Chapter 4 - The Notary Who Disappeared
By Saturday morning, Frederick’s fever had broken.
The doctors wanted to observe him for another few hours, but the worst had passed.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, my phone kept filling with messages from relatives.
Some apologized.
Some defended Teresa.
Some wanted explanations.
Most wanted gossip.
Uncle Peter wrote first.
I SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING.
I replied with one question.
HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW?
His answer came ten minutes later.
ABOUT THE WAY SHE TREATED AMY?
MONTHS.
I stared at the screen.
Amy was feeding Frederick small spoonfuls of applesauce.
I did not show her the message.
Not yet.
Another relative wrote:
YOUR MOTHER ONLY WANTED TO PROTECT THE FAMILY ASSETS.
Another:
CALLING POLICE ON YOUR OWN MOTHER WAS TOO FAR.
Another:
TERESA MAY BE DIFFICULT, BUT AMY CLEARLY PROVOKED HER.
I blocked three numbers.
Then Aunt Betsy called from county booking.
I declined.
She called again.
I declined again.
The third time, she left a voicemail.
“Connor, this has gotten completely out of control.”
“We were having a family birthday.”
“Mason grabbed the wrong folder.”
“Your mother panicked.”
“No one was stealing anything.”
“Please stop listening to Amy before you destroy this family.”
I saved the voicemail for Reynolds.
Amy looked at me.
“Betsy?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“The usual.”
“She blamed me?”
I hesitated.
That hesitation answered the question.
Amy looked down.
“I knew it.”
“No.”
I pulled my chair closer.
“You knew she would blame you.”
“That doesn’t make her right.”
Amy stirred the applesauce.
“Your whole family thinks I’m weak.”
“My whole family doesn’t know what strength looks like.”
She looked at me.
“I let this happen for months.”
“You survived it for months.”
“I lied to you.”
“You were manipulated.”
“I should have trusted you.”
“Yes.”
The word surprised her.
I continued before she could misunderstand.
“You should have trusted me.”
“And I should have noticed.”
“We both get to admit what we did wrong without accepting responsibility for what they chose to do.”
Amy’s eyes filled.
“Do you hate me?”
The question nearly broke something inside me.
I took her hand.
“No.”
“Not even close.”
“I’m angry that you were afraid to tell me.”
“But I’m angrier that someone I trusted taught you to be afraid.”
Frederick slapped the spoon.
Applesauce landed on my shirt.
Amy stared.
Then she laughed.
It was tiny.
Exhausted.
But it was the first real laugh I had heard from her in weeks.
I kissed Frederick’s forehead.
“Best birthday gift I’ve received.”
“He’s the one who had the birthday.”
“He doesn’t understand taxes yet.”
Amy smiled again.
For five minutes, we were simply parents in a hospital room.
Then Detective Reynolds called.
Evelyn Hart and Daniel had landed in Mexico City the previous night.
Mexican immigration records confirmed entry.
There was no immediate warrant for Evelyn when she boarded.
Daniel technically had not yet been charged when he departed.
Now both were persons of interest in an expanding fraud investigation.
“Can you bring them back?”
I asked.
“If charges are filed and warrants issued, there are processes.”
“That means no.”
“That means it’s not instant.”
“What about my documents?”
“We believe Daniel may have taken some with him.”
“Why?”
“We searched his vehicle.”
“There was packaging from an encrypted external drive.”
“Brand new.”
“Purchased Thursday.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What are they trying to hide?”
“That’s what we’re figuring out.”
After Frederick was discharged, Amy refused to return to the house.
I did not blame her.
Nathan arranged for us to stay in a furnished condo owned by one of his clients.
I drove home alone with Reynolds to collect clothes and essential items.
Walking through the front door felt like entering someone else’s crime scene.
The balloons were still there.
HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY, FREDERICK.
One silver balloon had deflated and was resting against the ceiling fan.
The smell of seafood had turned sour.
Disposable plates covered the dining table.
Wine stained the carpet.
A broken glass glittered near the patio door.
I walked into the kitchen.
The plastic stool where Amy had been sitting remained beside the sink.
A wet dish towel lay on the floor.
Beside it was one piece of bread.
I stopped.
That was what she had been eating when I found her.
Bread.
Twenty relatives had been eating shrimp, crab legs, roast beef, pastries, and wine.
