Chapter 7
I had spent eight years trying not to think about the night my mother died.
Dad said she'd suffered a medical emergency while driving home from work.
Her car had stopped near an intersection.
Someone called an ambulance.
And by the time she reached the hospital, it was too late.
That was all I knew.
I hadn't asked many questions.
I was eight years old.
The adults around me were crying.
And every time I mentioned Mom, Dad looked as though his heart was breaking.
So I learned to stop asking.
Now Jordan was sitting across from me, holding a phone that might contain information about her final days.
My hands trembled.
"Play it."
Jordan hesitated.
"Maya, maybe we should wait for Marcus."
I shook my head.
"Please."
He looked at me.
Then nodded.
He opened the recording.
At first, all I heard was muffled talking.
Then Denise's voice.
Sharp.
Angry.
"Thomas, you promised me this would be finished years ago."
A man's voice answered.
"It would have been if Marcus hadn't started reviewing old files."
I recognized Thomas immediately.
Denise spoke again.
"Evelyn kept records. I told you that."
Thomas sighed.
"Those records were supposed to disappear."
My heart began pounding.
Then I heard the sentence that would haunt me for months.
"She should've stopped asking questions before she got sick."
The recording ended.
I stared at Jordan.
"That's it?"
He nodded.
"I was hiding outside her office. She started walking toward the door."
My thoughts raced.
Mom had gotten sick.
That was true.
But the way Thomas spoke made it sound as though her illness was somehow connected to what she'd discovered.
I looked at Jordan.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
He lowered his head.
"I didn't know what it meant."
"Jordan—"
"And I was scared."
His voice cracked.
"Mom told me that if I ever interfered with her business, she'd send me to live with my father."
I looked at him.
"Why would that scare you?"
He laughed bitterly.
"My dad barely knows me."
I sat back.
Jordan had lived with us since he was fifteen.
I knew his father lived somewhere in Florida.
But Denise rarely spoke about him.
Jordan continued.
"Mom always said Marcus only tolerated me because he loved her."
I stared at him.
"That's not true."
He shrugged.
"I know that now."
For a moment, we sat silently.
Then I reached across the table.
"Jordan, you should've helped me."
His eyes filled.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"You watched me go hungry."
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"I know."
"You heard her insult me."
He nodded.
"I know."
My voice broke.
"And sometimes you laughed."
He covered his face.
"I'm sorry."
I stared at him.
I wanted to forgive him immediately.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
Because his silence had hurt.
Even if he'd been afraid, I had still been the one standing in the kitchen begging for food.
"I don't hate you," I whispered.
He looked up.
"But I need time."
He nodded.
"Take as much as you need."
Then he pushed the phone toward me.
"Just promise you'll tell Marcus."
I nodded.
"I will."
Dad was upstairs changing clothes.
I carried the phone to his bedroom.
He was standing near the closet when I knocked.
"Come in, sweetheart."
I stepped inside.
"Dad, Jordan recorded something."
His expression changed.
"What?"
I played the audio.
He listened without moving.
When Thomas mentioned Mom getting sick, Dad's face went white.
He asked me to play it again.
Then again.
Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Where did he get this?"
I explained.
Dad immediately called Olivia.
Within an hour, we were at her office.
Jordan came with us.
He handed over the original recording and explained exactly when and where he'd made it.
Olivia told us that investigators would need to authenticate the audio.
She also warned us not to assume it proved something about Mom's medical emergency.
But she agreed the conversation required attention.
Two days later, Detective Angela Morris contacted Dad.
She had been assigned to investigate the financial crimes involving Thomas and Denise.
After reviewing the recording and Mom's old files, she wanted to examine the circumstances surrounding Mom's death.
I was sitting beside Dad when she explained.
"We're not making assumptions," she said.
"But there are unanswered questions."
Dad nodded.
"Ask anything."
Detective Morris opened a folder.
"Your wife's emergency was recorded as a sudden cardiac event."
Dad looked devastated.
"Yes."
"Her medical history included a recently diagnosed heart rhythm disorder."
I stared at her.
I had never heard that before.
"Mom had heart problems?"
Dad nodded slowly.
"She'd been seeing a specialist."
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You were eight, sweetheart."
His voice broke.
"I didn't know how to explain it."
Detective Morris continued.
"Her doctor had prescribed medication and recommended follow-up testing."
She paused.
