Chapter 4 - ETHAN LEFT ME A MESSAGE REBECCA NEVER KNEW EXISTED
My brother had always hated cloud storage.
That saved us.
Two days after Leo’s surgery, one of Ethan’s former employees called me.
His name was Nolan Price.
He had managed IT for Ethan’s construction company.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Thomas.”
“Right.”
He sounded nervous.
“I heard police reopened Ethan’s death.”
“Yes.”
“There’s something you should know.”
I became still.
“What?”
“Ethan used an off-site backup account.”
“For company files?”
“Mostly.”
“Also personal.”
“Did Rebecca have access?”
“No.”
“He specifically removed family access six weeks before he died.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“He said he was preparing in case ‘someone got into the house systems.’”
“Someone?”
“Didn’t say.”
Nolan continued.
“There are audio notes.”
“Personal notes.”
“I didn’t listen.”
“They were encrypted.”
“Can they be recovered?”
“With legal permission.”
I called Santos.
By that afternoon, detectives had obtained access through the estate and warrant process.
I did not listen first.
Police did.
That was important.
At seven p.m., Santos arrived at my house.
Leo and Maya had been discharged that morning.
Leo used a wheelchair.
Maya refused to sleep unless his bed was visible from hers, so we moved both beds temporarily into one room.
Their choice.
Santos sat with me in my study.
“There are twelve recordings.”
“Anything useful?”
“Yes.”
She placed headphones on the desk.
“The first relevant one is dated February second.”
Five weeks before Ethan died.
I pressed play.
My brother’s voice filled my ears.
“Thomas would tell me I’m being paranoid.”
I nearly smiled.
Then Ethan continued.
“Rebecca’s been acting strange about money.”
“Not spending.”
“Asking.”
“Insurance.”
“Property title.”
“She says it’s estate planning.”
“Maybe.”
“I found Warren at the house twice when Rebecca told me he was only consulting by phone.”
My hands tightened.
Recording two.
February tenth.
“Leo says Rebecca locks him downstairs when he talks back.”
“I asked her.”
“She says he’s making stories because he’s jealous of Maya.”
“I don’t believe her.”
My throat closed.
Why had Ethan not called me?
Then recording three answered.
“I thought about calling Thomas.”
“But if I bring him in, he’ll come like a storm.”
“Rebecca will say I exposed the kids to his world.”
“She might be right.”
I closed my eyes.
My brother had still been protecting them from me.
Even while fearing her.
Then:
“I need facts first.”
There it was.
Ethan.
Always fair.
Sometimes too fair.
Recording four.
February eighteenth.
“I found bruises on Leo.”
“Rebecca says playground.”
“Leo won’t talk.”
“He just looks at her.”
“I’m moving the kids to Thomas if I confirm anything.”
My breathing stopped.
Recording five.
February twenty-fourth.
“Warren gave me new medication.”
“Digoxin.”
“Says it’ll stabilize irregular heartbeat.”
“I don’t remember tests showing that.”
“He says arrhythmias can be intermittent.”
“I feel dizzy after taking it.”
Santos paused playback.
“His pharmacy records show no retail prescription.”
“How did he get it?”
“Warren supplied samples privately.”
Of course.
Recording six.
March first.
“I skipped the pill today.”
“Felt better.”
“Rebecca noticed.”
“She asked why I didn’t take it.”
“That bothered me.”
My hands curled.
Recording seven.
March fourth.
“I found an insurance document.”
“Eight million.”
“My signature looks right.”
“I don’t remember signing.”
“Maybe bundled paperwork.”
“I’m meeting my lawyer Friday.”
He died the following Wednesday.
Recording eight.
March sixth.
“Leo told me something.”
“He said Rebecca hurt his wrist before Christmas.”
“I’m done.”
“I’m calling Thomas tomorrow.”
My eyes filled.
He never called.
Recording nine.
March seventh.
“Couldn’t reach Thomas.”
That made me sit forward.
I checked my memory.
March seventh.
I had been in Houston.
No missed call from Ethan.
Santos continued.
“Phone records show he called your number.”
“What?”
“Call lasted zero seconds.”
“Blocked before connection.”
My stomach turned.
“Who could block it?”
“Family plan administrator.”
“Rebecca?”
“She managed the household account.”
I stared.
Recording ten.
