The church became a crime scene within minutes.
Uniformed officers sealed the doors.
Another team searched the basement, offices, storage rooms and grounds.
The person who entered had escaped through a rear corridor before police closed the perimeter.
That was bad enough.
Worse was the realization that the intruder had known the drive existed.
Detective Bennett questioned Alicia first.
Not gently.
“Who knew you had it?”
“Bruce.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Lisa?”
“No.”
“Ruth?”
“No.”
“Mark?”
“Only after I called him.”
Bennett turned to Mark.
“Who did you tell?”
“My mother. Samuel. You.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Samuel answered the same.
So did I.
That left Bruce.
Or someone listening.
Karen arrived forty minutes later.
She examined the tracker found in Alicia's bag.
“It may explain how someone followed her.”
Bennett shook her head.
“Only if it was transmitting and someone monitored it.”
“Can you determine that?”
“Forensics can.”
Alicia sat with both arms wrapped around herself.
“I told you Daniel would know.”
Bennett looked at her.
“You also told us you didn't know how.”
“I don't.”
“Think harder.”
“I am.”
Mark stood by the broken rear-office window.
He had barely spoken since the drive disappeared.
Finally he turned.
“You kept another copy.”
Alicia looked at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Apparently you don't.”
“I know enough.”
He approached the table.
“You don't hand over your only leverage before you know what you're getting.”
Alicia stared.
Mark continued.
“You said you wanted money yesterday.”
“So?”
“If that drive was your only copy, you'd have demanded a deal before putting it on the table.”
Bennett watched her carefully.
I did too.
Alicia's silence answered before her mouth did.
“Where is it?” Mark asked.
She looked away.
Samuel whispered, “There is another copy.”
Bennett sat across from Alicia.
“Where?”
Alicia rubbed her forehead.
“I made three.”
Three.
“One was the drive.”
“Yes.”
“Second?”
“Cloud storage.”
Bennett's expression sharpened.
“Credentials?”
“I deleted the account.”
“Deleted doesn't necessarily mean gone.”
“I know.”
“Third?”
Alicia did not answer.
Mark closed his eyes.
“Where?”
“At home.”
Their house.
The place Alicia had left after emptying the joint account.
Bennett asked, “Exact location?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“In the attic.”
Mark frowned.
“We don't have an attic.”
“Yes, we do.”
He stared.
“The access panel above the twins' closet.”
“I thought that was ductwork.”
“It opens into a crawlspace.”
Mark almost laughed.
“Of course it does.”
Alicia explained.
Inside the crawlspace sat a small fireproof box.
Documents.
Cash.
Backup drive.
A notebook.
“What notebook?” Bennett asked.
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
The room became still.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Foster?”
“Yes.”
“Lisa?”
“Yes.”
“Ruth?”
“Some.”
“Bruce?”
“Not payments. Ownership splits.”
“Other cases?”
Alicia nodded.
“I think so.”
Bennett asked the obvious question.
“Why did you keep it?”
Alicia looked at her.
“Because I never trusted Daniel.”
Mark laughed without humor.
“You trusted him enough to help steal Mom's property.”
“I trusted the deal. Not him.”
“That sentence doesn't help you.”
“I know.”
Bennett arranged a warrant request immediately.
Because Mark co-owned the residence and consented to police entry, part of the process became easier, but Bennett still insisted everything be documented properly.
“I don't want evidence challenged later because we were impatient.”
By early afternoon, we were back in our county.
I did not go to Mark's house.
Bennett refused.
This time I agreed.
Mark went with officers.
Alicia remained in protective custody while investigators decided what to do with her.
Samuel and I returned to his office.
For the first time since this began, his reception area felt hollow.
Daniel's office door stood open.
His name had been removed from the glass.
I stopped.
“That was fast.”
Samuel looked at the empty rectangle where the lettering had been.
“Staff asked.”
“Does it help?”
“No.”
He led me into his office.
A photograph of Samuel and Daniel at some legal association dinner stood on a shelf.
Samuel noticed me looking.
He picked it up.
For a moment, I thought he might throw it away.
Instead he placed it facedown in a drawer.
“Evidence?” I asked.
“Cowardice.”
“Why?”
“I don't want to look at him.”
That was honest.
We sat.
“What if Daniel knew Raymond was investigating him?”
Samuel looked toward the window.
“I've been asking myself that.”
“Could that be why Raymond created the separate envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Could Daniel have known about it?”
“I don't see how.”
“Someone knew we found it.”
“Yes.”
The anonymous caller.
The photograph at the church.
Raymond should have left it alone.
Samuel rubbed his forehead.
“I keep returning to something.”
“What?”
“Raymond told me once that someone had been inside his workshop.”
“When?”
“Months before he became seriously ill.”
I stared.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“There was nothing obviously stolen. He thought teenagers might have entered.”
“Did he change the lock?”
“Yes.”
“Could Daniel have been looking for those notes?”
Samuel looked miserable.
“I don't know.”
I stood.
“You have to stop saying that as though uncertainty excuses not asking.”
His head lifted.
