold all over.
And suddenly, I knew that Mom's graduation letter was only the beginning of a much darker secret.