March eighth.
“If I don’t get out of this house soon, something’s wrong.”
“I’m taking Leo and Maya to Thomas tomorrow.”
“I don’t care if Thomas says I told you so.”
I laughed and cried at the same time.
Then:
“If anything happens before then…”
Ethan’s voice stopped.
Breathing.
Then:
“Leo knows the gate code.”
My heart stopped.
He had told Leo.
That was why the child knew how to reach me.
Recording eleven.
March tenth.
“I confronted Rebecca about Warren.”
“She laughed.”
“Said I was becoming irrational.”
“Warren called later.”
“Told me stopping the medication could be dangerous.”
“I don’t trust either of them.”
Then the final recording.
March twelfth.
The day Ethan died.
Time stamp:
7:42 a.m.
His voice was weak.
“Something is wrong.”
“Heart pounding.”
“Rebecca gave me the pill herself this morning.”
“It looked different.”
“I spit part out.”
“I’m taking the kids.”
Then a sound.
Door opening.
Rebecca’s voice in the background.
“Who are you talking to?”
Ethan:
“No one.”
Recording ended.
He collapsed at 8:16.
Thirty-four minutes later.
I removed the headphones.
My hands were shaking so badly I put them on the desk.
Santos waited.
“Say something.”
“I want to kill them.”
Honest answer.
She nodded.
“I assumed.”
I looked at her.
“And I won’t.”
That mattered more.
Santos leaned forward.
“Good.”
“Because now we may be able to prove what happened.”
“Exhumation?”
“Approved.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I closed my eyes.
“Do it.”
Then I asked:
“Where is Rebecca?”
“Released pending investigation.”
My eyes opened.
“What?”
“Not enough yet for homicide charge.”
“She has counsel.”
“Passport surrendered.”
“Electronic monitoring ordered because of attempted travel.”
“Warren?”
“Same.”
I hated the law in that moment.
Then remembered the alternative was men like me deciding guilt from suspicion.
That was worse.
“Keep them away from the children.”
“Existing orders remain.”
After Santos left, I walked upstairs.
Leo was awake.
Maya slept beside him.
He looked at me.
“You heard Daddy?”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“Police lady said tapes.”
Children hear everything.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I sat beside him.
“That he loved you.”
Leo’s eyes filled.
“And?”
“He knew something was wrong.”
“Was he mad at me?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“He was never mad at you.”
Leo cried silently.
“I didn’t tell him about stairs.”
My throat closed.
“What stairs?”
“When Rebecca pushed me before.”
“Why?”
“She said Daddy would fight her.”
“He might die.”
I looked away.
She had made a six-year-old responsible for preventing adult conflict.
“You did not cause what happened to Daddy.”
Leo stared at me.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca said stress made his heart stop.”
There it was.
I leaned closer.
“Adults are responsible for their own choices.”
“You are not responsible for your father dying.”
“Not because you were loud.”
“Not because you got hurt.”
“Not because you told the truth.”
Leo started sobbing.
I gathered him carefully into my arms.
Maya woke.
Saw him crying.
Immediately crawled closer.
“Leo okay?”
“He’s okay.”
She hugged him.
Three-year-old arms around six-year-old shoulders.
For months, they had protected each other because adults failed.
Now I sat around both of them.
A circle.
Not perfect.
But adult.
At midnight, my security chief Antonio entered my study.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
“Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Someone came to the south gate.”
“Who?”
“He says his name is Caleb Warren.”
I stood.
“The doctor?”
“Yes.”
“He wants to talk to you.”
My expression hardened.
“He’s under monitoring.”
“Apparently he removed the tracker.”
My blood went cold.
“Why come here?”
Antonio handed me a note.
One sentence.
REBECCA KILLED ETHAN, AND IF SHE FINDS OUT I CAME HERE, I’M NEXT.
I stared.
Warren was outside my gate.
Terrified.
Possibly guilty.
Possibly useful.
Possibly lying.
Five years earlier, I would have brought him inside and decided for myself.
Instead, I picked up the phone.
“Call Detective Santos.”
Antonio raised an eyebrow.
“Boss.”
“Do it.”
He nodded.
That was the moment I realized Leo and Maya were already changing the way I used power.
May you like
Not making me weaker.
Making me more careful about who had the right to decide what truth was.
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