Chapter 5 - The Trust
Nia’s biological father, Andre, had died when she was seven.
A drunk driver ran a red light.
There was a lawsuit. Then a settlement. Then a trust.
I never touched it.
I never wanted to.
That money wasn’t a prize. It was the price the world had put on the father my daughter lost.
At eighteen, Nia would gain control of most of it.
One point eight million dollars.
Detective Ortiz watched my face.
“So there is a trust.”
“Yes.”
“Who manages it?”
“A financial company downtown. I’m the parent contact.”
“Does your husband have legal authority over it?”
“No.”
I answered too quickly.
She noticed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Then I remembered something.
Last winter, Caleb had put a stack of papers in front of me while I was cooking.
Refinance documents, he said.
He had marked the signature lines with yellow tabs.
I signed without reading every page.
The memory hit so hard I had to grab the wall.
Ortiz saw it.
“What?”
“I signed something.”
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know.”
She closed the notebook. “We need those documents.”
My phone rang.
Caleb.
I stared at his name until it stopped.
Then a text came through.
DENISE, THIS IS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL. DO NOT LET THEM SCARE NIA.
Another.
TELL THEM SHE GETS NOSEBLEEDS. SHE ALWAYS HAS.
Another.
WE CAN TALK AT HOME.
Detective Ortiz read my face.
“Don’t respond.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was our home security app.
FRONT DOOR OPEN.
I looked at the timestamp.
Right now.
“But Caleb is here.”
Ortiz took the phone from my hand.
“Who else has access to your house?”
“No one.”
“Family? Neighbors?”
“No.”
We both stared at the alert.
Then another appeared.
PANTRY DOOR SENSOR OFFLINE.
My heart stopped.
“The vitamins,” I said.
Ortiz was already moving.
She called another officer while jogging down the hall.
I followed her.
“Wait. I’m coming.”
“No, you’re staying with your daughter.”
“That bottle is in my house.”
“And whoever just went into your house may still be there.”
She turned the corner.
I grabbed her arm.
“Detective.”
She looked at me.
I held up my phone.
A live camera thumbnail had appeared.
The image was dark and grainy, but I could see a person in my kitchen.
Black hoodie.
Gloves.
Standing on a chair.
Reaching toward the top shelf of the pantry.
May you like
And on the person’s wrist was a silver watch I had seen every Sunday for four years.
It belonged to Caleb’s sister, Marissa.
