Chapter 8
Emily stared at the message.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she whispered, "I knew this would happen."
I turned toward her.
"What do you mean?"
She sat down slowly.
"There's something I haven't told you."
My chest tightened.
"Emily."
She covered her face.
"I was there that night."
I pulled a chair beside her.
"Tell me."
She took several shaky breaths.
Then she began.
The night Margaret became ill, Emily had been staying in the guest room near her grandmother's bedroom.
She remembered hearing an argument earlier that evening.
Richard had shouted.
Daniel had slammed a door.
Victoria had threatened to stop Margaret from making changes to the company.
Late that night, Emily had awakened to voices in the hallway.
She had opened her bedroom door.
Victoria was standing outside Margaret's room.
She carried a small bag.
Emily asked what was wrong.
Victoria told her to return to bed.
But Emily had heard Margaret calling weakly from inside.
"She was asking for water," Emily whispered.
My heart ached.
"What did you do?"
"I went into her room."
Margaret had looked unusually pale.
She seemed confused.
Emily tried to help her drink.
Then she noticed the medication organizer on the bedside table.
Several compartments were empty.
"Was that unusual?"
Emily nodded.
"Grandmother kept careful records. She never mixed things up."
"What happened next?"
"I called for help."
"Who came?"
"Father and Mother."
"Did they call an ambulance?"
Emily shook her head.
"Not immediately."
I felt my stomach twist.
"Why?"
"Father said Grandmother was only tired. Mother told me to stop panicking."
Emily began crying.
"I kept saying something was wrong."
I squeezed her hand.
"What happened?"
"Daniel came upstairs. He told me Grandmother had been ill for weeks and that I was overreacting."
She looked at me.
"But she'd been fine that afternoon."
I waited.
Emily swallowed.
"Eventually, they called for medical help. I don't know exactly how long they waited."
That was important.
We couldn't turn fear into certainty.
But investigators could examine phone records and medical records to establish a timeline.
"Why didn't you tell the police everything?"
Emily lowered her head.
"Because Mother said it was my fault."
My breath caught.
"She told me I'd disturbed Grandmother. She said my constant worrying had made her condition worse."
Tears streamed down Emily's cheeks.
"For months, I believed her."
I moved closer.
"Emily, listen to me."
She looked up.
"You were trying to help your grandmother."
"But what if—"
"No. You didn't cause her illness by asking for help."
She broke down.
I held her until she could breathe again.
Then I called Rebecca.
She arranged for Emily to give a fuller statement to investigators with appropriate support.
The threatening messages were preserved and reported.
We didn't know who had sent them.
And we weren't going to guess.
Meanwhile, the financial investigation was producing results.
The independent auditors found evidence that multiple consulting payments had gone to companies with ties to Richard and Daniel.
Invoices described services the companies could not substantiate.
Bank records showed transfers into accounts controlled through several layers of ownership.
The total suspected diversion was significantly larger than anyone expected.
More than twenty-seven million dollars.
Some of the money had come from funds intended for equipment procurement and charitable programs.
I stared at the summary Rebecca was permitted to share.
Twenty-seven million dollars.
Enough to explain the desperate attempt to seize Emily's inheritance.
But the money didn't explain everything.
Why had they treated her so cruelly?
Why restrict her food?
Why keep her isolated?
Why try to undermine her judgment?
Rebecca believed the conduct had served two purposes.
It punished Emily for refusing to cooperate.
And it created circumstances the family could later use to portray her as incapable of managing her own life.
That possibility made me furious.
They had tried to manufacture the appearance of instability.
Then use that appearance to take away her freedom.
The authorities were examining those allegations separately from the financial case.
One afternoon, Helen called.
"Claire, I remembered something."
"What?"
"The hallway camera."
I sat upright.
"What hallway camera?"
"Margaret had a security system installed after someone stole jewelry from the house."
"Was it working when she became ill?"
"I believe so."
"Did it record?"
"It did. Margaret insisted on keeping backups."
My pulse quickened.
"Where?"
Helen hesitated.
"She had an account with a security company. I remember the technician telling her recordings could be stored remotely."
I immediately contacted Rebecca.
She passed the information to investigators.
Through the proper legal process, they sought records from the security provider.
I didn't expect anything to survive fourteen months.
Then, two weeks later, Rebecca requested a meeting.
Her expression was serious.
"They located archived footage."
My heart raced.
"From that night?"
"Some of it."
"Does it show what happened?"
"It shows several people entering and leaving Margaret's bedroom. It doesn't show what occurred inside."
I swallowed.
"Who?"
"Victoria. Richard. Daniel. And Emily."
I looked toward the window.
"Anything else?"
Rebecca paused.
"The footage establishes a timeline that conflicts with portions of the family's previous statements."
I leaned forward.
"How?"
"They claimed emergency assistance was requested almost immediately after Margaret became seriously ill. The available recordings and call records raise questions about that account."
My stomach tightened.
"Are they reopening the death investigation?"
"Authorities are reviewing it. They haven't announced a conclusion."
I nodded.
We had to remain careful.
Even now.
Especially now.
That night, Emily and I prepared dinner together.
She chopped vegetables.
I cooked chicken.
For the first time, she asked for a second helping without hesitation.
I smiled.
"Of course."
She stared at her plate.
Then she began crying.
I turned off the stove.
"What happened?"
She looked embarrassed.
"Nothing."
"Emily."
She wiped her face.
"Nobody has asked me if I'm still hungry in such a long time."
I felt tears sting my own eyes.
I placed another serving on her plate.
"Then get used to it."
She laughed through her tears.
For a moment, our little kitchen felt completely safe.
Then my phone rang.
Marcus.
"Claire, I have news."
"What is it?"
"The authorities have identified the source of the threatening messages."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Who sent them?"
May you like
Marcus took a breath.
"Victoria Mercer."
