Chapter 6
I stared at the anonymous message until the words blurred.
Ask Vanessa what she bought from the pharmacy.
For four years, I had believed my mother's death was something nobody could have prevented.
Now I was surrounded by questions.
Financial records.
Medication schedules.
Suspicious payments.
And the woman who had spent years trying to convince me I was unwanted.
I felt sick.
Dad sat beside me.
His hands were trembling.
For the first time in my life, I saw Arthur Bennett genuinely frightened.
Not angry.
Not protective.
Afraid.
I reached for his hand.
"Dad?"
He looked at me.
"What if we find out something terrible?"
His eyes filled.
"Then we'll face it together."
I swallowed.
"What if Mom was trying to tell us?"
He closed his eyes.
"Then I wish I'd listened sooner."
I leaned against him.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then Dad whispered,
"I'm sorry, Maya."
I looked up.
"For what?"
"For letting Vanessa into our lives."
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I thought I was giving us a chance to be happy again."
My chest tightened.
I took his hand.
"Wanting happiness wasn't wrong."
He looked at me.
I continued.
"But ignoring what she did to us was."
He nodded slowly.
"You're right."
I felt something shift between us.
For years, Dad had protected me from strangers.
But he had struggled to protect me from someone he loved.
Now he was finally learning.
And so was I.
The next morning, Detective Carter met with us.
She explained that investigators had located the former pharmacy employee.
His name was Gerald Price.
He admitted receiving money from Vanessa.
He claimed the payment was intended to keep him from reporting irregularities in the handling of Rachel's medication.
My hands shook.
"Did he change her medicine?"
The detective answered carefully.
"He says he altered records and helped Vanessa obtain medication outside the authorized process."
I covered my mouth.
Dad looked horrified.
The detective continued.
"We need independent medical analysis to establish what those actions meant for Rachel's health."
I nodded.
I wanted truth.
Not guesses.
But fear was growing.
Then Detective Carter asked me something unexpected.
"Maya, do you remember whether your mother ever complained that her medicine looked different?"
I closed my eyes.
I tried to remember.
Mom used to organize her pills in a small blue container.
Every Sunday evening, she sat at the kitchen table.
Sometimes I helped count them.
I remembered one day.
Mom opened the container.
Then frowned.
She held up a tablet.
"This isn't right."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"The color is different."
I remembered Vanessa standing nearby.
She laughed.
"Manufacturers change things all the time."
Mom looked uncomfortable.
She called the pharmacy.
But I couldn't remember what happened afterward.
I opened my eyes.
"Yes."
Detective Carter leaned forward.
"Tell me."
I explained everything.
The blue container.
The different-colored tablet.
Vanessa's comment.
Mom calling the pharmacy.
The detective documented my statement.
Then asked,
"Do you remember when?"
I shook my head.
"Maybe a week before she died."
She nodded.
"That's helpful."
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at the floor.
I felt tears rise.
For years, I had carried these memories without understanding them.
Now every small detail seemed important.
The investigation continued for several weeks.
Independent experts reviewed the medical records.
They examined pharmacy logs.
Medication changes.
Clinical notes.
And the suspicious documents recovered from Vanessa's storage unit.
The findings raised serious concerns.
Then one afternoon, Detective Carter called.
Her voice was careful.
"Maya, we have a significant update."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
"The medical review found evidence consistent with unauthorized medication interference before Rachel's death."
I sat down.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then whispered,
"Does that mean Vanessa killed her?"
The detective paused.
"It means the evidence supports investigating criminal responsibility for the interference. The court will ultimately determine what can be proven."
I nodded.
My hands shook.
I looked toward Mom's photograph on the wall.
Her smile was bright.
Warm.
Alive.
I began crying.
Dad sat beside me.
He pulled me into his arms.
I buried my face against his chest.
For years, I had missed Mom.
Now I was grieving something else too.
The possibility that she had been deliberately harmed.
That someone had taken her away from us.
And that same person later married Dad.
The thought made me feel sick.
That evening, I found Dad sitting alone in the garage.
His motorcycle stood beside him.
The black leather vest hung over the handlebars.
He was staring at the floor.
I approached quietly.
"Dad?"
He looked up.
His eyes were red.
"Hey, baby girl."
I sat beside him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered,
"I keep thinking about your mother."
I nodded.
"Me too."
He rubbed his face.
"She tried to tell me something before she died."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
He looked ashamed.
"She said she didn't trust Vanessa."
I froze.
Dad continued.
"I thought she was upset about the financial dispute."
I swallowed.
He shook his head.
"I told her to let the lawyers handle it."
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I didn't understand she was afraid."
I took his hand.
"Dad..."
He began sobbing.
"I should've protected her."
My chest tightened.
I leaned against him.
For a long time, we cried together.
Then I whispered,
"Mom wouldn't want us blaming ourselves forever."
He looked at me.
I continued.
"She'd want us to tell the truth."
He nodded slowly.
"You're right."
The following morning, Olivia called.
Investigators had secured additional records showing Vanessa used false identities in several financial transactions.
The stolen trust money had been routed through businesses connected to her.
Several accounts had been frozen.
The white Mercedes was also identified as an asset potentially connected to the disputed funds.
My stomach tightened.
"Can we recover the money?"
Olivia answered,
"We have a reasonable path to seek restitution."
I nodded.
That was something.
But money wasn't what mattered most anymore.
I wanted justice for Mom.
And I wanted Vanessa to stop hurting people.
Then Olivia's voice changed.
"Maya, there's another issue."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
"Your father needs to review some documents."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because his signature appears on several authorizations."
I stared.
"Dad's?"
"Yes."
My stomach tightened.
"Did he sign them?"
"We don't know yet."
I looked toward the garage.
Dad was working on his motorcycle.
I felt fear rise again.
What if he had helped Vanessa without knowing?
What if he knew more than he admitted?
I took a breath.
"Show us."
That afternoon, Olivia laid the documents on the table.
Dad examined them.
His expression changed.
"These aren't mine."
I stared.
"What?"
He pointed toward the signature.
"Someone copied my name."
Olivia nodded.
"We suspected forgery."
Then she opened another page.
A life insurance application.
My mother's name appeared near the top.
My heart stopped.
I stared at the amount.
Two million dollars.
Then I looked at the beneficiary.
Vanessa.
My hands began shaking.
I whispered,
"Why would Vanessa have insurance on Mom?"
Dad's face drained of color.
Olivia looked serious.
"That's what investigators are trying to establish."
Then my phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
A woman's trembling voice whispered,
"Maya Bennett?"
"Yes?"
"My name is Patrice."
My heart pounded.
"I worked with your mother."
I stopped breathing.
Then she said,
"I've been afraid to tell the police everything."
My hands began shaking.
"What do you mean?"
She began crying.
May you like
"Vanessa didn't act alone."
And before I could ask another question, the call ended.
