Chapter 11 - The Voice in the Workshop
Getting back to the house took planning. I wasn't going to walk in with anger and a spare key while Caleb lived there. Grace coordinated with law enforcement and obtained permission through an appropriate civil process for me to retrieve essential belongings. We went in the daylight, with an officer present, while Caleb was away.
My house looked like a stranger's. Family photographs were missing from the hallway. The crib mobile hung crooked. In my study, the desk drawers had been emptied and the computer was gone.
Mom's tiny key opened a metal box inside Dad's old workshop cabinet. It held a flash drive, a photo of me at twelve, and his favorite yellow pencil. I nearly cried over the pencil.
We did not play the recording in the house. Back at Grace's office, with the original preserved, we listened to a copy.
Vanessa's voice came first. “Once the house transfers, Evelyn can go to a facility. Rebecca won't find out until it's done.”
Caleb said, “She's not stupid. She'll ask questions.”
“Then tell her the bank forced us. Or that her mom agreed. You always know how to make her feel guilty.”
There was a long rustle of paper. Then Caleb spoke again.
“And the kids?”
“Keep them with you long enough to negotiate. She'll sign anything to get them back.”
I clutched the table. They were discussing my children like furniture that could be leveraged.
The recording continued. Caleb's next words were lower.
“Ridgeline wants their money by the end of the month. If we fail, everything comes out.”
“What everything?” Vanessa asked.
“Everything I did to cover your first loss.”
Grace stopped the audio. “That gives us leads, not the whole story. We need to verify dates and authenticate the recording.”
I nodded. I could still hear Caleb's voice. Not shouting, not drunk, not out of control. Calmly calculating what fear would cost me.
May you like
Grace rewound the final seconds.
This time I heard an unfamiliar third voice say, “You two promised me the military accounts would be clean.”
