Chapter 3 - THE BLUE FOLDER
The emergency room doctor put seven stitches into the side of my scalp.
He told me I was fortunate.
Another inch lower and the plate could have struck my temple differently.
Another angle could have caused a far more serious injury.
I listened without really hearing him.
My mind was still inside that dining room.
The blue folder.
The quitclaim deed.
The twenty relatives.
Patricia's calm announcement that she would move into my bedroom.
Daniel's violence when I refused.
A police officer named Torres came to the hospital after midnight.
He waited until the nurse finished cleaning dried blood from my neck before entering.
“I wanted to update you.”
I sat upright.
“Did you arrest Daniel?”
“Yes.”
The answer should have made me feel safe.
Instead, it made everything real.
Officer Torres continued.
“He'll be processed, and you'll receive information about protective-order options before you leave.”
“What was in the folder?”
He paused.
“I can't give you every detail because it may become evidence.”
“But it concerned my property.”
“Yes.”
He pulled a chair closer.
“There were several documents involving your apartment.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“A prepared deed, financial worksheets, copies of your identification, and a document that appeared to contain your signature.”
I stared at him.
“I didn't sign anything.”
“That is why I wanted to speak with you.”
He removed a small notebook.
“Have you recently authorized your husband to use your personal documents for any property transaction?”
“No.”
“Any loan?”
“No.”
“Any refinancing?”
“No.”
“Any transfer involving his mother?”
“Absolutely not.”
He nodded.
“Then don't sign anything anyone brings you.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“There is something else.”
He hesitated.
“Several family members claimed the dinner was intended to settle a property disagreement.”
“There was no property disagreement.”
“I understand.”
“They created one.”
“That may matter.”
Officer Torres explained that the folder would be reviewed and that investigators might contact me again.
Before he left, he handed me a card.
“Save every message.”
“I will.”
“Don't delete voicemails.”
“I won't.”
“And if anyone pressures you to change your statement, contact us.”
I looked at him.
“You think they will?”
His expression told me he had seen families like Daniel's before.
“I think you should be prepared.”
He was right.
My phone had been kept in a plastic belongings bag while I was treated.
When the nurse returned it, I had thirty-seven missed calls.
Fourteen were from Patricia.
Nine were from Claire.
Six were from Daniel's uncle Frank.
The rest came from relatives who had sat at my table.
There were messages too.
Patricia wrote first.
You have made your point.
Then another.
Daniel is your husband.
Then another.
Whatever happened tonight should remain inside the family.
Claire sent something colder.
Lily is a child and doesn't understand the consequences of what she said.
Then came a message from Daniel's cousin Michael.
We need everyone telling the same version.
I stared at that sentence for several seconds.
Then I took a screenshot.
Another message appeared.
It came from a number I didn't recognize.
Rachel, this is Naomi Mercer.
Naomi was Daniel's cousin.
She had sat near the center of the table and said almost nothing all evening.
Her next message arrived before I could respond.
Do not trust anyone who tells you the folder was only Patricia's idea.
My fingers went cold.
I typed one question.
Whose idea was it?
The answer appeared almost immediately.
Daniel's.
Then another message.
He has been talking about getting your apartment for months.
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Naomi sent one final line.
And Rachel, I think you need to know why.
