PART 4 — THE WOMAN WHO HAD BEEN SILENT FOR TEN YEARS
Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital.
The doctor ordered strict rest.
No driving.
No heavy lifting.
No stress.
I almost laughed when he said the last one.
My entire life had become stress.
But I promised him I'd try.
I didn't return to our house.
Emily took me to her apartment.
For the first time in years, I slept somewhere Brandon couldn't walk through the door whenever he wanted.
I changed my phone number.
I changed my banking passwords.
I froze my credit.
And with Detective Harris's help, I began reviewing every financial document connected to my husband.
The deeper we looked, the worse it became.
Brandon had opened accounts using my information.
He had transferred money from our joint account.
He had taken out a life insurance policy on me.
And the beneficiary was—
Brandon.
I stared at the document.
“How long?”
Detective Harris checked the date.
“Two years.”
I couldn't speak.
Two years.
He had been preparing for something.
Then another document appeared.
A medical authorization.
It gave Brandon permission to make decisions for me if I became incapacitated.
I had never signed it.
Detective Harris looked at me.
“Do you know anyone who worked in your doctor's office?”
I shook my head.
Then Emily suddenly spoke.
“There was a woman.”
“What woman?”
“She worked for Brandon's company.”
“Name?”
Emily thought for a moment.
“Rachel.”
Detective Harris froze.
“Rachel what?”
“Rachel Monroe.”
The detective's expression changed.
“That's interesting.”
“Why?”
“Rachel Monroe was listed as an employee of Mason Financial.”
My stomach tightened.
The same company connected to the investigator.
The same company connected to the suspicious transfer.
I asked:
“Can we find her?”
Detective Harris nodded.
“We already did.”
She pulled up a photograph.
A woman with dark hair.
Late thirties.
Professional.
Ordinary-looking.
Then Detective Harris said:
“She disappeared six months ago.”
“Disappeared?”
“Quit her job. Closed her bank account. Left her apartment.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
That evening, an unknown number called my phone.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I did.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered:
“Is this Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Rachel.”
My entire body went still.
Detective Harris, who was sitting across the room, immediately stood.
“Where are you?”
Rachel ignored the question.
“I don't have much time.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to tell you the truth about Brandon.”
My hands began shaking.
“What truth?”
“He wasn't supposed to hurt you.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“He was supposed to scare you.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Because you were getting too close.”
“To what?”
There was a long silence.
Then Rachel said:
“Your grandmother's trust.”
I looked at Detective Harris.
Rachel continued.
“Your grandmother left you more than the property.”
“What else?”
“A protected investment account.”
“How much?”
“Over three million dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“That's impossible.”
“No. It's real.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because your grandmother's attorney arranged it so you couldn't access it until you turned forty.”
I stared into space.
I was thirty-eight.
Two years away.
Then Rachel said:
“Brandon knew.”
The room seemed to spin.
“How?”
“He found the old estate documents.”
“Why didn't he just wait?”
“Because he was already in debt.”
“How much?”
“Over two million dollars.”
I closed my eyes.
Rachel continued.
“He needed your money before his creditors found him.”
“Did he marry me for it?”
Silence.
That silence answered everything.
Tears filled my eyes.
“Rachel… did he plan this?”
“Yes.”
“From the beginning?”
“Yes.”
I covered my mouth.
Then Rachel said something even worse.
“He wasn't acting alone.”
“Who else?”
“I can't say.”
“You have to.”
“I'll be killed.”
Detective Harris moved closer.
“We can protect you.”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“You couldn't protect the last person who tried to help.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Your husband.”
I froze.
“Donald?”
“No.”
“My husband is Brandon.”
“I know.”
“Then who are you talking about?”
Rachel hesitated.
Then she said:
“Brandon's father.”
My eyes widened.
“His father died years ago.”
“That's what everyone believes.”
The line went silent.
“Rachel?”
Nothing.
“Rachel!”
The call ended.
Detective Harris immediately traced the number.
She looked at her screen.
Her expression changed.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
“The call came from a phone registered to a woman who died eight years ago.”
I stared at her.
“Whose phone?”
She looked at me.
“Evelyn Carter.”
Brandon's mother.
I felt a chill run through me.
Evelyn had been sitting beside me at Thanksgiving only months earlier.
She was alive.
So why was a phone registered in her name being used by a woman claiming to be Rachel?
And then my phone buzzed.
A message.
One photograph.
It showed Brandon.
Standing beside a man.
I didn't recognize the man.
But Detective Harris did.
She stared at the image.
Then whispered:
“That's Brandon's father.”
I felt the room disappear beneath me.
Because the man everyone believed had died eight years ago…
Was standing alive in that photograph.
And he was holding the same brown envelope Brandon had received before attacking me.
