Chapter 3
For several seconds, I honestly thought Detective Ruiz had the wrong woman.
“I own a three-bedroom house with a mortgage.”
Ruiz didn’t smile.
“And?”
“A twelve-year-old Honda Daniel keeps begging me to replace.”
My mother looked confused too.
“Sarah doesn’t have money.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You know what I mean.”
Ruiz opened the folder again.
“Lauren claims Daniel started asking questions about Sarah’s grandfather earlier this year.”
That changed everything.
My mother went still.
I noticed.
So did Ruiz.
“Mom?”
She looked away.
“Mom, what is she talking about?”
My mother’s name was Evelyn.
She had raised me alone after my father died when I was eleven.
She hated secrets.
Or so I had always believed.
Now she looked like someone who had been carrying one for years.
“Your grandfather left something,” she finally said.
“What?”
She turned toward Ruiz.
“Does Daniel know?”
“We don’t know what Daniel knows.”
My mother stood.
“I need to make a phone call.”
“No.”
I grabbed her wrist.
“You’re not leaving until you explain this.”
“Sarah—”
“My husband just tried to kill me because of something involving Grandpa. I think I’m entitled to details.”
Her face crumpled.
She sat back down.
“My father owned land.”
“I knew that.”
Everyone in our family knew Grandpa Henry had spent his life buying cheap parcels outside Tampa.
Most had seemed worthless.
Swampy land.
Empty fields.
Old warehouses.
He died when I was twenty-three.
Mom said the estate had been complicated and most of it was sold to pay debts.
Apparently, that wasn’t the whole truth.
“There was one property he never sold,” she said.
“Where?”
“East of Tampa.”
“How much is it worth?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
Ruiz asked, “What kind of property?”
“Industrial land. About seventy acres.”
I stared at my mother.
“You told me Grandpa died broke.”
“He practically did.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“He left the property in a trust.”
“For who?”
Her eyes met mine.
“You.”
I laughed because there was no other possible reaction.
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were his only grandchild.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because the trust had conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“You couldn’t take control until you turned thirty-five.”
I was thirty-four.
My birthday was in four months.
The detective stopped writing.
“And what happens if Sarah dies before thirty-five?”
My mother’s silence answered before she did.
“The trust passes to her legal spouse.”
I felt sick.
Ruiz asked, “Does Daniel know that?”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Who does?”
“Me. The trustee. The attorney who prepared it.”
“And Sarah’s grandfather?”
“He’s dead.”
“Anyone else?”
My mother hesitated.
“Daniel found an old letter last Christmas.”
I turned toward her.
“What letter?”
“You remember when we cleaned my garage?”
I did.
Daniel had insisted on helping.
At the time, I thought it was sweet.
“He found a box of your grandfather’s papers.”
“You told me those were tax records.”
“Most were.”
“Mom.”
“There was a letter from the trust attorney.”
My pulse began pounding.
“Did Daniel read it?”
“I caught him holding it.”
“What did it say?”
“Only that you were beneficiary of the Henry Whitmore Family Trust and would become eligible for distribution at thirty-five.”
Ruiz leaned forward.
“Did it mention what happens if Sarah dies?”
My mother nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Four months.
Daniel didn’t need me dead eventually.
He needed me dead before my birthday.
“What’s the property worth?” I asked again.
Mom rubbed her palms together.
“It was appraised years ago at around three million.”
“That’s less than the insurance.”
“Years ago.”
Ruiz asked, “Where exactly is it?”
My mother gave her the location.
Detective Ruiz typed something into her phone.
A minute later, she looked up.
“An infrastructure development project was announced near that area last year.”
Mom frowned.
“What kind?”
“Distribution centers. Highway expansion. Commercial development.”
She made another search.
I watched her face.
“How much?”
Ruiz looked at me.
“I can’t give you an appraisal.”
“How much?”
“Nearby parcels have sold for substantial amounts.”
“Define substantial.”
“Tens of millions.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I felt like I couldn’t get enough air.
Daniel had spent months complaining about hospital bills.
He had told me we needed to cut back.
He had accused me of buying too many things for the nursery.
Meanwhile, he may have been waiting for me to die so he could collect millions.
Ruiz stood.
“I need the trustee’s information.”
Mom gave it to her.
