Chapter 5
I wanted to drive straight to Vanessa.
I wanted to demand Danielle's letters.
I wanted to take back every memory she'd stolen.
But then Maya laughed at something Renee said.
I looked across the table.
My daughter was smiling.
For the first time since the confrontation, she looked like herself.
I put my phone facedown.
Not now.
I wasn't going to let Vanessa ruin another moment.
We finished our ice cream.
Then I drove Maya home.
Renee helped her choose a movie.
I made popcorn.
And for two hours, we sat together beneath blankets, laughing at a comedy we'd watched a dozen times.
It was ordinary.
Simple.
And more precious than anything I'd done in months.
After Maya went to bed, I showed Renee the messages.
Her face changed.
“She stole Danielle's letters?”
I nodded.
Renee covered her mouth.
“That woman…”
I took a breath.
“I've already forwarded everything to Camille.”
“Good.”
I looked toward the staircase.
“I don't want Maya to know yet.”
Renee nodded.
“She has enough to deal with.”
I sat down.
Then whispered, “I don't understand why Vanessa hates Danielle so much.”
Renee looked thoughtful.
“Marcus, did Vanessa know Danielle before you met her?”
I frowned.
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you sure?”
I stared at her.
“What are you thinking?”
Renee hesitated.
“Something has always bothered me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The first time Vanessa came to Thanksgiving dinner.”
I remembered.
We'd been dating for four months.
Vanessa wore a beautiful red dress.
She brought expensive wine.
Everyone liked her.
Or at least, I thought they did.
Renee continued.
“She knew things about Danielle.”
I frowned.
“What things?”
“Small details.”
She leaned forward.
“She knew Danielle loved yellow roses.”
I stared at her.
“And she knew about the beach house.”
My heart tightened.
Danielle's grandmother had owned a small property near Wilmington.
It became part of Maya's trust after Danielle died.
Vanessa had asked about it several times during our marriage.
I assumed she was simply interested in family property.
But Renee looked increasingly concerned.
“She also knew Danielle's nickname for you.”
I froze.
“Bear?”
Renee nodded.
I stared at her.
I had never told Vanessa about that nickname.
At least, I didn't remember doing so.
“Maybe Maya mentioned it,” I said.
Renee shook her head.
“Maya was little when Danielle died. She didn't know all those details.”
I felt cold.
“Then how did Vanessa know?”
Renee looked at me.
“I think she knew more about Danielle than she admitted.”
The next morning, I met Camille.
She'd reviewed Vanessa's messages.
Her expression was serious.
“Marcus, don't negotiate privately over those materials.”
I nodded.
“I won't.”
“We can request their return through counsel and preserve the messages as evidence.”
I looked down.
“I just want Maya's letters back.”
“I know.”
Camille opened a folder.
“I also have an update on the trust.”
My heart raced.
“What did you find?”
“Danielle's trust currently holds several assets intended for Maya.”
I nodded.
“The beach house.”
“Yes. And investment accounts.”
I leaned forward.
“How much?”
Camille hesitated.
“The total value is approximately two million dollars.”
I stared at her.
Two million.
I knew Danielle had left substantial assets.
But I hadn't realized how much they'd grown.
Camille continued.
“Vanessa's attempted distribution request wasn't approved.”
I exhaled.
“But there's something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“She recently contacted a real-estate agent about selling the beach house.”
I stared at her.
“She doesn't own it.”
“Correct.”
“Then how could she sell it?”
“She couldn't lawfully do so without proper authority. But she appears to have been exploring ways to gain control.”
I shook my head.
The cruelty suddenly made more sense.
Vanessa wanted Maya out.
She wanted access to the trust.
She wanted money.
And she'd apparently been willing to damage my daughter's relationship with her dead mother to get it.
Camille slid another document toward me.
“A real-estate inquiry listed Vanessa as Maya's legal guardian.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She represented herself that way in preliminary communications.”
My hands tightened.
“She has no legal guardianship.”
“I know.”
I looked at the paper.
Vanessa had written her own name beside Maya's.
As though she had authority over my child.
As though Danielle had never existed.
I felt sick.
Camille continued.
“We're documenting these statements and examining whether any forged authorizations were submitted.”
I leaned back.
“Could she be charged?”
“That depends on the evidence and whether criminal conduct can be established.”
I nodded.
I didn't want promises.
I wanted facts.
And I wanted Vanessa away from Maya.
That afternoon, I received a call from an unfamiliar number.
A woman introduced herself as Rebecca Ellis.
She claimed she'd worked with Vanessa at a luxury real-estate firm.
My heart tightened.
“What can I do for you?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“I saw a social media post about your separation.”
I sighed.
“People are talking already?”
“Vanessa posted something.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She said your daughter attacked her and forced you to choose sides.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Vanessa was already rewriting the story.
Rebecca continued.
“I don't know what happened in your home.”
I waited.
“But I know something about Vanessa.”
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
“She used to work for Danielle.”
I froze.
“What did you say?”
Rebecca took a breath.
“Your first wife. Danielle Williams.”
I stood.
“When?”
“Years ago. Before Danielle became ill.”
I stared at the wall.
Danielle had run an interior-design business.
She worked with real-estate developers.
She occasionally hired assistants.
But I didn't remember Vanessa.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca paused.
“Vanessa used a different last name back then.”
My heart pounded.
“What name?”
“Vanessa Price.”
I gripped the phone.
I remembered that name.
Not Vanessa.
Price.
Danielle had once mentioned an assistant who was dismissed after financial irregularities.
I couldn't remember the details.
Rebecca continued.
“She was fired after Danielle discovered missing client deposits.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did the police get involved?”
“I don't know. But Vanessa blamed Danielle for ruining her career.”
I felt cold.
Rebecca's voice became quiet.
“She talked about your wife for years.”
I swallowed.
“What did she say?”
“That Danielle had everything she wanted.”
I stared at the wall.
Rebecca continued.
“A successful business. A beautiful home. A loving husband.”
My pulse raced.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“Marcus, Vanessa didn't meet you by accident.”
I couldn't speak.
Rebecca continued.
“She told someone she was going to take back everything Danielle had taken from her.”
I sank into my chair.
Five years of marriage.
Five years of believing Vanessa had chosen me because she loved me.
And now I was hearing that she might have entered my life carrying a grudge against my dead wife.
I looked toward Danielle's photograph on my desk.
My hands began shaking.
Then Rebecca whispered one final thing.
“She didn't just want your money, Marcus.”
I swallowed.
“What did she want?”
May you like
Rebecca's answer was quiet.
“She wanted Danielle's place.”
