Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Rosalyn refused to answer my questions at first.
She sat across from me in the visiting room, hands folded tightly in her lap.
The woman who had tossed my newborn onto the mattress the night before looked different now.
Older.
Smaller.
But I didn't mistake weakness for innocence.
“You had a power-of-attorney prepared in my name.”
She looked down.
“I didn't intend to use it.”
“You had it prepared.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She took a long breath.
“Because I thought I could save the property.”
“What property?”
She looked at me.
“The one your father left you.”
I stared.
“My father didn't leave me a business.”
“No.”
She paused.
“He left you a debt.”
I didn't understand.
She explained that my father had been involved in a construction company with several partners.
Years earlier, the company had purchased property in Arizona.
The land had increased dramatically in value.
My father had placed his share into a trust for me.
But there was a problem.
The other partners believed they were entitled to the property.
“They couldn't touch it because of the trust,” Rosalyn said.
“So they came through Brandon.”
She nodded.
“And you helped them?”
“I thought I was helping everyone.”
“That doesn't explain what happened last night.”
“No.”
She looked ashamed.
“It doesn't.”
I waited.
Finally she said,
“I believed if you signed voluntarily, nobody would hurt you.”
I stared at her.
“Someone threatened me?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the glass.
“Keller.”
My stomach tightened.
“The man from the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Control of the trust.”
“Why?”
“Because the property is worth millions now.”
That number sat between us.
Millions.
Suddenly the strange documents made sense.
The pressure.
The exhaustion.
The baby.
The plan.
They wanted me weak enough to sign.
But there was something Rosalyn still wasn't telling me.
“What woman was in that photograph?”
Her face changed.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“That was my sister.”
I froze.
“You have a sister?”
“I did.”
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Why?”
Rosalyn looked at me.
“She knew what Keller was doing.”
My pulse quickened.
“Doing what?”
“Moving company assets into private accounts.”
“So she tried to expose him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She vanished.”
I stared at her.
“And you stayed.”
Rosalyn nodded.
“I was afraid.”
Again.
Fear.
But this time, it sounded different.
“Then why did you work with him?”
“Because after my sister disappeared, Keller told me he knew where she was.”
I felt a chill.
“He used her to control you.”
“Yes.”
“And Brandon?”
“He grew up believing Keller was a family friend.”
I thought of Brandon.
His anger.
His certainty.
His loyalty to his mother.
“He didn't know?”
“Not everything.”
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
But I understood him slightly better.
That was not the same thing.
“What happened to my father?”
Rosalyn looked at me.
“He tried to stop Keller.”
My heart tightened.
“Did Keller hurt him?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“Your father died before he could finish what he started.”
That sentence changed everything.
“What did he leave behind?”
“A key.”
I stared.
“What key?”
Rosalyn looked toward the door.
“The one Brandon had last night.”
I remembered the metal key beneath the bathroom door.
“The key opens something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
She swallowed.
“A safe deposit box.”
I almost laughed.
“I thought you said this wasn't about hiding things.”
“It isn't a secret box full of money.”
“Then what?”
“Records.”
“What records?”
“The original trust documents.”
I leaned forward.
“And proof of what Keller did.”
Rosalyn looked at me.
“That is why he wants the trust.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid he would kill my sister.”
I stared.
“She might still be alive?”
Rosalyn didn't answer.
My heart began racing.
“You said she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Not that she died.”
“I don't know whether she died.”
That was the first real crack in her story.
Then she whispered,
“Keller told me she was alive.”
“Where?”
“He never said.”
I stood.
“Then help me find her.”
Rosalyn looked frightened.
“I can't.”
“You already put your hands on me.”
“I know.”
“You helped plan an attack on me.”
“I know.”
“You wanted me to sign away my father's property.”
“I know.”
“Then you owe me the truth.”
She began crying.
“I do.”
She reached into her pocket.
Pulled out a small silver bracelet.
The same bracelet from the photograph.
I stared.
“You kept it.”
“She gave it to me before she disappeared.”
“Why?”
“She said if anything happened to her, I should give it to your father.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
She placed the bracelet on the table.
Inside it was a tiny engraving.
M.E.
I looked at her.
“What was her name?”
Rosalyn whispered,
“Margaret Ellis.”
I stared at the bracelet.
Then I remembered something.
My father had once told me there was a woman named Margaret who had saved his life.
I had never asked who she was.
Now I understood.
She was Rosalyn's sister.
And she might still be alive.
Before I could say anything else, the visiting room door opened.
An officer stood there.
“Ms. Miller?”
“Yes?”
“We found something in your husband's vehicle.”
He held out a small evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed a woman standing outside a roadside motel.
The woman was older.
Gray hair.
Silver bracelet.
My breath caught.
May you like
On the back was written:
If Hannah finds this, tell her I'm sorry.