Then Ruiz looked at me.
“Do you have somewhere secure to stay after discharge?”
“My house.”
“No.”
My mother said it before the detective could.
“You’re coming home with me.”
Daniel knew where Mom lived.
Ruiz shook her head.
“Not ideal.”
“I can stay with my friend Jessica.”
“Does Daniel know her address?”
“Yes.”
Ruiz sighed.
“We’ll work something out.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A voicemail notification.
From Daniel.
I played it.
“Sarah, please call me. Lauren is lying because she’s scared. I made mistakes, but I never wanted you hurt. We can fix this. Don’t let strangers destroy our family.”
My mother’s face twisted.
“He nearly killed you and now he wants to save the family?”
Ruiz asked me not to respond.
She left to contact the prosecutor.
Twenty minutes later, I received another message.
This time from Lauren.
I thought police had her phone.
Then I realized it came through social media.
LAUREN:
Daniel is going to blame everything on me.
Another arrived.
LAUREN:
He already told his lawyer I’m obsessed with him.
Then:
LAUREN:
I have proof he planned this.
I showed Mom.
“Give it to the detective.”
“I will.”
The final message appeared.
LAUREN:
But if I give them everything, he’ll destroy my sister.
I stared at it.
Who was her sister?
Why would Daniel care about her?
Before I could answer, Ruiz returned.
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages.
Her jaw tightened.
“She shouldn’t have access to social media right now.”
“Is she under arrest?”
“Yes.”
“For attempted murder?”
“For now, aggravated battery and other charges while the state reviews evidence.”
“And Daniel?”
Ruiz’s expression told me something had gone wrong.
“He left.”
I sat upright.
“What do you mean, he left?”
“He wasn’t under arrest.”
“You heard the call.”
“We’re working on probable cause.”
“He confessed!”
“He made statements that are useful to us. But building a criminal case isn’t the same as knowing what happened.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
Fear hit me instantly.
Ruiz noticed.
“We’ve sent officers to your house.”
“What if he comes here?”
“He won’t get onto this floor.”
I looked toward the door anyway.
My mother moved closer.
At nine that morning, the hospital placed a security officer outside my room.
At ten, Daniel’s attorney called me.
At eleven, someone tried to deliver flowers without a sender name.
Security refused them.
At noon, my contractions started.
The first one felt like a belt tightening around my abdomen.
The second made me grab the bed rail.
A nurse rushed in.
Then two more.
My mother was moved aside.
“What’s happening?”
The doctor arrived.
My baby’s heartbeat had dropped.
“No,” I whispered.
“Sarah, I need you to stay with me.”
“Is she okay?”
“We’re watching her.”
Another contraction.
Stronger.
Pain shot through me.
The monitor changed.
The doctor looked at the nurse.
That look terrified me.
“What?”
“Sarah, we may need to deliver.”
“She’s only twenty-nine weeks.”
“I know.”
“No.”
My mother started crying.
The doctor squeezed my hand.
“We’re going to do what gives both of you the best chance.”
Everything moved quickly after that.
Consent forms.
IV lines.
Medication.
A surgical team.
I kept asking for one thing.
“Don’t let Daniel near her.”
The nurse promised.
“If I’m unconscious, don’t let him take my daughter.”
“We won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
They wheeled me toward the operating room.
The ceiling lights passed above me one after another.
Then Detective Ruiz appeared at the hallway intersection.
She walked beside the bed for a few steps.
“We found Daniel.”
“Where?”
“Your house.”
“What was he doing?”
She hesitated.
“Burning documents in your backyard.”
I started shaking.
“What documents?”
“We don’t know yet.”
The doors to surgery opened.
Ruiz leaned down.
“Sarah, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Officers found a packed suitcase in his car.”
“Money?”
“Cash. Two passports. And a one-way ticket to Costa Rica for tomorrow morning.”
I stared at her.
“He was leaving.”
“Yes.”
“With Lauren?”
“No.”
The doors began closing between us.
“Then who?”
Ruiz looked straight at me.
“The second ticket was booked for a woman named Rachel Monroe.”
The doors closed.
I knew that name.
Rachel Monroe wasn’t Lauren’s sister.
May you like
Rachel Monroe was Daniel’s business partner’s wife.
And six months earlier, Rachel had disappeared.
