Chapter 5 - What Bianca Hid in Her Purse
By the next morning, Richard Vale was no longer simply my father.
He was part of an investigation.
So was Bianca.
Deputy Harris carefully avoided dramatic language.
He did not tell me Nathan had been murdered.
He did not tell me the collision was intentional.
He told me investigators were reopening questions about the hours before Nathan’s death.
That distinction mattered.
I forced myself to remember it.
Evidence before conclusions.
Nathan would have insisted on that.
The car registered to Bianca had indeed left the gas station shortly after Nathan.
But she claimed she was not driving.
Richard claimed the same.
The vehicle had returned to their home forty-seven minutes later.
Who had used it remained unknown.
Meanwhile, Margaret Ellis completed a formal statement.
She admitted notarizing documents carrying my forged signature.
She said Richard had given them to her.
He told her I had signed them at home because my pregnancy made travel difficult.
She believed him at first.
Then she became suspicious when Bianca brought a second set.
The signatures looked slightly different.
Margaret contacted Northstar.
That was why Richard had panicked.
That was why she had hidden.
But then she revealed something stranger.
Bianca had been preparing documents months before Nathan died.
“She came into Richard’s office late,” Margaret told Samantha over video call. “Usually after six.”
I watched from my hospital bed.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Did you see names?”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“Yours. Nathan’s. Daniel Mercer’s.”
My hands went cold.
“What was she doing?”
“Scanning old files.”
“Why?”
“She said Richard asked her.”
“Did he?”
Margaret hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
That uncertainty mattered.
Until then, I had assumed Bianca was helping my father.
What if it was more complicated?
“What else did you see?”
Margaret looked nervous.
“A key.”
“What kind?”
“Small. Brass.”
Samantha and I exchanged glances.
“Like a safe-deposit key?”
“Yes.”
“Did it have a number?”
“I think 614.”
My stomach tightened.
The key to Nathan’s box.
“But Samantha had the key,” I said.
Margaret shook her head.
“Bianca photographed one.”
“When?”
“About six weeks ago.”
“How did she get near it?”
“I don’t know.”
Samantha looked disturbed.
Nathan had kept the key in his private office before giving it to her.
Someone had accessed his things.
Bianca.
Or Richard.
Or both.
After the call, I stared at Samantha.
“They knew about the box.”
“At least Bianca knew.”
“But they didn’t know what was inside.”
“Probably not.”
“Then why forge the beneficiary change?”
“To gain access before the protections triggered.”
My daughter shifted.
I smiled despite everything.
She had become my reminder that life continued even while the past unraveled.
Doctors were cautiously optimistic.
Every hour without infection or worsening labor was a victory.
I had learned to measure time differently.
Not weeks.
Hours.
At noon, my mother brought lunch.
I barely touched it.
At 12:37, Samantha’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
When she returned, her expression was unreadable.
“What?”
“Bianca wants to talk.”
“To you?”
“To you.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“She watched my father drag me outside.”
“I know.”
“She laughed.”
“I know.”
“She helped forge documents.”
“Possibly.”
“She followed Nathan.”
“Possibly.”
“I’m done with possibly.”
Samantha sat.
“Bianca says she has evidence.”
“Of what?”
“She won’t tell me.”
“Then she can tell the police.”
“She says she doesn’t trust them.”
“That’s convenient.”
“She specifically asked for you.”
“Why?”
“Because she says Nathan gave you something Richard has been looking for.”
I looked toward Box 614.
“What?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
My mother spoke from the window.
“Don’t meet her.”
“I’m in a hospital. I’m not meeting anyone.”
Samantha hesitated.
“She wants to come here.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
Then my phone rang.
Bianca.
I stared at the name.
“How does she even have my number?”
Mom almost laughed.
“She’s married to your father.”
I answered.
“What?”
“Elena.”
Bianca sounded different.
No polished confidence.
No amused contempt.
Fear.
“I need ten minutes.”
“You had ten minutes in my kitchen yesterday.”
“I know.”
“You watched him.”
“I know.”
“You smiled.”
Silence.
“I was wrong.”
“That doesn’t cover it.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I need you to listen.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard thinks I have something.”
“What?”
“He thinks Nathan gave me copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“Daniel Mercer’s records.”
I sat straighter.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
Everything stopped.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why would my husband give you anything?”
“Because I asked him for help.”
That made no sense.
“You hated Nathan.”
“I pretended to.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard was watching me.”
I looked at Samantha.
She was reading my face.
I switched to speaker.
“Start from the beginning.”
Bianca inhaled.
“When I met Richard, I thought he was successful. Controlling, yes. Arrogant, definitely. But successful.”
“You married him anyway.”