"According to the records, she missed her last scheduled appointment."
Dad frowned.
"That doesn't sound like Evelyn."
"Did she tell you why?"
"No."
Detective Morris turned another page.
"There's also a note indicating she reported difficulty obtaining her medication shortly before her death."
My stomach dropped.
Dad leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
"She told a nurse that a refill had been delayed."
Dad shook his head.
"She always kept her medication in her handbag."
I looked at him.
"Did anyone else handle it?"
He hesitated.
"Sometimes Thomas's assistant helped arrange appointments."
Detective Morris wrote something down.
"Who was the assistant?"
Dad swallowed.
"Denise."
My heart stopped.
Denise.
Before she became my stepmother, she had worked for Thomas.
I'd known that.
But somehow, I'd never connected it to Mom.
I stared at Dad.
"She knew Mom?"
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
"How well?"
"Professionally. I thought."
I felt sick.
The woman who'd spent years telling me my mother was selfish had known her personally.
She'd handled appointments.
Financial paperwork.
Possibly medical records.
And she had later married my father.
I stood.
"I need some air."
Dad immediately rose.
"Maya—"
"I'm okay."
I wasn't.
But I needed space.
Outside Olivia's office, I sat on a bench.
The afternoon sun warmed my face.
For a long time, I stared at the sidewalk.
Then Uncle Raymond came outside.
He sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Finally, I asked, "Do you think they hurt her?"
He took a slow breath.
"I don't know, sweetheart."
My eyes filled.
"But I do know your mother was worried about them."
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you stop it?"
His face crumpled.
"I tried to convince her to speak with an independent attorney."
"What did she say?"
"She wanted enough proof first."
I wiped my cheeks.
"She was brave."
Raymond nodded.
"Very."
Then he looked at me.
"And so are you."
I shook my head.
"I'm scared all the time."
He smiled sadly.
"Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared."
I leaned against his shoulder.
"I miss her."
He wrapped an arm around me.
"So do I."
Over the following weeks, investigators examined the old medical records.
They interviewed former employees.
Reviewed prescription records.
And contacted people who had worked with Mom before her death.
Meanwhile, Olivia and Aaron continued tracing the financial transfers.
The investigators eventually found evidence that Denise had repeatedly interfered with communications between Mom and her medical office.
Messages had been redirected.
Appointment reminders hadn't reached her.
And one refill request had been canceled through an account associated with Denise's former workplace.
The discoveries horrified Dad.
He sat beside me when Detective Morris explained them.
"Does that mean Denise caused Evelyn's death?" he asked.
The detective answered carefully.
"It means we have evidence of serious interference with medical communications. We're still examining whether that interference contributed to what happened."
I appreciated her honesty.
But the uncertainty hurt.
I wanted one clear answer.
One person to blame.
One explanation for why my mother had never come home.
Instead, I was learning that truth could be complicated.
And justice could take time.
One Friday afternoon, I returned home from school to find Dad waiting in the living room.
His expression was serious.
"Come sit with me, baby."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
He held out his hand.
"We found something."
I sat beside him.
He placed an old photograph on the coffee table.
It showed Mom standing outside our house.
She was holding a birthday cake.
I recognized the day immediately.
My eighth birthday.
The last birthday we'd celebrated together.
I touched her face.
"Where did you find this?"
"Uncle Raymond."
I smiled sadly.
Then Dad placed a second photograph beside it.
This one showed Mom with a little girl.
Me.
Standing near her office desk.
I laughed through my tears.
"I remember that day."
Dad nodded.
"Raymond found it with some of her other things."
I looked closer.
There was a small envelope visible on the desk behind us.
A green ribbon lay beside it.
I froze.
"Dad."
He looked at me.
"What?"
I pointed at the envelope.
"That's the one Denise took."
His expression changed.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"The same green ribbon."
He leaned forward.
Then he looked toward the hallway.
"Olivia called earlier."
My heart began pounding.
"About what?"
"Investigators recovered another storage box from Thomas's office."
I stared at him.
"Mom's?"
He nodded.
"They found a sealed envelope inside."
I couldn't breathe.
Dad took my hands.
"Maya, Olivia says it has your name on it."
Tears filled my eyes.
"The letter?"
He nodded.
"And there's something written beneath your name."
I swallowed.
"What?"
May you like
Dad's voice broke.
"Your mother wrote, 'The truth about our family.'"
