Chapter 5
The next few days were a blur.
Emily and Grace moved back into my house.
We changed all the locks.
We installed additional security cameras.
We hired a private investigator recommended by Sarah.
His name was Jack.
Ex-cop. Mid-fifties. Gruff but honest.
He’d spent twenty years on the force before opening his own practice.
Sarah said he was the best.
I met him at a coffee shop near my house.
He slid into the booth across from me, ordered a black coffee, and got straight to the point.
“Sarah told me the basics,” he said. “Husband drugs wife, locks her and the baby in a hot car. Video evidence. Toxicology report. Insurance policy. Sounds like an open-and-shut case.”
“But?” I said.
Jack took a sip of coffee.
“But Richard Voss is defending him. Voss doesn’t take cases he can’t win. Not for the money—he’s already rich. He takes cases for the challenge. For the thrill of beating the odds. If he’s on this, he’s got an angle. And I need to find out what it is.”
He pulled out a notebook.
“First, tell me about Brandon Carter. Everything you know.”
I told him everything.
How Brandon had swept Emily off her feet when she was twenty-two.
How he’d seemed perfect at first—charming, attentive, successful.
How the cracks had started to show after the wedding.
The money problems.
The lies.
The late nights.
The discovery of Nicole.
Jack nodded, taking notes.
“Classic sociopath,” he said. “Charming on the surface, cold underneath. Sees people as objects to be used. Emily was a conquest. Then she became a burden. Then she became a liability.”
He flipped to a new page.
“Now, the mistress. Nicole Bennett. What do you know about her?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “Emily found text messages between them. Brandon said she was a business associate. But from what Emily saw, they were more than that.”
Jack jotted something down.
“I’ll look into her. People like Brandon—they make mistakes. They trust the wrong people. And Nicole Bennett? She’s probably got her own secrets. Secrets that could destroy Brandon.”
He stood up.
“I’ll get to work. And Mrs. Hale? Watch your back. Brandon Carter is desperate. And desperate men do desperate things.”
He was right.
That evening, as I was bringing in groceries, a car slowed down in front of my house.
It was Brandon’s silver SUV.
He didn’t get out.
He just stared at the house, his face expressionless.
I stood on the porch, holding a bag of groceries, and stared back.
After what felt like an eternity, he drove away.
I called the police.
I called Jack.
I called Sarah.
Sarah was furious.
“He violated the restraining order!” she said. “I’ll file a motion tomorrow. I’ll ask the judge to revoke his bail.”
But Jack was more cautious.
“He didn’t get out of the car,” he said. “He didn’t make contact. Voss will argue he was just driving through the neighborhood. The judge might not see it as a violation. But it’s a message. He’s letting you know he’s still there. He’s still watching.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about Brandon’s words in the courtroom.
You have no idea who you’re dealing with.
I got up and went to my husband’s old office.
The office where we’d watched the video.
I sat down at his desk and opened the bottom drawer.
Inside was a box.
A box of old papers, documents, things my husband had kept.
I started going through them.
Bank statements.
Tax returns.
Insurance policies.
And then I found it.
A document I hadn’t seen in years.
A trust fund.
Set up by my husband for Emily.
Five million dollars.
To be released to her on her thirtieth birthday.
Or earlier, in the event of his death.
My husband had died two years ago.
Emily had turned thirty last month.
The money should have been released.
But Emily had never mentioned it.
I picked up the phone and called the trust fund manager.
It was late, but he answered.
“Mr. Henderson? This is Margaret Hale. I’m calling about my daughter’s trust fund.”
There was a pause.
“Mrs. Hale,” he said carefully. “I was actually going to call you. The funds were released to Emily last month. On her birthday.”
“Released to her?” I said. “But she hasn’t mentioned it.”
Another pause.
“Actually, Mrs. Hale… the funds were deposited into an account that Emily authorized. A joint account with her husband.”
My blood ran cold.
“Brandon.”
“Yes. Emily signed the authorization forms. The entire five million dollars was deposited into their joint account six weeks ago.”
I hung up.
Five million dollars.
Gone.
I went to Emily’s room.
She was awake, feeding Grace.
“Emily,” I said. “The trust fund. The one your father set up. Five million dollars. Did you sign papers authorizing it to go into a joint account with Brandon?”
Emily frowned.
“I… I think so. Brandon handled all the finances. He said it would be easier. That we’d use it for the house, for Grace’s college fund, for our future.”
She saw the look on my face.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
I sat down beside her.
“The money’s gone, Emily. All five million. It was deposited into your joint account six weeks ago. And I’d bet every cent I have that Brandon has moved it somewhere else.”
Emily went pale.
“But… that was Daddy’s money. For me. For Grace.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
She started shaking.
“He took everything,” she whispered. “He was going to let me die, and he took everything Daddy left me.”
I held her.
“We’ll get it back,” I said. “I promise you. We’ll get every penny back.”
But I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Brandon had six weeks to move that money.
To hide it.
To make it disappear.
And with Richard Voss defending him, he might just get away with it.
The next morning, Jack called.
“Margaret,” he said. “I found something on Nicole Bennett. You need to see this.”
He met me at my house an hour later.
He laid out a series of documents on the kitchen table.
“Nicole Bennett,” he said. “Thirty-one years old. Originally from a small town in Ohio. Moved here five years ago. Worked as a receptionist at a real estate firm. Then she met Brandon.”
He tapped a document.
“Three months ago, she quit her job. And suddenly, she’s living in a luxury apartment downtown. Driving a new Mercedes. Wearing designer clothes.”
“Brandon’s money,” I said.
“Partly,” Jack said. “But there’s more. Look at this.”
He tapped another document.
“A birth certificate. Nicole gave birth to a baby boy six months ago.”
I stared at him.
“Brandon’s?”
Jack nodded.
“The father is listed as ‘unknown.’ But the timing lines up. Brandon started seeing Nicole about fifteen months ago. The baby was born six months ago. And look at the name she gave him.”
I looked at the birth certificate.
The baby’s name.
Tyler James Bennett.
Tyler.
The name Emily had whispered before she passed out.
“Tyler,” I whispered.
Jack nodded.
“And Vanessa?” he said. “I checked Nicole’s family. Her mother’s name is Vanessa. Emily heard Brandon and Nicole talking. They were talking about their son. And Nicole’s mother. They were planning their new life together. A life without Emily. Without Grace.”
I felt sick.
Brandon had a whole other family.
A son.
A life he’d built behind Emily’s back.
And he’d been willing to kill her and Grace to make that life possible.
“This changes everything,” I said.
Jack nodded.
“It gives him even more motive. He wasn’t just running away with his mistress. He was running away to his other family. His son. And he needed Emily’s money to support them.”
He paused.
“Margaret, we need to find Nicole. She’s the key. If we can get her to talk, to testify against Brandon… this case is over.”
But just then, my phone rang.
It was Sarah.
Her voice was urgent.
“Margaret, turn on the news. Now.”
I turned on the television.
A reporter was standing in front of the courthouse.
“Breaking news in the Carter case. Richard Voss, attorney for Brandon Carter, has just announced new evidence that he says will completely exonerate his client. Voss claims to have proof that Emily Carter was not only suffering from severe postpartum depression but had also been researching how to fake her own death and frame her husband. Voss says he has emails, search history, and witness testimony that will prove Emily Carter planned this entire incident from the beginning.”
I stared at the screen in horror.
Sarah’s voice came through the phone.
“Margaret? You still there?”
I couldn’t speak.
May you like
Voss had found his angle.
And it was worse than anything I could have imagined.