The sentence came out harsher than I intended.
But I did not retract it.
Samuel nodded.
“You're right.”
He opened an old calendar on his computer.
“Raymond mentioned the workshop in June.”
“Year?”
He told me.
Six months before his death.
Daniel had already been at the firm for several years.
“Where was Daniel that month?”
Samuel searched old billing records.
His expression changed.
“He handled a zoning matter two streets from your property.”
My stomach tightened.
“So he had reason to be nearby.”
“Yes.”
“Not proof.”
“No.”
But another coincidence had moved closer to pattern.
At 3:20, Bennett called.
“They found the box.”
Samuel put her on speaker.
“And the drive?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“The notebook?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
A pause.
“What?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand dollars.”
Samuel looked at me.
Mark had told us the joint account held almost nothing.
Alicia had hidden forty-eight thousand in the ceiling above her children's closet.
“Where did it come from?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Is Mark there?”
“Yes.”
“How is he?”
Another pause.
“Not good.”
I understood.
Money had become proof that the marriage he thought he lived inside was partly fictional.
“Can I speak to him?”
“He'll call later.”
Bennett continued.
“The notebook appears significant.”
“How significant?”
“Initial review shows names, dates and percentages.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Pages turned on her end.
“HAYES — 40 A / 40 B / 20 C.”
Alicia.
Bruce.
Crescent.
Ownership shares.
Then another line.
“DD — 75K total on close.”
Daniel would receive seventy-five thousand if my property transferred.
Samuel swore.
“Foster?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
“For my case?”
“Unclear. There are initials beside several payments.”
“Lisa?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Ruth?”
“Five.”
Five thousand dollars.
That was the price assigned to becoming me.
Bennett continued.
“There are older entries.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What does it say?”
“MC — resolved.”
Only that.
Resolved.
No number.
No explanation.
“What about Harold Greene?”
“HG — complete.”
The language was colder than the spreadsheet.
People reduced to initials.
Transactions reduced to completion.
“What else?”
“One name is marked active.”
“Who?”
Bennett hesitated.
“Eleanor Price.”
I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall.
“What?”
Samuel stared at me.
“Your Eleanor?”
“My neighbor.”
Bennett repeated.
“Eleanor Price. Address listed on Kilburn Road.”
I almost laughed with relief.
“That isn't her.”
My Eleanor's surname was Watkins.
Samuel exhaled.
“Different person.”
But the relief lasted only seconds.
Because somewhere there was another Eleanor.
Another older person whose name sat in Alicia's notebook beneath the word active.
“Address?”
Bennett gave it.
Samuel searched property records.
Eleanor Price, age seventy-nine.
Widow.
Owned fourteen acres beside a proposed highway expansion.
My skin crawled.
“Does she know?”
“Police are contacting her now.”
I sat again.
This was what Alicia meant.
Twelve names.
Properties somebody wanted.
The investigation widened immediately.
Bennett said the backup drive would be imaged overnight.
The notebook would remain evidence.
Alicia's cash would be traced.
Then she added something else.
“Dorothy, one page contains your name outside the Lakeview entries.”
“What does it say?”
Another pause.
“D.H. — leverage through M.”
“Mark.”
“Likely.”
Beneath it:
If M fails, capacity route.
I closed my eyes.
First my son.
Then my mind.
Those were the two doors into my life.
Daniel's people had planned to use whichever opened.
“What else?”
“Final note says: R prepared.”
“Ruth?”
“Probably.”
Ruth had been prepared before I refused anything.
My impersonator existed before the need for impersonation.
That meant forgery had never been an emergency solution.
It had been a backup plan.
Samuel looked at me.
“They expected resistance.”
“No.”
I thought of the pocket call.
Alicia had sounded certain.
She'll sign.
“They expected obedience.”
My phone rang.
Temporary number.
Only a few people had it.
Mark.
I answered.
“Mom.”
His voice sounded broken.
“I'm here.”
“I found something the police didn't understand.”
“What?”
“In the attic box. An envelope.”
“Did you give it to Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
He swallowed.
“Dad.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Near the end. He looks sick.”
“Where is he?”
“Parking lot outside Dr. Foster's office.”
I gripped the desk.
“Raymond knew Foster?”
“I think so.”
“Anything written?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Dad.”
“What does it say?”
Mark read slowly.
Foster knows Daniel is using capacity letters. Says he wants out. Meeting Friday.
I stared at Samuel.
Raymond had not merely suspected Dr. Foster.
He had spoken to him.
“When was the photograph taken?”
Mark gave the date.
Four days before Raymond was hospitalized for the final time.
Samuel stood.
“Dorothy.”
I already understood.
If Foster had wanted out six years ago, why was his signature appearing on false assessments now?
Either he never escaped Daniel—
or somebody had been using his name too.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Dr. Foster Woke in the Hospital Long Enough to Tell Us Why Raymond Met Him, and His Answer Changed the Meaning of Margaret’s Death
A Routine Morning Call Stayed Connected Long Enough for Me to Hear Exactly What My Family Intended to Do
Part 14 of 44
