PART 9

Then Alicia said something that made Samuel close his folder.

“You can’t do this to us.”

I turned toward her.

“To you?”

“Yes.”

She wiped her tears.

“We are your family.”

I looked at her for a long time.

“No.”

Her face froze.

“You are my son’s wife.”

She blinked.

“That isn’t the same thing.”

Mark looked away.

I continued.

“Family doesn’t decide where you will live without telling you.”

“Family doesn’t secretly prepare legal documents.”

“Family doesn’t take money for four years and call it a mortgage.”

“And family certainly doesn’t sit in a car and discuss selling someone’s home while pretending to love them.”

Alicia’s tears stopped.

Her face became cold.

“So that’s it?”

“No.”

I pointed toward the folder.

“That is just the beginning.”

She stared at me.

“What else could there possibly be?”

Samuel answered.

“The financial review.”

Alicia looked at him.

“What financial review?”

I smiled faintly.

“The one I asked him to conduct this morning.”

She stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.

“You went through our accounts?”

“No.”

Samuel shook his head.

“We reviewed the transfers originating from Dorothy’s accounts. We have not accessed any private accounts without authorization.”

Alicia exhaled.

Relief.

Too soon.

Samuel continued.

“But Dorothy has every bank statement, transfer record, and canceled check from the past four years.”

Her relief vanished.

I walked to the cabinet.

I pulled out a large blue binder.

I placed it on the table.

Four years.

Every month.

Every transfer.

Every explanation.

Every text message.

Everything.

Alicia stared at the binder.

“Why would you keep all that?”

I smiled.

“Because Raymond taught me.”

She looked confused.

“Your husband?”

“Yes.”

I ran my hand over the binder.

“After he died, I became responsible for things I never thought I’d have to manage alone.”

I looked at Mark.

“Your father told me something before he died.”

Mark’s voice was quiet.

“What?”

“He said, ‘Dorothy, never let anyone make you feel stupid for protecting what we built.’”

I looked at Alicia.

“I remembered.”

Nobody spoke.

Then the doorbell rang again.

I glanced at Eleanor through the window.

She was standing on the porch.

Beside her was a police officer.

Alicia immediately panicked.

“Why is there a police officer here?”

I opened the door.

Eleanor stepped inside.

The officer remained outside.

“Everything all right?” Eleanor asked.

I nodded.

“Yes.”

She looked at Mark and Alicia.

“No trouble?”

“No.”

I turned to Alicia.

“But there is one more thing.”

Her face tightened.

“What?”

I picked up my phone.

“I didn’t just ask Eleanor to record your visit.”

I pressed play.

The recording filled the kitchen.

Alicia’s voice.

Clear.

“She’s going to sign.”

Mark’s voice.

“She might ask to read it.”

Alicia:

“Then you take her glasses.” The room went silent.

Mark covered his face.

Alicia stared at me as though I’d become a stranger.

“You recorded us?”

“No.”

I looked at the phone.

“Eleanor did.”

Alicia looked toward the window.

Eleanor shrugged.

“You’ve known me forty years. Did you really think I wasn’t going to notice someone circling Dorothy’s house with a realtor brochure?”

Alicia’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…