My wife had been feeding our feverish son while chewing dry bread over a sink.
I took a photograph.
I did not know why.
Maybe because I never wanted to forget what ignoring small warning signs could become.
Reynolds entered my office.
“Connor?”
I followed him.
My desk drawers were open.
The fireproof cabinet had been forced.
The hidden camera was attached beneath a bookshelf.
I stared at it.
“How long was it there?”
“We’ll send it for analysis.”
“Can you tell when it was installed?”
“Possibly from storage dates.”
He pointed toward the router.
The unknown network device had been removed.
“It appears to be a remote-access bridge.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone may have been able to access devices connected to your home network.”
“My laptop?”
“Potentially.”
“Amy’s phone?”
“Potentially.”
“Security cameras?”
“Possibly.”
The fake cheating messages suddenly made more sense.
If Mason or someone else had gained access to calendars, travel plans, photographs, or contacts, they could construct believable stories.
I opened the bedroom closet.
The safe door remained open.
My passports were gone.
Amy’s jewelry box was empty.
I checked the back shelf.
Something was wedged behind the safe.
A small white envelope.
“Reynolds.”
He came over.
I pointed.
He put on gloves and removed it.
The envelope had my name written across the front.
CONNOR.
I recognized the handwriting.
My father’s.
For a moment, the room disappeared.
My dad had died after a heart attack three years earlier.
We had not been particularly close during his final years.
His divorce from Teresa had turned ugly.
He drank too much afterward.
He became isolated.
The last serious conversation we had ended with him warning me about my mother.
I had dismissed him.
“She doesn’t love people, Connor.”
“She loves control.”
At the time, I assumed it was bitterness.
Reynolds handed me the envelope after photographing it.
“Want me to open it?”
“No.”
My hands shook as I broke the seal.
Inside was a key.
A small brass safety-deposit-box key.
There was also a note.
Connor,
If Teresa ever gets access to your house or finances, go to Cumberland Heritage Bank and ask for box 318.
Do not tell Daniel.
Do not tell Mason.
And whatever happens, do not let your mother convince you I imagined it.
I made that mistake for twenty-six years.
Dad.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Reynolds.
“Cumberland Heritage Bank.”
The same bank where Teresa had opened the account using Frederick’s identity.
Reynolds stared at the key.
“Your father expected this.”
“No.”
I folded the note.
“He was afraid of it.”
The bank was closed until Monday.
I hated waiting.
Nathan told me not to touch anything.
Reynolds told me the same.
So we collected clothing and left.
As I stepped outside, a car slowed across the street.
Dark SUV.
Tinted windows.
It stopped for maybe three seconds.
Then drove away.
Reynolds noticed.
“Know that vehicle?”
“No.”
He wrote down part of the plate.
That evening, we settled into the temporary condo.
Frederick finally slept comfortably.
Amy showered for nearly forty minutes.
When she came out, she was wearing one of my shirts.
Her hair was wet.
She looked at the shopping bag beside the sofa.
“What’s that?”
I had completely forgotten.
The blue dress.
The one I had bought before arriving at the birthday party.
I handed it to her.
“I was going to surprise you yesterday.”
Amy pulled it out slowly.
Her eyes filled.
“I can’t wear this now.”
“Why not?”
“Because every time I look at it, I’ll remember yesterday.”
I thought for a moment.
“Then don’t wear it because of yesterday.”
“Wear it when this is over.”
She touched the fabric.
“When will that be?”
My phone rang before I could answer.
Nathan.
“Connor, turn on your laptop.”
“What happened?”
“Cumberland Heritage just filed an emergency fraud report.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Someone attempted to initiate a transfer tonight.”
“The bank’s internal controls stopped it.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
Amy looked at me.
“From where?”
I asked.
Nathan paused.
“A business credit facility opened under your name four weeks ago.”
I could barely speak.
“I don’t have a business credit facility.”
“I know.”
“The receiving account belongs to a company in Mexico.”
My mind went immediately to Daniel.
“Company name?”
Nathan read it.
“Hartwell International Holdings.”
Hart.
Evelyn Hart.
Reynolds’s warning suddenly felt too small.
Daniel and Evelyn had not fled because the plan had failed.
They had flown to Mexico because part of the plan was still active.
And Monday morning was no longer the deadline.
May you like
Someone had just tried to steal nearly a million dollars while my mother was sitting in jail.
---