“Yes.”
“At thirty-five.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was stupid.”
At least she did not romanticize it.
“Then?”
“A year after we married, I found a second set of company records.”
“What records?”
“Loans. Land transfers. shell entities.”
Samantha leaned closer.
“Names?”
“Vale Commercial. Larkspur. Mercer Development. Three others.”
“Did Richard know you found them?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing at first.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
Her voice lowered.
“You know what Richard does when someone challenges him.”
I thought of my mother.
Margaret.
Me.
“Yes.”
“Then Nathan contacted me.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Why?”
“He knew I had accessed Richard’s archived files.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Nathan.
Quietly noticing everything.
“What did he ask?”
“Whether I had seen documents involving Daniel Mercer.”
“And?”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t trust him.”
“Then what changed?”
“I found your name.”
My breath caught.
“My name where?”
“On a file Richard created.”
“What file?”
Bianca went silent.
“Tell me.”
“It was labeled guardianship contingency.”
My mother stood.
“Oh my God.”
The phrase connected immediately to what Richard had tried during my parents’ divorce.
“What was in it?”
“Medical forms. Financial-control documents. Draft affidavits.”
My stomach turned.
“Affidavits saying what?”
“That after Nathan’s death you were emotionally unstable.”
Samantha closed her eyes.
Nathan had anticipated it.
Not because he was paranoid.
Because he had found the plan.
Bianca continued.
“There were draft statements saying your pregnancy and grief made you unable to handle finances.”
“When were they created?”
“Before Nathan died.”
The room went silent.
“How long before?”
“About seven weeks.”
Nathan had still been alive.
My father had prepared to take control after his death before he died.
I felt cold from my scalp to my feet.
“Samantha.”
“I heard.”
I returned to Bianca.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I went to Nathan.”
“When?”
“The next day.”
“What did he say?”
“He already suspected Richard.”
“Did you give him copies?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
“Some were in Box 614.”
We had only seen four items.
“No.”
“What?”
“They weren’t.”
Bianca went quiet.
“They should have been.”
Samantha stood.
“Did Nathan say exactly where?”
“He said he was putting Daniel’s evidence in the bank box.”
“There was only a flash drive, map, letter, and photograph.”
“Did you open the flash drive?”
We had not.
Everything else had moved too quickly.
Samantha retrieved it.
Thomas had required a secure laptop because of trust records.
She connected the drive.
Password prompt.
“What password?” I asked.
Bianca answered immediately.
“Grace.”
My throat tightened.
Nathan’s preferred name for our daughter.
Samantha typed it.
Access granted.
Folders filled the screen.
Scanned deeds.
Emails.
Bank statements.
Audio files.
Photographs.
Years of evidence.
My father’s life in documents.
But one folder stood out.
BVALE_PRIVATE
Bianca whispered, “Open that.”
Samantha clicked.
Inside were photographs Bianca had taken.
One showed Richard’s guardianship file.
Another showed the forged authorization.
Then a photograph of a handwritten note.
My father’s handwriting.
After N is gone, incapacity filing. E signs nothing. Control through temporary order.
My stomach clenched.
Nathan’s death had been anticipated.
Not necessarily caused.
But anticipated.
“Bianca.”
“Yes?”
“What happened the day Nathan died?”
Silence.
“Were you driving your car?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
“Richard borrowed it.”
Deputy Harris had already heard Richard deny that.
“Why?”
“He said his SUV was being serviced.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“It was in the garage.”
Samantha began typing a message.
“When did he return?”
“A little after five.”
Nathan’s collision happened at 4:06.
“Was the car damaged?”
Bianca began crying.
“I didn’t look.”
“Bianca.”
“I was afraid.”
“Was it damaged?”
“A scratch on the front passenger side.”
My whole body tensed.
“What did Richard say?”
“He said someone hit it in a parking lot.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because he knows I copied the files.”
“How?”
“He searched my purse.”
There it was.
The purse she had held so tightly in my driveway.
“What was in it?”
“A memory card.”
“Where is it?”
A long pause.
“Elena, I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“The files on Nathan’s flash drive aren’t everything.”
“What else is there?”
“A recording.”
“Of who?”
“Richard and Nathan.”
My breath stopped.
“When?”
“The afternoon Nathan died.”
“How do you have that?”
“Nathan called me.”
“During the argument?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted a witness.”
Samantha stood absolutely still.
“Bianca, where is that recording?”
“In my purse.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Bianca?”
Her breathing changed.
Fast.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“I think Richard found me.”
A sound came through the phone.
A door opening.
Bianca whispered, “No.”
Then a man’s voice sounded in the background.
My father.
May you like
“Give me the phone.”
The call disconnected.
