Chapter 6 - The File With My Daughter's Name
I called Rebecca back immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I was already moving.
Rachel caught my arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To Rebecca.”
“Call the police.”
“I don't know what's happening.”
“Exactly.”
Victor stood.
“I'll come.”
“No.”
I pointed at him.
“You stay here.”
For once, nobody argued.
Rebecca lived twelve minutes away.
Police arrived three minutes after I did because Rachel had called them anyway.
Her front door was open.
No signs of violence.
No Rebecca.
Her phone lay on the kitchen floor.
My children were not there.
I already knew they were with Travis's mother, but I called anyway.
Owen answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
The sound of his voice nearly broke me.
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah. Grandma ordered pizza.”
“Good.”
“Is Aunt Rebecca coming back?”
“I don't know, sweetheart.”
I ended the call.
An officer asked me questions.
Did Rebecca have enemies?
Was she depressed?
Could she have left voluntarily?
I answered honestly.
I didn't know.
Then I noticed something beneath the kitchen table.
A document box.
The same kind Rebecca had carried from Northgate.
I pointed it out without touching it.
Police photographed it.
Inside were business records.
Copies.
And one blue file.
MAISIE FENWICK.
My knees weakened.
“That's my daughter.”
The officer looked at me.
“Why would a company file have her name?”
“I don't know.”
With permission, the officer opened it.
Inside was a trust document.
Beneficiaries:
OWEN FENWICK.
MAISIE FENWICK.
Grantor:
REBECCA FENWICK.
Assets included interests connected to Ashbourne.
I stared.
Rebecca wasn't keeping the money for herself.
At least not all of it.
She had created a trust for my children.
Why?
A handwritten letter was inside.
Eliza,
If you're reading this, then I waited too long.
I wanted to believe Travis would fix what he had done.
I told myself I was protecting Owen and Maisie by keeping the assets away from the divorce.
That was the lie I used to sleep.
The truth is that I helped my brother hide things from you.
I did not create the false signatures.
I did not know about them until recently.
When I found out, I told Travis I was done.
He told me nobody would believe me because my name is on everything.
I am sorry.
R.
My anger changed shape.
Rebecca had betrayed me.
But perhaps she had also finally tried to stop.
The officer bagged the letter.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No voice.
Then a text arrived.
SHE'S SAFE.
A second message.
FOR NOW.
I showed the police.
They began tracing what they could.
But the number disappeared almost immediately.
Then another message came.
TELL VICTOR TO STOP TALKING.
I felt cold.
This wasn't from Marianne.
This wasn't Claire.
Someone else was watching.
I called Rachel.
“Get Victor somewhere safe.”
“Eliza—”
“Do it.”
Northgate's carefully controlled corporate dispute had become something else.
But I refused to let fear make me stupid.
I stayed with police.
I gave them everything relevant.
By midnight, traffic-camera footage showed Rebecca's car leaving her neighborhood.
She was driving.
Alone.
That mattered.
At 1:10 a.m., she called.
“Eliza.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Did someone threaten you?”
Silence.
“Rebecca.”
“Travis came to my house.”
My grip tightened.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“The box.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because he told me Victor had been talking.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“He said if this goes public, everybody goes down together.”
“Meaning?”
“Me. Victor. You.”
“Me?”
“He's going to say you knew.”
Of course.
The signatures.
The badge.
The access logs.
Rebecca continued.
“He has something else.”
“What?”
“A file.”
“About what?”
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of file?”
“I don't know. He called it his insurance.”
“Where?”
“His office.”
“Rebecca, listen to me. Go to the police.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“No. Now.”
She began to answer.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“Eliza...”
“What?”
“I just realized something.”
My heart accelerated.
“The trust documents.”
“What about them?”
“I never named Maisie in the first version.”
I stared at the blue file.
“What do you mean?”
“The original trust only named Owen.”
“Why?”
“Because it was created before Maisie was born.”
I looked at the date on the document.
Maisie had not been born.
Yet the document in front of me listed both children.
Someone had modified it later.
“Who added her?”
“I don't know.”
Then Rebecca whispered:
“But whoever did knew about the money before you did.”
The call ended.
I looked again at the document.
At Maisie's name.
At the amendment date.
October 14, 2020.
The same date as my false ownership amendment.
The same day I had been in the hospital.
Two documents.
Two changes.
One date.
Then I noticed the witness signature on the trust amendment.
My breath stopped.
It wasn't Travis.
It wasn't Victor.
It wasn't Rebecca.
It was someone I had trusted with my children.
Someone who had been inside my home.
Someone who knew when I was hospitalized.
Someone who knew exactly when I could not possibly appear at Northgate.
May you like
I read the name again.
And at that exact moment, my mother called.
