Chapter 6 - THE PHONE THAT RANG
The phone continued vibrating inside the safe.
Mara.
Nobody moved.
Then Caroline looked at me.
“Don't answer it.”
The ringing stopped.
A second later, a message appeared.
I KNOW YOU FOUND THE FILE.
Another message followed.
ASK BRANDON ABOUT THE NIGHT YOUR FATHER DIED.
My heart stopped.
My father had died eighteen years ago.
A heart attack.
At least, that's what we had always believed.
I looked at Daniel.
He was pale.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Daniel.”
“I told you what Dad told me.”
“What exactly happened the night he died?”
“He collapsed at home.”
“Who found him?”
“Brandon.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“Brandon found him?”
“Yes.”
I remembered that night.
Brandon had been the first person to call me.
He had told me my father was gone.
He had held me while I cried.
He had helped organize the funeral.
He had been there for everything.
I had thought that was love.
Now I couldn't stop wondering whether it had been something else.
Caroline immediately called the investigator.
“We need everything on Brandon's movements eighteen years ago.”
The investigator promised to look.
Then the phone rang again.
Mara.
This time I answered.
Nobody spoke.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman's voice.
“You should have listened to your husband.”
I recognized the voice.
It wasn't someone I knew personally.
But I knew what fear sounded like.
“Where are you?”
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What do you want?”
“I want this to stop.”
“You created it.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“Brandon created it.”
I looked at Caroline.
“Then why did you impersonate me?”
“Because he paid me.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make me stupid.”
“What happened?”
Silence.
Then she said, “I thought it was just paperwork.”
“What?”
“He told me you were giving him the property.”
“You knew it wasn't me.”
“I knew later.”
“And you kept doing it.”
“He threatened me.”
“With what?”
“My daughter.”
I froze.
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She lives with her father.”
Mara's voice broke.
“Brandon knew where she was.”
I looked at Caroline.
She motioned for me to keep talking.
“Where are you now?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Then how can we stop this?”
“You can't.”
“Why?”
“Because he has something worse.”
“What?”
Mara whispered.
“Proof that can destroy you.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
“What proof?”
Nobody knew.
That night, we discovered that Brandon had filed a claim accusing me of financial misconduct.
He alleged that I had secretly taken money from his business.
It was a lie.
But he had documents.
Bank statements.
Invoices.
Transfers.
Everything appeared carefully constructed.
Caroline looked at them.
“Don't panic.”
“How can I not panic?”
“Because fabricated evidence can be challenged.”
“What if people believe him?”
“They won't if we prove the records were manipulated.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What if the real records are somewhere?”
“Where?”
“The bank.”
We requested the original records.
They didn't match Brandon's copies.
Several transactions had been altered.
Dates changed.
Account numbers modified.
Names replaced.
Someone had built an entire false financial history.
Caroline looked at me.
“This is organized.”
I nodded.
Then she said something that changed the case.
“This may no longer be only a property dispute.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Brandon knowingly created false financial records, this could become a criminal matter.”
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
I wanted my daughter safe.
I wanted my home back.
I wanted the truth.
Nothing more.
The next morning, I went to the police.
I reported the assault.
I reported the threats.
I provided the forged documents.
I provided the messages.
I provided the photograph of Hannah outside school.
The detective assigned to the case, Sarah Bennett, listened carefully.
When I finished, she said, “Mrs. Foster, this is serious.”
“I know.”
“Do you believe your husband would physically hurt your daughter?”
I hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“That uncertainty is important.”
She arranged additional safety measures.
Hannah's school was notified.
A protective order was requested.
Brandon was warned not to contact us.
But then something unexpected happened.
Mrs. Gertrude called me.
I almost didn't answer.
When I did, she was crying.
“Rebecca.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Your father warned me.”
I froze.
“About what?”
“Brandon.”
My heart stopped.
“What did my father say?”
“He told me he didn't trust him.”
“When?”
“Before the wedding.”
“Why?”
“He said Brandon had asked questions about the land.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't believe him.”
She started crying.
“Then after your father died, Brandon became different.”
“How?”
“He started asking about the deed.”
“Did you help him?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
“You did.”
“I didn't know what he would do.”
“You knew enough.”
“I was afraid.”
“So was I.”
Then she said something else.
“The night your father died, Brandon was at the house.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“He wasn't just there.”
“What do you mean?”
“He argued with your father.”
My heart stopped.
“What did they argue about?”
“The land.”
I sat down.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
“Tell me.”
“I heard your father say, ‘You will never get that property unless Rebecca gives it to you herself.’”
My entire body went cold.
“What happened next?”
“Brandon left.”
“And then?”
“Your father collapsed.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Did Brandon cause it?”
“I don't know.”
“But you suspected him.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you stay silent?”
She began sobbing.
“Because I was afraid of losing my son.”
I hung up.
Then I called Caroline.
She listened.
When I finished, she said quietly, “We may finally have the missing piece.”
“What?”
“Your father's death.”
That afternoon, the medical examiner's old records were requested.
There was no evidence of foul play in the original report.
But a new forensic review could potentially examine whether the old conclusions were supported by the available records.
For the first time, I allowed myself to consider something I had refused to consider for eighteen years.
Maybe my father's death had never been as simple as I believed.
And if Brandon had been involved, then my marriage had not begun with a lie.
It had begun with a plan.
That night, I received one final message from Mara.
THERE IS A SAFE DEPOSIT BOX.
BANK OF COLUMBUS.
BOX 417.
YOUR FATHER RENTED IT.
THE KEY IS IN YOUR HOUSE.
I stared at the message.
Then I remembered something.
A tiny brass key.
My father had given it to me on my wedding day.
May you like
I had kept it for eighteen years.
I just never knew what it opened.
